An Isekai Story

Buried deep beneath the Cradle of Undoing, the Sepulchrium is not a resting place for the dead, but a vault for the almost. Its winding halls are lined with sarcophagi carved from grief-stone—an unyielding gray mineral that absorbs sound. Each one is sealed and untouched, yet not a single body lies within. Names are etched into their surfaces, but they flicker in and out of existence like dying thoughts, replaced by new ones every so often. Heroes, kings, monsters, children—names from every corner of Kavrix appear and vanish. Some are known; others are yet to be born. No dust gathers here, no vermin creep. It is as if the room itself refuses the idea of decay because nothing in it has finished its story. Those who linger too long often report hearing whispers—sometimes their own voice, sometimes their lover’s, saying their name like a question. It’s a place of silence heavy with the weight of futures that were narrowly missed or tragically delayed.

The Sepulchrium hums with a low, inaudible tension. Its walls are smooth and dark, lit only by narrow seams of amber light that run along the ceiling, like veins under old skin. The sarcophagi seem to breathe in shadow, their surfaces faintly steaming with memory. The air is dry, but each step leaves behind a misty footprint.