Date: 7th Emberturn, Cycle 1
Location: Southern Verge, Outer Wastelands Perimeter
Watcher: Nocthane, 2nd Era Driftscribe

“I had not planned to stop. But something in the wind made me turn.”

The Wastelands do not welcome wanderers—they ensnare them.

I’d followed anomalous seismic readings along the southern clayline—jagged pulses that mimicked heartbeat rhythms and disrupted my scope’s calibration. The terrain here is brittle and rust-hued, collapsing into itself with every step. Beneath it: tunnels. Older than the maps. Older than the Guardians.

I saw it near dusk. Not Rustborne. Not Techgrave. It moved like it had borrowed a body—tall, angular, glowing faintly through the ribs. Its face was a blur. Not from dust. From design.

I tried to speak the Null Phrase from the Core Lexicon. It recoiled. Then vanished. Just… flickered out.

I left a beacon spike. But I don’t think the Guardians will detect it.
This zone wants to stay forgotten.

And I am starting to wonder—
if something down here remembers me.