We made a story!

To each of you who braved this strange and chaotic challenge: thank you. Your contributions have shaped a tale that will linger in my mind for a long time. Together, we forged a story that is not just written, but lived, etched into memory as something rare, communal and beautiful. Savor the end result, for it is a product of our shared imagination. And when February 2026 arrives, I hope we gather once more to weave another story together. Until then, carry the spark of this creation with you. I know I will!

— Imagica

The Peculiar Adventures of Ellen

In a Humble Shack, Deep in the Emerald Expanse...

... awoke The Girl. She had been dreaming: fading images still remained of exotic vistas dotted with strange edifices, entirely different from the ruined, moss-encrusted temples she passed on her hunting routes. She had been filled with a sense of urgency, as if something important awaited her, but those feelings quickly faded beneath the morning's chorus of warbling and hooting.

The Girl unburied her face from the furs and rolled on her back, breathing in the morning air. She noted a subtle, dry chill that suggested another cold front had descended from the highlands to the east. The first of the year, and very early; it would be a long winter. Sourly, she took stock of the firewood and decided it lacking. She would need to sharpen her stone wedge and set about restocking before long. First, however, the traps needed to be checked. Shivering, she quickly dressed, checked the sharpness of her aging machete, then set out, grabbing her bow and quiver from beside the entrance door.

If the local flora had detected the change, it gave no indication. The Emerald Expanse remained painted in a rich palette of fern greens, floral reds and warbler yellows, fading into a misty grey. The Girl scanned the shack's environs for any sign of danger and, satisfied, set out on the northwest path.

She felt it before she saw it. Not merely a quietness but a heaviness to the air, which dulled sound and slowed time. She drew her bow and notched an arrow, crouching as she did so. An unknown stretch of time passed. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she spotted it. Her blood tingled with electricity as a sense of awe swept over her.

She had encountered spirits before, when her wanderings diverged from the waking paths into the lost in-betweens of the world. They were generally small, shy things, semi-corporeal, flitting and floating about in their odd, amorphous or radially symmetrical shapes. The thing that strode into the nearby clearing couldn't be more different. Six-hooved and antlered, though its head was more canine than ungulate, and it possessed a long, snakelike tail.

The Girl's blood froze as the spirit faced her. Through this thing, the wind began to form words, words she understood.

Come. There is little time.

The girl knew better than to ignore such a command as she knew that spirits were never to be trifled with, nor did they ask for help unless it was of great importance, so she got closer to the spectral being and held out a hand to touch its transparent form reaching out to its inner psyche. Suddenly, the world around her vanished and, through its eyes, ventured to another place similar to the forest she lived in, only darker and filled with an eerie presence that left a chill down her spine from the silence that came with it. Only for the silence to be broken by the cold echo of the spirit being heard in all directions.

"A shift with the realm of spirits has brought danger that will soon come to your lands; soon enough if it is not stopped." The scenery began to change with breakneck speed as it went deeper into the forest's darkness, revealing a set of ruins long since forgotten in its purpose, along with those that had built it.

"One of my brothers has been taken by your kind that seeks power with its submission, but they are fools to believe they can meddle with such forces." The girl looked around the ruins to see if she could find the location of the taken spirit or of its abductor, yet she was quickly pushed back into the world by darker forces that lingered within the ruins.

"Heed well, Ellen, there is a dark power that serves the interlopers that makes it impossible for us to save them on our own; only a Spirit Walker such as yourself can banish it." This did not dissuade Ellen, for her oath to protect the land and all creatures was absolute.

The vision came to a close, drawing Ellen back into herself. Shivering, she rubbed the goosebumps from her arms. Such an ordeal was familiar, but never comfortable. While she took stock of the information given to her, she slowly moved to stretch and get herself back to physically normal lest the allies of the man who abducted the spirit come for her before she could stop them.

