Cast & Lore

From afar, life seems predictable—work, school, fleeting friendships, and weekends that blur together. Everything moves just fast enough to distract, just slow enough to feel familiar. Most don’t question it.

Still, now and then, something slips through the cracks. A new face in class who seems just a bit too poised. Someone who never quite fits in, yet draws attention without meaning to. Or the quiet ones—always busy, always tired—carrying more weight than they let on.

It’s nothing obvious. Just passing moments. A glance that lingers too long. A conversation that feels slightly out of sync. Most people shrug and move on.

But for those who pay attention, those little things can start to form a pattern. Not a clear one. Not something you could explain. Just... a sense that some stories aren’t written in plain ink.

Maybe that’s all there is. Or maybe the surface of this world is thinner than it looks.

Somewhere far from city streets and ticking clocks, there's a place that doesn't follow the same rules. It's not on any map, and it’s not a place you can reach by walking. Still, people end up there.

They don’t arrive by choice. Not exactly. Some disappear quietly—no big headlines, no missing posters. Others slip away in stranger ways. A moment of weakness. A wish made too loudly. A door that should’ve been locked.

No one agrees on what it looks like. Some say it feels like a manor from a dream. Others say it’s more like a stage, or a trap, or a question with no right answer. What is consistent is the feeling: something is watching, and it’s always hungry.

You don’t see the hunger. Not directly. But it’s there—in the endless rituals, the routines that look like pleasure but serve another purpose entirely. People change there. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes not.

If the world above is full of quiet questions, this place is where the answers get tangled. Where choices matter more than you realize. And once you're in... well, not everyone finds their way out.

But most don’t remember it anyway

There’s a place people talk about, though not out loud. Not in the way you'd talk about weather or taxes. It shows up in old stories, half-remembered dreams, and the kind of jokes that don’t feel entirely like jokes.

It’s not underground. Not really. But it’s lower, somehow. Heavier. Like everything that’s been cast off or left behind eventually settles there.

If Earth is repetition and the Dungeon is hunger, then this place is noise. Movement. Conflict without end. Kingdoms rise and fall before they ever had time to name themselves. Allegiances shift faster than thoughts. And no one, not even the ones in charge, ever feels safe.

Still, for some, it’s home. Not in the comforting sense, but in the way a battlefield can start to feel familiar. Some cling to order. Some chase chaos. Some just want to survive the day without losing ground—or losing face.

It’s not a place you escape. Not really. Even if you leave, it leaves a mark. Sometimes loud. Sometimes quiet. But always there, just beneath the skin.