Spellbinding
The Wizards Are Coming
Ister never took a form of its own.
It found shapes already made.
It manifests in reflections, symbols, shadows, and the soft places inside of the mind.
Wherever meaning weakened, Ister settled in. Its presence gathers like fog.
Warm enough to soothe, quiet enough to trust, deep enough to drown in slowly. People who fall under Ister’s gaze do not know they’ve surrendered.
Drifting, day by day, giving away their fire, their feeling.
They forget the melody inside themselves and follow the wave Ister offers instead. To Ister, every wandering soul is already his, it's just property returning home.
This is the force the Imaji have chosen to confront.
The Neon Doorway phases open and LeVita7e offers half of his remaining life to cross into the next realm.
He enters worlds where Ister’s mist has settled thick around the people.
Whole civilizations zombified, alive in action yet empty in spirit.
Eyes unfocused.
Hearts dimmed.
Dreams replaced by drifting thoughts shaped by Ister’s quiet influence.
Steve Merlin walks beside him.
His pen is creation’s oldest instrument, bending reality through written rhythm.
A single verse can carve a path, twist the air, or shatter illusion.
But every spell takes a memory as payment.
Names disappear.
Faces dissolve.
Moments that once shaped him fall into the mist as if they never happened.
Still, he writes, because the Levils will not open without sacrifice. Each Lévìl is carved around a different illusion Ister planted ages ago:
Illusions of comfort
Illusions of beauty
Illusions of routine
Illusions of desire
Illusions that keep beings from seeing the truth of their own power. The overseers defend these illusions fiercely.
Screaming, Ister is stability.
Ister keeps the people docile.
Ister keeps the realms quiet, so any traveler who disrupts the mist is called a threat.
A heretic.
A Demon.
An Imaji.
A wizard whose presence stirs the senses Ister works to keep asleep. This is why the citizens fear Imaji. In a world smothered in mist, truth-seekers become threats.
Across the Levils lie the forgotten tools of creation,
the Garments of Power, relics made and left behind by woven wizards of the first frequencies of existence.
Cloaks of light.
Veils of memory. Garments that can return split souls and memories, the penalties of the Imaji's power.
If they're found in time.
When a Garment and its ARcana align, the air quivers, and the relic stirs with the power it once carried before the mist swallowed the realms.
They choose the minds strong enough to share the resonance of the creators, and the hearts brave enough to face what Ister hides.
LeVita7e and Merlin walk through the Levils like storms shaking them awake.
Their arrival disrupts the field Ister depends on, cracking the spell that keeps whole civilizations drifting in half-lives.
Overseers feel the shift immediately.
To them, Imaji look like the first tremor of collapse, a threat to the quiet they have worshiped for generations. Yet beneath the fog, something different stirs.
In the people beginning to wake, the presence of Imaji feels like a memory returning from beneath centuries of silence.
A pulse they had forgotten.
A truth they once carried.
A name they somehow already knew. In forms they didnt expect.
Stories move up and down through the Levils long before the Neon Doorway ever opens.
Whispers pass between shadows, across temples, within markets, and through dreams.
Voices tremble.
Some speak the words without knowing why, guided by instinct.. and as the mist begins to thin around them, the same message echo's through the 12 realms:
The Wizards Are Coming.
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