She called upon her Spirit Walker powers, armor of shadow covering her as her sheathed daggers on her hips flicked into a visual of negative space. She recognized the lost space within the forest by rumor, the ruins a place of an old tower of stark light and forbidden seeking of the "truth" of worlds older still. Thumbing the claw given to her by her grandmother, the last great Spirit Walker and the leader of her town, she dug her feet into the rich soil steeling herself to set off towards that ruin of light that had been reclaimed by the soothing darkness.

Her eyes rested on her mount, the mechanical panther Ferros, and she moved to check the straps and bags that carried her things and the harness upon its sturdy back. With all that set, she shuddered as she took one last glance at the spirit, knowing that this summons, this quest was not something that would bring joy to her life or the people of her humble town.

Ellen was in for a long journey.

Her mount tire far slower than any animal, but exhaust nonetheless. To get in view of the forest, she had to cross a kingdom, a warring nation that never looked kindly upon stranger, much less Spirit Walkers riding mechanical panthers. There will be little chance for a city to open their gates or a caravan to offer her company. The most she could expect, in that regards, were highwaymen and oblivious bandits.

Spending days, sometimes nights on the back of Ferros was a conducive time to reflect on her vision and her quest. Was she the only one undertaking this adventure? She hoped not, even if she was confident in her abilities, some backup is always welcomed when stakes are high. After all, she wasn't a specialist at lifting darkness engulfing towers of light, or uncovering truths older than any kingdom she could name.

On the tenth day of a mostly uneventful trip, she was nearing the border of the kingdom. Carefully avoiding densely populated areas and main roads made for a boring travel, but it was preferable to interacting with the locals. Her peaceful days would come to a close however. From her estimates, she was between two days and a week from her destination, and only a general direction. The annoying part of mysterious forests hiding antediluvian ruins is that they tend to be poorly indicated on signs.

The rider stepped down from Ferros, stretching to relieve her sore muscles. Better not to be seen from the town on a mechanical beast. She also hid anything that would reveal her as Spirit Walker, put on her hood and walked toward the small city. Find a map, some supplies, and she will be on her way without any trouble.

As Ellen made her way towards the warm orange torch lights, an uneasiness began growing inside her stomach, slowly moving upwards with each step. She fell to her knees, the disgusting, yet familiar sickness making her dizzy. She began to hear a faint whisper, a voice far away, approaching and growing into incoherent screams as the illness found its way into her mind. After a few moments, the echoing voice dulled, mumblings turned into words, then phrases, then a conversation.

“I am truly sorry, my lady. Somebody- no, something inside the town is communing with darker spirits," the voice began. Struggling, she raised back up as the pain and the sickness subsided.

"There's nothing wrong with it, is it? It may be part of the reason why I am here." She exhaled. "It's too late to turn around now, anyway." The spirit trembled inside her body, sending shivers down her spine.

"Then I shall protect you, my lady," came the reply.

"You'd better," Ellen scoffed. "We don't know what awaits us there. You should imprint yourself on my back. I don't want to puke the moment we find that Summoner."

The heaviness inside her head diminished as the presence lowered itself on her back, spreading wide and covering her. Her skin began to twitch, tens, hundreds, thousands of needles carving into her. She muffled her screams, hoping no villager would see her agonizing like this. Black spirals and shapes sprung from the skin, a spirit sigil bonding her body and her companion spirit for as long as she wanted. The whole experience lasted mere seconds, yet to her it felt like hours had passed. Regaining her composure, with the glistening tattoo now on her back, she made her way forward towards the village.

"I still don't see the need for the oversized cloak." Ellen muttered. "It drags."

"A necessity of the job, call it an occupational hazard of fashion." She felt the smugness resonate into her spine. "You are new. This will take time."

"The fashion wasn't-" she sighed "And the scythe? Occupational Hazard too? See a lot of farming, do we?"

"People have come to expect a certain level of appearance about these things." The tattoo chided. "We can't disappoint the only audience we've got."

Ellen half chuckled but it came out more as a scoff. "You make it sound like some kind of performance."

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t consider it to be one, no.”

“Well, you are new. This will take time.”

“I’m getting pretty sick of everyone telling me that.”

