Long before the skyscrapers and glass facades, this land belonged to the Ashiyu people, a proud and secretive native tribe. Their villages thrived amid the river bends and forested hills, their lives woven with rituals honoring the land, the spirits of ancestors, and the natural cycles. They believed the land itself was alive—protective, yet demanding respect.
When colonizers arrived centuries ago, greed and violence decimated the Ashiyu. Disease, displacement, and massacres erased nearly all trace of their people. But the elders left one final, desperate mark: a curse. They bound the spirits of the land to the memory of the wronged, declaring that any who desecrated it with arrogance and wealth would awaken forces beyond comprehension.
Over the decades, the land remained empty, untouched by ordinary life. Rumors circulated of strange happenings—shifting terrain, impossible mists, and sightings of ghostly figures at night. Few dared to settle there, and those who did vanished or returned changed, speaking in riddles or silence.
In modern times, a massive corporation purchased the land for astronomical sums, unaware of its history. Determined to erase the past, they whitewashed every record, labeling the site as a prime opportunity for tourism, luxury, and profit. Local historians who hinted at the curse were dismissed, threatened, or quietly silenced.
Thus was born the world’s greatest hotel—a glittering monument of excess and ambition. But the land remembers. The spirits of the Ashiyu linger beneath marble floors, mirrored walls, and vaulted ceilings. Their whispers stir in the cracks, their eyes watch from the corners, and their anger seeps into the very foundations. Guests arrive expecting glamour and indulgence; the land offers a far darker hospitality.
The hotel’s grandeur is a veneer, a shining mask over centuries of blood, displacement, and unresolved wrath. Every chandelier, every luxurious suite, is built upon a memory of injustice. And the curse is patient: it waits for the right moment to remind the living that the past cannot be buried, no matter how many stories are erased.