Naphulae

"The veil of sanity is a lie we tell ourselves when we gaze at the night sky, hoping, in a stifled corner of our mind, that the stars aren't gazing back."

—

A nameless, insignificant, yet ambitious young man once attempted to rescue his family from poverty. But as he found hope, he also stumbled upon despair. After losing everything to the darkness of death, including himself, he woke up in another world, stuck in the body of an eleven-year-old boy with a peculiar appearance.

He soon discovered that he was a Celestial Offering—a holy sacrifice, carefully groomed by the Temple of Stars to be given to the Gods Beyond. 

His fate had already been sealed, for his blood would spill under the seven-pointed star and consecrate the birth of a new era for his nation.

Armed with nothing but his wit and the trail of good fortune, he would attempt to challenge this destiny, braving the countless hurdles that lay in waiting and the unfathomable horrors they harbored. 

In a realm of magecraft, occult rituals, madness, and prowling Eidolons, he could only count on himself to survive, as the threat of insanity loomed over everyone equally, and nothing could slow its ineluctable embrace.

—

Discord: Naphulae#1813

The Forsaken Sovereign

Meilyr ended his conversation with Philosir early, happy to have acquired some valuable knowledge.

The corpse handler invited him to visit the Burial Collegium in the future, which Meilyr readily accepted as they were deeply informed of the happenings of Sethia's underground circles. The bodies that often washed up ashore were theirs to clean, after all.

The black moon shone serenely above his head as he walked along one of Lower Mursa's raised wharves, shadowed by the ever-vigilant Gal-Enshu.

He noticed a small scuffle on a nearby gangway, leading to a yellow-and-red-colored ship with no apparent heraldry. Its figurehead was that of a bronze-plated ibis with blue gems as its eyes, a symbol that Meilyr didn't recognize.

Continuing his stroll without a care, he stumbled on a huddled group deeper into the harbor. They blocked the entrance to an alleyway, from which the muffled sounds of a struggle echoed.

Low Thaumaturgy