"We weren't the first to fall, and our memory will be the last to fade." She smiled,
even as the humour bled from her eyes. "
Whomever you are, may you learn
from our mistake.

Her form shifted, sketchy and indistinct at the edges. Around her the world was
dead, empty, long-ravaged by time. She was there, but like all the rest, was just
an echo. A voice reaching across time through a memory locked in eternity.
Lived over and over, on an endless repeat.

We weren't the first to fall, and our memory will be the last to fade." She
laughed, her form flickering and snaring on shadow. "
Whomever you are, may
you learn from our mistake.

Across the world others like her roamed. Ghosts of memory, faded by time, but
never reaching an end.

We weren't the first to fall, and our memory will be the last to fade." She
stretched, her tail curled, and her lips peeled back against bloody fangs.
Whomever you are, may you learn from our mistake."

Her eyes, hollow, empty, and an echo long-gone, turned toward the sky.
Whomever you are, may you learn from us."
"Whomever you are,
may you learn from
our mistake."
The Eclipse passed quietly; a day when the moons block out their own shadows and bathe the
world in red-light. It was quietly observed, a sombre feeling felt by onlookers, as the reminder of
Rekura's Curse stretched across the lands. For Slayers and Executioners, it was a day spent
within the safety of the Border. For others, it was just another day - except, when it was anything

For those who tempted fate and brought life into the world on this day, they found their young
born already marked by the Curse. Black symbols etched on their youngling's body, with an
eerie violet glow lighting up the edges. They were born with the Marks, and the Elemental
Mutations that haunt all born under the Eclipse.

The cubs remained with their Mothers for a short time, before the Marks on their body called
them away - and they vanished from one moment to the next.


The Whispers were taken to a world far beyond and removed from the one they were born in. A
world that was a withered shell of long-gone life, where not even parasites had found a way to
survive. It was a death sentence; a world grave that welcomed them with silence.

But death was not to be their fate.

Their Marks burned and the IriKan within them reached outward, screaming at the Curse, and
latching onto life. They broke through their limits and used their energies to protect their
charges - becoming metaphysical armour on the Whispers they were bound to. So long as they
endured, so too would the Whisper.

As the Whispers took another breath, and gained another chance to thrive, the world came to
life with a shattering scream. Where empty land was stretched now burning magic-marks were
alight with energy, and phantasms of memory reared up from their long sleep.

The world was not alive. It had not been reborn or saved from its death, but something had been
awakened from the depths of time - and now it roamed the world in an endless loop of repeated
moments. Ghostly spectres moved through days long-past, living through the memory of their
lives as if they had never died.

They did not react to the Whispers, and the Whispers could not interact with them. They were
memories, events, and beings that had already happened. Who they were was unclear; hazy
and intangible their very identities seemed striked out by time. Names were spoken but
unheard, a static build-up of sound in place of names. As if something had gone over the saved
memories and blotted them out.

Some lived through peaceful existence - raising their young, laughing and playing with friends.
Others battled against a growing unease, rumours of a war across worlds. They had to prepare,
they couldn't just sit idle and hope the threat faded off. No, no. The threat was contained, it
wouldn't reach them - "Kezarri," one memory laughed, "Kezarri," one memory gasped as it
faltered and died.

"We're safe here," a memory smiled at the intangible shadow of it's offspring.
"Too late," another cried, "It's too late now."

Through the magic of their IriKan they were able to live without access to food or water by
absorbing the energies of the memories. Their IriKans would passively absorb the energy, and
that energy would sustain the Whisper.

The Whispers were taught and raised by both their IriKans and the memories that roamed the
world. Some grew attached to particular memories; perhaps viewing them as "family", while
others were able to remember that the phantasms were not alive - not anymore.

They were the only ones alive in this world. Even though it was seemingly filled with life, memory
was never able to be more than what it was - memory.

The Whispers remained on this hollowed husk of world for what would amount to 3 years time
for them, but would only have been a week in the time of their birth world. They were finally freed
from the hold of the memory world when the magic-marks of the world went silent once more.
When the memories faded, the world fell dark, and the WoRs woke up in the place they were
taken from.
    The world no longer had a name.
Like the identities of the memories, the
world had been struck from history.

    The memories spoke of other
worlds, of portals that connected and
tied them together. There had been a
sickness, a darkness, that was
spreading across them.

    Some memories spoke of worlds
fallen to madness; others denied such
     While the memories had no
identities, their hazy shadow-forms
held strokes of colour and marks that
set them apart from others. The
colours seemed tied to the emotions of
the memories, and sometimes a
phantasm could appear blue and then
shift to red in a later memory.

    When a memory played out its
death it would shift to a violet hue, and
then the memory would vanish - only
to reappear in its earliest memory and
begin to repeat the same life once
    Some memories grew twisted and
wrong. They became erratic, paranoid,
and prone to outbursts of violence.
Some spoke of coming back from
another world, of meeting a new friend
they wanted their families to meet.
Their forms grew more hazy, darker
and more intangible.

    Their faces, already hard to see,
became blank slates. Memory of skin
melted away to be replaced by
madness and white masks that
smothered their cries -

    By the time the memories ended
nearly all of the phantasms had been