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- Archie
The Unsundered World
by Salme · Jul 02, 2026 · view history →
This is a folio collating the very little knowledge we have of the unsundered world available to us. It also contains memories of … I’ll do this later. a moment in methexis where Wolf and I realized that we had (or will) know each other in another life or another world.
- Between Samudra and the Beast, Archie, Wolf, and I dueled in the Void. Silmät ap…
- Wolf shares his memories of the world that was, of which he, and Saranzaya, and …
- --- Wolf attempts to assist me in deciphering the message I received from the Om…
- An image I received whilst being in methexis with the Mother of Monsters, echoin…
Between Samudra and the Beast, Archie, Wolf, and I dueled in the Void. Silmät appeared as a Presence next to Archie to assist him, and played [Sorrowful Memory] at the end of the duel, targeting itself. We saw the following memory, but were unable to pursue it.
ꙮ In the moment before the Rite ends, the Presence plays [Sorrowful Memory], targeting itself. ⁂
ꙮ You -all- experience a brief, vivid recollection - of a room much like this one but made of bright white stone, with a tenebrous-black channel cut into the stone delineating the circle; you remember lightning coursing through the skies, striking the tower – it will not hold for much longer. But two duelists spar for dear life, one last time, within the circle, laughing and crying and slinging vicious spells and taking strikes at each other, one more dance, one last dance, while they still can. The vision passes, almost as soon as it began. 🙧
clenches her hand around Archie, and immediately throws out a—not a tether, a dart, something like a harpoon, aiming for the presence, for the memory, for anything at all.
It would take a miracle.
Wolf shares his memories of the world that was, of which he, and Saranzaya, and the Irós of Samudra regularly dream.
shows you a mountain, sky-splitting, snow-capped, an imperious wedge against a sky so blue and vast it seems to stretch on forever–yet there is nothing fearful here, but a sort of ancient majesty; ‘Healing-Mountain,’ is its name, though you do not know how you know it to be so. Then, a mountain warrened with tunnels and workshops, kin to the Beast but greater even than Queenstown, with its joyful fiends and watchful crystal–this one vivid, new, tinged with Beast-born fire. Then finally, last of all, deepest etched and oldest–the Tower and its City, ringed by swamp; alabaster, shining, ancient. This you have seen before, once–on a card held in Wolf’s hands, shattering, lightning-struck. But there is no lightning in his dream–just the City, the Tower, and the marsh that surrounds it. 🙧
— Wolf attempts to assist me in deciphering the message I received from the Omniclast. We were successful, and then some.
, in the memory, asks the wind, “Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Anything else I can do?” and the wind whispers back, at length and in detail, a real monograph of a mistral, but it’s all just- wind, tossing Salme’s hair this way and that. There’s always something faintly suggestive of a melody when the right kind of wind blows; sometimes it’s mournful, sometimes it’s joyous. This time it’s both. ⁂
asks for his aid. He can hear the melodies that make up the fabric of reality. Is there anything they might know from this moment? Perhaps working together? 🙧
starts to listen–then pauses, and tries something different than he might on his own. Carefully, gently, he draws closer to her in the meld–and less listens than lends her his gift. No mere interpretation here, but his instinctive skill, freely given, almost as if it had been hers in the moment.
ꙮ Your minds circle the wind’s song, mirroring each other. A step, a step- a whirling-outwards to embrace the unknown, and welcome it in as your own without fear. ⁂
- You hear — and your Star hears — a song, echoing from the stillness: Recollection
ꙮ You both know, in the same fleeting moment, what the wind was saying, with the tossing of Salme’s hair, with the intricate and unthinkable chaos of the whirling breeze with its vortices and fluctuations: it was saying, it is always saying, it has always said: thou mayest. Inscribed in every unpredictable act ever undertaken by mortal mind, indelible and certain: DO WHAT YOU WISH. ⁂
ꙮ And yet you know more than that. As, hand in hand, you drive each other to greater and greater heights, you know that this is not the first time you have danced this particular dance. You do not know how. You do not know why. But you share a further recollection that is, also, yours and yours alone. ⁂
- You hear — and your Star hears — a song, echoing from the stillness: Widdershins Waltz
ꙮ High up in the sky, through slate-grey glass, you look down upon the world Wolf dreams. You stand apart from each other, on either side of a white stone dueling circle, inlaid with gold. You cannot see each others’ faces, your bodies are– vague suggestions of dreamlike memory. You simply recognise them as your own. You stood there, you bowed, and with smiles on your faces that could drive away the darkest thought, once, somehow, you dueled each other in bright warm sunlight. 🙧
An image I received whilst being in methexis with the Mother of Monsters, echoing Wolf’s own experiences.
ꙮ You’re in a small park, nestled up against the side of an immense red mountain. It was volcanic, once; it bled earth-blood and sighed out holy fumes and then it was elevated by purpose, became more holy than it ever had been. It was home. Warrened with passageways, shimmering with gleaming metal and broad avenues, a city built into the mountain entire, boiling with gnosis and bright and mortal brilliance. In the distance, black stone towers rise, proud and new. But what matters, right now, is that there’s still room for a small park, burgeoning with trees, curled up in the sunward side of the mountain like a dog at a hearth. ⁂