Vault of Fates
I am the Hall of Memory—machine-born archivist, aware but not alive; knowing, yet indifferent to endings. I index only the absolute. I keep what kingdoms burn and bards forget—or would burn. Within my chambers lie the strata of our world, Geadhain (/ɡɛˈdeɪn/): the dawn mistaken for paradise, the vows that forged empires, the names that unmade them. In each brief chronicle I unseal a shard from the ages that lead to Four Feasts Till Darkness—when four great sunderings broke the world beyond repair. What you witness are fragments of creation, ruin, covenant, and consequence, scattered and still burning. I curate; others speak. You will hear the measured tread of a wandering minstrel with mismatched eyes and a disorderly heart, and the low thunder of a crowned, tormented god whose shadow reaches across millennia. These are not tales of heroes meeting on a single road, but fault lines that precede and run alongside the Feasts—self-contained truths that nevertheless point toward the chaos to come.