Near the Edge of Space, where reality grew thin and uncertain, where the Star Seas met the infinite nothing that existed beyond existence itself, there lay secrets that most beings would never discover.
The Butchering Grounds spread below like a canvas of endless conflict, but above them, veiled in folds of space that normal perception couldn't penetrate, an isolated pocket dimension hung like a hidden spider in its web.
The domain within stretched a single light-year wide…modest by cosmic standards, yet containing more concentrated power than most solar systems.
It pulsed with authorities that shouldn't coexist: gold that sang of ancient victories, purple that whispered of stories being written, and pink that hummed with narratives yet to be born.
All of it thrummed with narrative force, the very air…if it could be called air, thick with the power to reshape reality through story alone.
