1. When Darkness Unhinges You.

Each person lives in the place they can imagine.

Morgana

There were days when the shadow lounged patiently over a crumbling world.

Morgana dwelt in an underground hideaway, disguised as an abandoned apartment in a sector where industry had died along with the people who once populated it.
Officially, Morgana did not exist. She was a void in the narrowing fabric of reality. A presence that fed on light carved from the silence of centuries.

One evening, in an underground canteen where information was bartered for ration coupons like in ancient slave markets, two men entered. They were not simple customers. They wore civilian clothes, but their gestures betrayed training from secret military academies. One showed the bartender an identification photo. Even from a distance, Morgana recognized one of her former faces, which she believed she had buried in the tomb of dead identities.

Morgana had a single purpose. To survive.

Her peace had been shattered. The Order she had once been part of and had abandoned had found her.

The flight was instinctive. What followed was an episode where she was captured. That memory remained her greatest nightmare, for it was not a dream. It was a recording from the Central Unit called "The White Room," a laboratory for the wandering of the soul.

There she found a note. "You are the only living person."

She knew, on an instinctive level beyond reason, that it was not true. It was a trap, a challenge to her mental balance, an initiatory test meant to crush her will. But each time, a part of her had to verify it, like a pilgrim determined to reach the last temple raised in the shadow of the world's end.

She wandered days, weeks, months, without meeting anyone else. In the end, she collapsed, and in that moment of surrender, as she melted slowly, she found the exit. It was a lesson about death and rebirth, about how only by fighting can one find salvation.

The next morning, Morgana felt the burn on her ankle. A red mark, incandescent, pulsing in the shape of a broken spiral. The Mark of the Lost, a symbol that should never have returned. The spiral was the path to the center, but being broken, it symbolized the road to something else.

On that morning, Morgana transformed.

At the edge of Quarantine Zone 7, the Sign appeared.

Morgana was guided toward the signal. She headed to an industrial sector known on old maps as "The Sleeping Colossus." It was a network of abandoned factories and warehouses, now a labyrinth of rusted metal, a temple of industrial decay.

Three hundred meters away, in a square surrounded by the skeletons of cranes like giant crucifixes, a survival ritual was unfolding.

Four armed people with metal pipes and crowbars had formed a defensive circle. They were surrounded by seven mutants, beings that had once been human until chemical waste and the devouring disease had transformed them into something belonging to the world beyond. They had asymmetrical limbs and skin that seemed perpetually wet with putrefaction secretions. They moved in spasmodic leaps, driven by a blind hunger, a demonic instinct to destroy anything still human.

The four fought with the desperation of those on the threshold between life and death. One of them, a tall man, was grabbed by a mutant and thrown to the ground. Morgana did not hesitate.

The mutants did not see her coming. She was a shadow among shadows. The first mutant collapsed with a short sound, a thin white blade emerging from its nape like the tongue of an invisible snake. Another stopped abruptly, staring blankly as Morgana crushed its trachea with an invisible force. She moved among them like a dancer of divinity, each motion a choreography of death. Every strike was precise, lethal. In less than a minute, all seven mutants lay motionless.

The four survivors gazed at her in astonishment, a mix of fear and admiration, as if beholding a warrior goddess from ancient legends.

Morgana withdrew her blade, forged from esoteric metals that existed only as long as it was invoked through her will.

During the fight, the fabric of her pants had caught and torn at the ankle. Now, the mark of the broken spiral was visible, pulsing with a faint reddish light.

The woman in the group, with an injured arm, was the first to notice.

“The Mark,” she whispered. “You’re one of us. You’re a Lost One.”

Morgana did not respond, but her gaze tacitly confirmed it.

If you’ve forgotten your name or see a shadow in the room, close this page now. Morgana is not a simple character. She lives in the space between words, and each time you understand her motivations, you could become a potential ingredient in her magic. Search for your name in old notes, in the journal you lost. If you find it written in ink you don’t recognize, it’s already too late. Morgana knows who you are. And now, she’s searching for you.

Search for your name. Then search for the exit. They are the first steps to becoming an urban legend yourself.

One of the men approached.

"How did you get here? This is a restricted area. And even if it were open, not everyone would have the courage to wander around here."

