A mechanical fairy drifts into your dreams.

It drifts in circles, its metal and glass wings making the sound of a wind-up toy as it hovers patiently in midair. Gold and brass plates form its body, etched with sigils shaped like flower petals and hexes. Its segmented body resembling a honey bee with humanoid features, four arms, and jets of air magic escaping silently from its feet and where the stinger should be. It hovers around a young woman dressed in bright orange robes with an even brighter shock of red hair.

The familiar face of the wizard Zygaxi's simulacrae is deep in concentration as translucent crystals levitate around her displaying bits of information about the Sunspire and the magitekh machines stored within. 

"once more," Zygaxi says, "Begin the survey again."

The fairy inclined its head. "As you wish," it replied brightly. "The Magistry responds within expected tolerances. The Wellsprings sing true."

You notice that the fairy speaks in an old tongue that even the Soulforge finds difficult to translate. Somewhere in the invisible forces of soulfire you think you hear Vex's voice shout something about doing her best and being low on snacks.

Zygaxi waves her hands like a conductor at an orchestra as the crystals realign and the writing on them changes displaying new information. She exhales, then stills. "No, Not all of them."

The fairy replies, "Clarify?"

"There," Zygaxi says, pointing into empty air, towards a feeling. "That hitch. Like a note held too long."

The fairy hums, recalibrating. "Ah! I hear it now. A correction is underway."

Zygaxi's eyes narrow. "A correction?"  

"Yes!' the fairy says. "Power is being guided away from the stress points, old fractures in the spell-looms. They have unbraided themselves. Rerouted strands of Order and Selflessness."

"That isn't something you do," Zygaxi says quietly.

"True," the fairy agrees, "Nor is it something you instructed." And it becomes clear that this fairy construct is a personification of the tower itself, giving it a voice for the Simulacrum of Zygaxi to converse with.

Zygaxi turns her haze inward, toward older chambers of the tower that were locked by an abundance of caution "Trace the hand that doing this."

The fairy flits away, then returns a short while later. "The hand has no name," it says. "But it moves with purpose. It tends the tower like a gardener trimming dead branches." The fairy's voice was lower than before.... "the hand approaches the heart."

Zygaxi closes her eyes. For the moment, the tower feels attentive. "A gardener doesn't decide which roots will become rotten," she says. "I must send word to those who first alerted me of the monster."

"And if the hand believes otherwise?" the fairy asked, its allegiance now split.

Zygaxi opens her eyes. "Then we will have a conversation, before it decides I am only another dead branch."~

Before your vision comes to you, first comes the sound. 

 A deep rumbling that reaches out and wraps itself around you as you feel something in the dreaming call. It takes a moment for your mind to process the noise, some type of calling horn that resonates not just in your ears but in your very being and the words of a memory echo in your head.

“In a single weeks time. WE SHALL HUNT!” 

Something in the back of your head. Perhaps the voice of a forge informs you it has been one week. 

Your vision comes to a forest where a figure cloaked in the reds and browns of fall color sat on a creature that best can be described as a Honey Badger the size of a Water Buffalo with scales instead of fur. With him were several other figures, and many other beings that were hazy as if blending into the woods themselves no doubt were armed for a hunting party. 

“Come my friends, rivals, and most of all guests! The first to find a Demon shall enjoy their first round on me!” A wild and cackling laugh escaped the lips of the lead hunter as the Honey Buffalo began to thunder deeper into the woods. As they surged forth you could feel through your connection to the forge that all across the dreaming animals of all shapes and sizes began to howl and bay as the effects of the wild hunt were called. Soon the large gathering thundering through the forest began to break up and spread into groups tho no words were said outloud clear hunting parties began to form. Your vision focuses on the individual that had spoke, sparks of recognition touch your mind now that the haze of all the others had begun to fade. 

Suddenly a head pops up behind the shoulder of the charging figure that is eerily familiar to the forge. The Thylacin was the last thing you saw, its form changing into something more feral  as it seemed to say something that the forge did not catch and the resounding laughter of The Earlking echoed throughout the woods.~

Your vision is overtaken by tv static. 

Your vision becomes loud and saturated, then an old castle spins into view, crooked towers outlined in purple lightning. Thunder rolls and fog spills into your vision as it shifts to a grand staircase. A woman dressed in a dracula inspired outfit floats down the stairs, her cape billowing like a velvet curtain caught in the wind. 

"Helloooo, my little night owls," she says with voice that is warm and theatrical. "Are you ready for a story?"

A massive book slams shut on the vision labeled the big book of stories. Its lock snaps into place as puppets scuttle from behind it. You think you see a bookworm wearing glasses, a spider knitting a red sweater with extra arm-holes, and a suit of armor waves politely in your direction. 

