Ah, you’ve returned. Or maybe you’ve never left.
It’s hard to tell, in places like these.

Let me speak plainly—this story is no longer about heroes.
There are no roads, no warm taverns, no festivals waiting to be rebuilt.
Here, in this forgotten wound of the world, we follow a man with no name. No face.
Not even a dream to call his own.

They say nightmares are just thoughts that went too deep.
But what happens when they stay?
When they linger in the walls, in the air, in the sterile scent of bleach and cold?

Welcome to Pavor Nocturnus.
The worst place in the Divide.
A place where memories collapse like broken puppets.
Where hospitals never discharged you.
And the only thing still alive… is the ache.

This is not a happy story.
This is a sickness in the shape of a world.
And you, dear reader… you’ve chosen to remember it.