"Does it look like I'm out for a stroll?" Morgana replied.

"I'm sorry," the man added quickly. "Who sent you? Was it Dirk, the great initiate?"

"I don't know any Dirk," Morgana said.

"Essie, the leader from the Refuge, will be thrilled to thank you personally," the man added.

They led her through a maze of alleys and underground passages until they reached the entrance of an abandoned subway station, hidden behind a pile of old scrap metal.

The main platform was lit by bulbs powered by a generator that showed signs of wear. A fragile but lively community survived in this concrete settlement. A few people tended small hydroponic gardens, while children played or drew with charcoal on the cracked tile walls.

It was a "Refuge."
In the past, when these abandoned underground networks were still under authority control, refugees had gathered in these last remaining places.

There were dead ends, shelters, empty rooms, abandoned sheds, and disused aqueducts. Passages or secret locations unknown even to those who lived here.

Homeless people decided to live underground, venturing into the darkness only for a bit of fresh air.

A bed and table stuck to the wall, a few essential items on the floor, photos taped to the walls, a single bulb—it was a last attempt to establish a home.

Morgana was led to the end of the station, into a control car, which turned into an office. There, on an old chair, sat a woman around 50 years old. Her hair was completely white, and on the left side of her face, she had a fan of fine scars. It was Essie Hanksa, the leader of the Lost Ones. She looked up, and her faded blue eyes studied Morgana with obvious curiosity.

"Your mark burns brighter than any I've seen. Welcome home, sister."

"I don't have a home," Hekate replied.

"Yes, you do. Anyone who carries this burden finds a home here," Essie replied, pointing to her own temple, where the same broken spiral was visible under the skin. "We are the ones who were pushed to the edge of the abyss and refused to fall. The ones who saw what's beyond and came back. That's why they hunt us."

"Who hunts us?" Morgana asked, though she already knew part of the answer.

"They have many names, but we call them 'the Retrievers.' A faction obsessed with 'perfection.' They think we're errors, defects that need to be fixed or eliminated. Their envoy, the one with the hammer, is also called 'the Fixer.' He's the most well-known. Just one of many. Now they've become bolder than ever."

"I didn't come here for a family reunion game. I think you know what's going to happen. So, if you can't really stand against these things, head east and leave all this behind."

"We're not leaving here. Ever," Essie said. "Until today, the gods haven't entered this area. The Lost Ones, those who wanted to find freedom, have been waiting all along. And now you're here."

"I'm not a god."

"We have a defense system set up here, and another one to the west. I know it's not enough. Those who want to help are welcome, of course, and we have a duty to show them a way."

"You're really that crazy. That's because you don't realize the real dangers."

"Like you, I've been defeated too many times. Fate knocked me down for the last time when my family died. I found a place to protect me. A place that's far from peaceful. For now, we're invisible to most eyes. We're not real soldiers. Most of us never were. What matters is what we'll do from now on."

Essie leaned forward.

"We have a problem, Morgana. The Retrievers have captured one of ours. Kael. He's our cartographer, the only one who knows the locations of the other refuges. They'll destroy him, piece by piece, until he gives up all our secrets. My people are good fighters, but you're something else. Help us get him back. Do it for us."

"I never fix serious errors," Morgana replied coldly.
Essie smiled sadly, understanding. She didn't feel offended. She reached out and picked up a small object from the table. It was an old military-style data card.

"I know who you are. Or rather, what you were. I know about the Order and its programs. I got this a long time ago, at a price you can't imagine. It's a map. Incomplete, but accurate. It contains the coordinates of three secret facilities of the Order. One of them, we suspect, is the main unit. The one they called 'the White Room.'

Morgana's eyes narrowed. For a second, the nightmare invaded her.

Essie was offering her not just information, but access to her revenge.

"I want Kael back. Alive," Essie continued. "Do this, and the card is yours."

Morgana looked at the card, then at Essie. For the first time since she escaped, her path wasn't just a random journey through the darkness.

Now she had a destination. A way to settle an old debt.

"You know I could take this card without your permission?"

"Yes, I know. But I also know you won't. You're convinced I can offer you much more."

"Tell me everything you know about the place where they're holding him."

"You'll find him in the city of Cirtha. Until you go there, I invite you to dinner," said Essie.