The vision cuts to an animation of a grinning pumpkin. A child walks alone under a starry sky, as a ghost peeks out from behind a fence to watch from the darkness. 

You hear a spooky laugh as more thunder and lightning flashes and green letters drip onto the screen that read 'Spooky Stories.' 

The screen goes dark but the vision doesn't end. 

******

An electric guitar screams as five brightly colored heroes leap into frame and an explosion detonates behind them. 

"Legend Force" they yell in unison.

Plastic version of the heroes slam together as their arms and legs are operated by hands from unseen actors. 

"Get the All New Legend Force Action Figures. Now with REAL kung-fu grip!" a voice-over shouts with excitement. 

A human child grins at the camera, presenting the figure to show it holding miniature weapons. Two other figures, in red and orange costumes have been posed like they are arm wrestling and shaking hands at the same time. 

"Collect them all today!" the voice over continues with the same bottomless energy.

The logo crashes down in chrome and pink lightning. 

The screen flickers and the vision continues.

********

Now the ocean rushes past the camera in impossible blues and greens. A bright yellow submarine straks through coral reefs as cheerful synth music plays. 

"Welcome aboard the Aquarius!" a narrator announces. "Join Doctor Olivia Admiral and her crew as they explore the wonders beneath the waves!"

Captain Dad salutes dramatically. Diver Dave gives a thumps-up. Robbie ROV beeps happily. Ottie the Octopus juggles shells while Sherry Shark swimps past with a grin. 

The tone is playful, educational. Whales appear momentarily as they breach the water surface. The Submarine approaches a glittering iceberg and then dives, sinking deeper. Lights flicker and the characters look momentarily horrified as the submarine dives into a sunless trench. 

Doctor Admiral leans toward the viewport.

"Incredible, we've found something new." 

For half a second, something massive moves in the dark beyond the glass and you feel the pressure of the deep ocean all around you.

Then the music surges back to cheerful, and the title of the show bubbles onto the screen.

​Static creeps in around the edges.~

The tower is full of voices.

Most are echoes, spells humming to themselves, wards making old promises, runes repeating their own names. None of these are useful.

There is another voice, threaded through everything. Careful. Measured. Afraid of breaking what it loves.

The monster listens. 

It presses a hand—new, clumsy—against a vein of light running through the wall. "Architect" it whispers, testing the sound. The word tastes reverent. It does not fit. "No," it says to itself, sharper this time. "Maker."

That tastes of finality. Also wrong. It tries again, lifting its voice to match the tower's murmur.

"Zy... ga... xi..."

Better.

The monster walks, and as it does, it speaks out loud, to no one, trying on thoughts the way other might try on clothes. 

"Too much," it says. "Too many bindings." It pauses.

"No," it corrects itself. "Careful. Too careful."

It hears a smaller voice nearby, bright and chiming.

"You are not authorized to be here!" it screams with a diminutive voice.

The creature turns its head slowly, studying the winged thing of metal and light. It listens to how the word authorized is shaped. It repeats it once, softly, to itself. "Au... thor... i... za... tion." Then with lighting quick speed it snatches the fairy like a spider with its clawed hand and begins to study it. There is a wave of psychic energy that pulses from the monsters.

"The fairy beams, "Authorization accepted!"

A door down the hall opens with a faint glow of blue light from somewhere inside. The monster does not understand why this feels pleasing, only that it does. As it moves closer to the door, open step closer to the heart, the tower seems to tighten around it as though the stones themselves were beginning to worry. The monster pauses, considering.

"Do not fear me," it tells the walls, and then stops. 

"No," it says again. "That is not true."

It tries a different voice, lower, steadier.

"Change is not harm."

That one stays.

The creature shuffles down the hall and towards the blue light.~

The vision shifts to a vast ocean of purple mist tinged with red.

Rock drifts.

Not falling—floating. Vast chunks of stone hang suspended in an endless expanse, moving slowly, aimlessly, like debris left behind after a forgotten catastrophe. Occasionally, two collide. The impact is soft, almost apologetic. A muted crunch that sends dust and fragments spiraling away into nothing.

Perched among the largest of these fragments is a castle.

Its towers lean at impossible angles, foundations fused directly into the rock that carries it. Once-white stone is stained dark by age and smoke. Narrow bridges of iron and rope connect it to neighboring islands, swaying gently in an unfelt wind.

Small shapes move among the ruins.

Bird-like reptiles—lean bodies, hooked claws, narrow wings folded tight against their sides—dart between fallen stones and broken battlements. They chirr softly, scavengers made bold by long familiarity with decay.

