The Cycle begins.

Time has reset—not broken, not reborn, but repurposed. The last archivist vanished three hundred and twenty shifts ago. No blood was found. Only silence, and a single phrase scratched into the ironstone ledge:

"The record must survive, even if the truth does not."

I’ve taken up the sigil.

Today, I begin my watch. I do not expect to be remembered. That is not the Watcher's purpose. We observe. We document. We survive long enough to pass on what cannot be erased.

The land feels... unfinished. As if the world itself is only partially awake.

The Guardians patrol as though waiting for something unspoken to arrive. The Syndicate whispers have already reached the edge of Thornway. A storm brews in the Wastelands, though no clouds darken the sky. And beneath the surface of Sector 9, the machines twitch as if dreaming.

I do not yet understand what Kovari is.

But I will.

And when I do, the journal will hold it—until the last page burns.

—Nocthane
2nd Era Driftscribe