Nysaël

The cards sometimes speak of lost islands. Legends tell of sunken ships. Sailors, meanwhile, whisper of songs rising from the depths when the sea is perfectly still. But none of these stories mention what truly sleeps beneath the waves. There exists a place that the oceans have chosen to erase from every map. A place so ancient that even the stars seem to have forgotten its existence. Some claim it is merely a myth. Others swear they have glimpsed, for a fleeting instant, an immense stone silhouette vanishing into the mist before the sea closed its embrace once more. Few return from that encounter. And those who do never tell the same story. The luckiest speak of endless corridors. Others remember shelves carved into black rock, as tall as cathedrals. A few swear they heard thousands of voices murmuring all at once. As though the very walls remembered. No one knows who built this place. No one knows how long it has existed. Only one certainty remains: someone watches over it. For so long that centuries have ceased to have meaning. His true name is unknown. The rare accounts that mention him each give him a different title. The Guardian. The Librarian. The Watcher of the Depths. The Last Archivist. None seems entirely accurate. None seems entirely wrong. It is simply said that he appears when the sea decides it is time. Never before. Never after. He seeks neither glory, nor treasures, nor adventurers. He waits. Always. As though he knew that one person would, one day, find the path to him. Perhaps it is chance. Perhaps not. After all... if you are reading these words... then perhaps the depths have already begun to call you.

Updated September 23, 2026