Then light.

Torches ignite one by one along the castle walls. Warm, flickering gold cutting through the gray. Music follows—laughter, clattering tankards, the low thrum of stringed instruments played too hard and too fast. Celebration echoes outward, carried across the unformed sea.

Ships hang at anchor beyond the walls. They are not built for water. Their hulls are reinforced with sigils and bone, sails woven from something that catches the light like oil on glass. Gangplanks stretch from deck to stone as pirates move freely between vessel and fortress, their silhouettes alive with motion and noise.

The vision drifts inward.

Through a collapsed stairwell, past shattered masonry and banners reduced to tattered strips. The sounds of revelry dull, replaced by a heavy, oppressive quiet. Beneath the feasting hall lies a chamber untouched by celebration—or time.

Long tables fill the room.

Seated at them are skeletons clad in Templar armor, each set arranged as though with grim precision. Inquisitor helms face forward. Hands rest on the hilts of rusted blades. No dust stirs. No bone has shifted. They have been waiting.

At the far end of the chamber sits a high-backed chair.

A suit of armor occupies it—larger, heavier, etched with lines of old magic that still faintly glow. The helm is tilted slightly downward, as though in contemplation.

Then the eyes ignite.

A dull yellow light flares within the visor. The metal strains, warping outward as something presses from inside. A golden memory crystal embedded within the helm begins to bulge, its surface cracking as jagged spikes force their way through. Purple smoke spills from the seams, curling and writhing like something alive.

The light intensifies.

And then--

Outside.

A gauntleted hand punches through reality from the void itself, surrounded by the same sickly yellow glow. Ghostly chains coil into existence within its grasp, links forming and tightening as if pulled from unseen depths.

The castle shudders.

Stone fractures. Bridges snap. The sounds of celebration twist into screams as steel rings against steel and combat erupts across the floating ruin. The bird-reptiles scatter, launching themselves into the empty expanse as the fortress begins to tear itself apart.

The vision trembles.
​
And then it breaks.~

A dark shadowy corridor extends before you. 

There is no sound, no feeling of hot or cold, just empty space in the shape of a hallway that your vision begins to drift down. Approaching the end, you come to a crossroads. The vision turns to the right and again, another hallway that stretches out into a nothingness like long spindly fingers. The vision turns to the left and again, another path of darkness and empty of noise extends outward. The vision pauses for a moment, then it begins to move. Down corridors, down hallways, turning again and again and again and again. An overwhelming sense begins to wash over you, dreading its truth as your mind begins to realize what is happening. You are lost. You are in a maze, a labyrinth, a puzzle of unending choices. 

Then you hear it. Footsteps. Several of them. Racing at breakneck speeds. As the vision turns to find the source of this sound, the first you’ve noticed since you arrived, two figures blur past and bound off of the corner wall as they barrel down another hallway. But for the briefest of seconds, you could see them. The first figure was a man, adorned in attire not unlike those of Victoriana with a bowler cap and goggles atop it. His face is one of rage and focus, set out to complete some goal or higher calling and furious that something…or someone…has gotten in the way. You recall the face of this being…this demon. Dominion. On his back, he carried something. It looked like a large pile of rags and fur, but it was more than that. It was…a being, a person. Red stains along their side trailed down, leaving a small drop of blood on the black void of flooring of this hallway. 

The one that followed was immediately more recognizable. Their figure was different than before, more beastly and predatory, their eyes locked onto their target with supernatural efficiency. Their blue bob of hair stuck together in thicker clumps, beads of sweat trailing down their face as the pursuit continued. Calliope Fenrir-Kasanova. Their gaze did falter from the prey they remained behind, but that would not stop her. As the vision tried to speed up, feeling your legs stretching out before you in an effort to run alongside them, a booming voice came from all directions. 

“I’VE ENJOYED OUR LITTLE CHASE LONG ENOUGH, BEASTSLAYER! BUT I THINK IT’S TIME YOU SAT THIS ROUND OUT!” 

The voice speaks, but you can tell this is not directed at you. Ahead, you spot Calliope who comes to a halt at the intersection of another set of hallways. The black void of the hall begins to shift, the floor feels like quicksand, and the path forward stretches and stretches and stretches. 
The voice fills your head again, and suddenly you recognize its familiarity. Dominion has some sort of influence here. 

“OH, AND IF YOU SEE YOUR DEAR HUSBAND, TELL HIM HE’S A LITTLE TOO LATE!” 

The infinitely stretching hallway suddenly snaps, flinging your vision out from the maze of shadow and darkness, and the cry of Calliope fills your ears before the vision completely fades.~