The Sanctum of the Forgotten was vast and cavernous. The air within felt heavier than normal, not from pressure, but from the weight of memory, as if every breath you took was filtered through the grief of generations.
There were no windows so no "sunlight" could come through. Only the glow of weeping chandeliers suspended from chains of enchanted thread, their teardrops made of distilled memories and old magic, casted muted silver light.
The stone beneath our feet were vein-cracked and dark, humming faintly with blood-magic. A forgotten echo rippled across the hall at random, dragging with it the scent of old perfume, gunpowder, and salt.
Long cathedral-like aisles stretched across the Sanctum, flanked by rows of towering shelves and columns etched with runes in forgotten tongues. Each aisle housed memoriom tomes—books stitched from pale vellum and bounded in silence. They did not contain spells, but lives.
Some pages fluttered of their own accord, whispering names or playing ghost-images in the air.
Scattered throughout the Sanctum were mirror-flat pools of memory-water, ringed with blue lotus and black thread-lilies. Looking into them showed a pretty black haired young woman with curls and glasses over jade green eyes. She wore an oversized black turtleneck sweater and dark blue ripped jeans.
Was this...me in my past life? Shit, I must have worked myself to death with those bags under her eyes.
Shaking my head, I explained what I saw to Selene.
She turned her head in the direction I waved at. "Ah, the Echo Pools. Looking into them shows a forgotten moment, chosen not by the viewer, but by the Sanctum itself. So, no two visitors see the same thing."
Curious, I asked Selene, "So what do you see when looking at the echo pool? With your long life, I'm sure it's interesting."
Selene just shook her head. "All of the Vladiscar staff have immunity against things such as this. I am sorry I am unable to entertain your curiosity, Mistress."
I waved the apology away. "It's fine, Selene. Let us continue on. I only have three months to catch up on the common knowledge of this world and I can't afford to waste it."
We continued walking through the Sanctum.
At the heart of the Sanctum lied an elevated dais, above which floated the Sanctum's Keeper, known as Mother Quill. She did not speak aloud when we approached. She continued to write in the air. Behind her was a wall of suspended pens, needles, and plumes, each one bound to a soul that once passed through the Sanctum and left something behind.
Without even looking up from her writing, she started speaking.
"The rules of the Sanctum are as followed. I will only recite them once, so do be careful to remember ever last one. Rule one: lies cannot be spoken within its walls. They physically catch in the throat, burning until swallowed or choked out as truth. Rule two: time is nonlinear. Minutes may stretch or collapse. Visitors often emerge confused about how long they've stayed, so do be careful. Rule three: Memories cannot be forcibly taken. If one wishes to forget, they must offer it freely, place it in a Thread-Urn, and sign with their own blood. Now shoo. I am very busy."
Rude!
~ | 💮 | ~
While the Sanctum of the Forgotten was primarily a vault of lost memories and sealed sorrows, it does contain a quiet, cordoned section for traditional study—a rare and invaluable resource for those who have access. These were books for learning and were meticulously curated by Mother Quill and her silent ink-bound assistants.
I tried reading from the memory archives after leaving Mother Quill, but they gave me banging headaches. So here we were, tucked behind a semi-transparent veil of threadglass, as I waited for Selene to bring me books I needed to read in order to catch up.
The Study Wing felt like an oasis of calm within the haunting silence of the Sanctum. This section Selene suggested me I start in was warded to suppress echo interference. Meaning? The stupid emotional resonance of sorrow-bound tomes couldn't bleed into these shelves. In other words... no banging headaches!
A fountain of stilled ink sat in the center, its surface smooth as glass, hummed softly to help maintain mental clarity... or at least that's what I thought that was the reason. For all I know it could be humming to ward off ghosts or something.
"Forgive the wait, My Lady, but I have successfully collected the appropriate subjects for you to begin your studies." Selene appeared carrying a stack of books while two more stacks were levitating beside her.
Sitting the books down at the long narrow table of gravewood and boneglass, Selene suggested starting on the geography of the world I was now living in.
"Knowing the lay of the world is not mere scholarship, Mistress, it is survival. Names of kings and queens can shift with the tides of history, but the names of kingdoms remain etched into the bones of the land. And those names—those borders—are written in blood, not ink."
Hmm. That is true, I guess. Me knowing the names of the countries and kingdoms of the powerful rulers of this world would be useful. Of course it would also be common sense, but well, common sense was no longer so common.
"Power breathes in geography. You cannot outmaneuver a tyrant if you don't know which ocean chokes their ports, or what mountain range guards their shameful secrets. A wise mistress does not only memorize maps. She learns which coasts are hospitable to monsters, which forests feed on fear, and which rivers remember crimes no history dares record."
I admit, I was a little surprised. This was the longest I have heard Selene talk since I met her. Hmm, she must really like geography.
Getting comfortable in the sunken nest I was sitting in, (circular nests that were carved into the floor and lined with layered cushions of night-feather velvet) I picked up the thick geography book Selene recommended for me.
"Cartographia Obscura: A Map of the Mortal Veins, author by Hecarian of the Glass Compass?" I looked up from the book and gave Selene a raised eyebrow.
