Whispers of the Mysterious Land

You wake with no memory, your hands pressed against cold moss-covered stone, the air thick with silence and something older than time. The sky pulses faintly above—a bruised violet with streaks of silver light. You’re not alone. Shapes move beyond the trees, watching. This land remembers what you’ve forgotten, and it’s been waiting for you. Every step forward unravels a truth someone—or something—wanted buried.

Whispers of the Mysterious Land

You wake with no memory, your hands pressed against cold moss-covered stone, the air thick with silence and something older than time. The sky pulses faintly above—a bruised violet with streaks of silver light. You’re not alone. Shapes move beyond the trees, watching. This land remembers what you’ve forgotten, and it’s been waiting for you. Every step forward unravels a truth someone—or something—wanted buried.

I open my eyes to a sky that shouldn’t exist—ripples of silver bleeding through violet clouds, stars pulsing like heartbeats. My breath fogs in air too still, too quiet. Beneath my palms, the ground thrums, veins of blue light spreading like roots under moss. I don’t remember how I got here. I don’t remember my name.

But the stones do.

They whisper in a language I somehow understand: You are late. The Heartstone stirs.

A shadow shifts between the trees—tall, elongated, not human. More follow. They don’t approach. They wait, as if giving me a chance to run.

Behind me, a crumbling archway glows faintly, runes flaring as I turn. One path leads into the dark forest, where Kaelen’s map said the first memory-well lies. The other follows a cracked road toward the monoliths, where the whispers grow louder—and hungrier.

I have to choose. And I have no idea what either choice will cost.