An Isekai Story

Deep beneath the Cradle’s silent halls lies the Dissection Vault, a chamber of methodical ruin where nothing enters unchanged. This is no madman’s lab of gore and sparks, but a sterile sanctum of deliberate unmaking. Enchanted relics, summoned curiosities, and even the remains of myth-born creatures are brought here—not to be studied in awe, but to be taken apart with cold, exacting purpose. The walls are lined with articulated arms, rune-blades, and rune-dampening instruments. Slabs of polished blackstone sit beneath focused everlights, waiting for their next offering. Tubes filled with stasis-bound specimens hum faintly, their contents suspended mid-dissolution. Notes are etched not in books, but on shifting stone panels that erase themselves daily—ensuring nothing is recorded for too long. The few who work here are bound to silence. The Unmaker only enters on rare occasions, but when they do, entire truths go missing.

The Vault glows with a sterile, icy light that casts no warmth. Smooth obsidian slabs gleam under arcane spotlights. Along the perimeter, relics hover disassembled—swords split at the core, amulets peeled like fruit. Crystalline tanks emit dull pulses of magical decay, their contents slowly unwinding. The air smells faintly of ozone and old parchment. Every tool hangs perfectly aligned, untouched… but never clean.