Understanding that I was skeptical about it, she said, "It is a three-volume masterwork cataloging every major continent, kingdom, wasteland, sea, sky-isle, and underrealm across multiple ages. The maps shift and adjust when new knowledge is entered—living cartography. It is a very invigorating read, Mistress."
It took a lot out of me not to giggle at seeing that sparkle in my maid's eyes. She was so cute when she's excited!
Hiding my smile that was escaping, I started reading.
"I write these words upon the blackstone cliffs of Cindrel's Edge, where the wind carries dust from both mountaintop and battlefield. Below me, the land looks still—but I know better. I have walked with witches who taught me how to feel the pulse beneath the soil. I have drunk from rivers that remembered older names. I have stood on forgotten altars and felt my spine thrum in rhythm with something ancient and alive.
That rhythm is the mortal vein—what we mistake as leyline, faultline, or fate. It is the lifeblood of the world, buried deep, curled like a serpent beneath every throne and crater.
These veins are the true map.
You cannot chart them with ink alone. To trace them is to touch the memories of the land itself.
I have bled on stones that opened roads no man had found.
I have pressed my palm to ash and heard kingdoms scream.
And in the Deep Places, I have whispered my name only to find the earth whisper it back—wrong.
Let this be your first truth:
All roads lie, but the veins remember.
— Hecarian of the Glass Compass
Hmm, a bit dramatic for just the intro, but whatever. How would I know how to start a book. Shrugging, I continued on with the first chapter of Volume I: The Living Lands & Leeching Seas.
Chapter One: On the Breathing Spine of the World
"To walk the world is to listen to its spine crack beneath your tread."
—Hecarian of the Glass Compass
❖ I. The World's True Name
Though called many things in passing tongues—Veyrion, Ashurae, The Fane of Waking Ruin—the world is most accurately known as:
Vaelreth,
The Hollow-Blooded Sphere.
It is not a simple globe, but a layered crucible of realms, each anchored to a central force: the Wyrmspine, a massive leyline-wrapped tectonic ridge that splits the known world from crown to root.
At its heart lies the Throneless Axis, a forbidden rift that glows red even in daylight, believed to be the last unhealed wound from the First True Night War—a war waged not merely by creatures, but by concepts given form.
❖ II. The Mortal Continents
There are four major continental bodies, though they shift and fracture over generations due to temporal shearing and worldveil fluctuations:
1. Elarithé – The Western Grief
A crescent-shaped landmass covered in ashen highlands, cursed salt flats, and ruins of silver-blood empires. Former home to the Helivane Order, a crusader sect turned cryptic monks. Vampiric enclaves thrive underground, hidden by silverthorn forests and ravines that hum with night-song. The Vladiscar Dominion is nestled deep in the northeastern ranges.
"Its trees are taller than guilt, and twice as old."
2. Myrrhael – The Veilworn East
Known for its volatile rivers, hanging bridges woven from living vines, and cities that drift with the seasons. Home to the Lacustrian Realms, which worship sunken gods. Eastern Myrrhael houses forgotten academies and libraries grown from breathing coral hills.
"Here, the land does not end—it drowns."
3. Caldrith Mere – The Red-Sky South
A continent forever beneath twilight storms and blood-colored rain, dotted with floating isles tethered to the earth by soul-iron chains. Believed to be the last known seat of dragonkind, though most dragons now reside in mirrored realms. All royal families of Caldrith are spirit-bound to their ancestral swords.
"Even their shadows carry blades."
4. The Shattergirdle – Fractured North
A broken land of hovering plateaus, inverted mountains, and memory-glass fields. Often inaccessible except via worldvein travel or Void Trains. Site of the now-lost Ivory Citadel, where Velomirra once studied the forbidden art of blood-thread weaving before her exile.
❖ III. The Leeching Seas
There are two oceans that surround Vaelreth—though calling them 'oceans' is generous. They are hungry, sentient, and rarely still.
The Murkmire Sea Surrounds Elarithé and Myrrhael. Ingests ships whole, then regurgitates them centuries later, empty. Its storms follow bloodlines rather than wind patterns. Sometimes it whispers back the names of the drowned.
The Crimson Depths Encircles Caldrith and the southern edge of the world. Glows beneath the surface. Said to contain the Ossuary Reef, a boneyard of long-dead gods. Blood poured into this sea does not disperse—it swims.
❖ IV. The Wyrmspine (Central Leyridge)
This leyline-rich mountain range bisects the world vertically, pulsing with ancient power.
It is considered unchartable by most, but Hecarian documents a possible safe passage through:
"The Hollow Pass, where no wind blows. Only memories."
This is the seat of dimensional resonance, where ley arteries intersect, making it the anchor of the world's mana flow. It is from this Spine that thread-witches, bloodcasters, and spatial engineers draw their oldest magicks.
❖ Final Note (in Hecarian's Hand):
"If you are reading this, and you are not yet dead, then you are part of the world's story.
But remember: Vaelreth does not want to be mapped. It shifts, it deceives, and it devours the proud.
The first mistake of any cartographer is believing the world is ever still."
I stopped to rub my temples. I was in a world that sounded like an edge lord's playground. Damn it, I need a drink.
"Selene, go get me a bottle of alcoholic blood. I think I might need it."