The Anchor was not a place one stumbled upon.
It stood upon the last sane cliff before the land tore itself open into the shimmering chaos of the Endless Expanse. White spires jutted from obsidian foundations, each crowned with crystal arrays that beat with slow, heartbeat light.
Winds rolled in from the magical wasteland beyond, carrying whispers that no one dared translate.
To the west, leagues of barren land kept it hidden from wandering eyes. No merchant caravan traveled so far, no army marched here. The Anchor was the Aurelion Spire — fortress, city, and prison for powers too dangerous to be left wandering the world.
It was here that the League of Obscura gathered.
Every member knew the stories — most did not speak them aloud. Four hundred twenty-seven years ago, the Architect of the End, Vaelith, had walked out of the Hollow Strait and into history.