The scythe in her hand, which she had been using partially as a walking stick, clicked against something in the dirt. Something metallic. It was a sword.

“I don’t remember people normally burying weapons along the main road.” Ellen said. She bent down to inspect it further; it was old beyond years and chipped. Cracks in the hilt showed further damage and that was only after the moss and foliage had been removed. She picked it up, sliding the scythe into her right hand and feeling out the weight of the blade. It felt good to have one again. Like finally being whole once more. It made Ellen feel like Ellen.

“Could I take this?” She asked, then changed her mind. “Nevermind... I’m taking this.”

“It might not last in a fight.” The reply came near her ear, as if the essence of the being was looking over her shoulder at it.

“You said before that it’s about the look of the thing. Well, sometimes it’s about the feel of the thing too.”

“As you wish, My Lady.”

Ellen held the sword out, looking down the face of the weathered blade; the edges were dull and chipped. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a glint in the dirt. She stuck the sword in the ground and knelt down to pick it up, bracing herself with her scythe, her long, oversized cloak draped behind her.

"Oh, what's this?" She questioned while examining a small opal-shaped object.

It had an otherworldly, almost magical look. It somehow had the appearance of a fire opal and rainbow lattice sunstone, yet it was neither. The colors on the stone danced and sparkled at every angle. Ellen stood up, staring at the unusual stone in her hand.

"I hope this isn't cursed; I don't need more of that," the sarcasm in her voice was as caustic as acid.

"I have a feeling that was directed at me," the tattoo exclaimed.

Ellen let out a soft chuckle and went to pull the sword from the ground when she noticed an empty socket in the cross guard, adorned with prongs that resembled a dragon's claw. She held the stone up to the slot.

"Looks like it's the same size; maybe I can get it back in there," she said, jamming the stone back into the slot. "Maybe it'll make the sword all magical or something."

She pulled the sword out of the ground and held it out in front of her with one hand, staring at the stone hastily jammed into its slot.

"Well, that certainly was anticlimactic," Ellen said under her breath.

"Did you honestly think that anything would happen?"

Ellen looked down at the sword in slight disappointment. A small part of her wished that something did happen.

"No," she replied, "but could you imagine if it did?" She dropped the blade down by her side and gripped her scythe.

"I'm still going to keep it, though," she remarked, shuffling along the main road.

She glanced down at the sword, which was now vibrating softly in her hand. "Don’t tell me..." One of the hounds lunged. Without thinking, Ellen raised the sword. A wave of light crackled around the metal, and an arc of energy shot forward. The monster was blasted apart, its spectral form dissipating instantly. Ellen stood frozen.

"Huh. That changes things." She turned the sword under the twilight, a small grin forming on her lips. "Maybe this thing wasn’t as useless as I thought."

The remaining hounds growled. One of them crouched, ready to pounce. Ellen adjusted her grip on the hilt and shifted her stance slightly. "Alright… Let’s see just how far this can go."

Ellen put her hands together on the hilt of the sword and closed her eyes. Her tattoos began to glow softly with orange light and they whispered prayers in a dusty tongue. The scythe hovered where she had taken her hand off. The woman's living voice joined the whispering chant. The reaper's weapon spun over her head. A dome of golden light bloomed above, covered in patterns that matched her glowing tattoos.

The pack of trapped hounds growled in defiance as they advanced on the shining woman.

The hymn of violence grew louder and she opened blood red eyes with a shout.

"Come at me!"

She pulled her hands apart and one sword became two.

Black chipped blade in one hand, the other forged anew.

She danced through the pack dealing out death.

She felt light, laughter boomed with her breath.

As the smoke from the last hound drifted away, Ellen sank to her knees in exhaustion. Her tattoos dimmed and went silent. The scythe clattered to the ground. The shining echo blade faded, leaving behind the original chipped sword.

A great wolf stepped out of the tower and silently loped towards her. As he stepped through the shadows his form flowed into that of a leanly muscled man perfumed with musk.

"Come at me..."

His voice was a low rumble that spoke of deep, dark forests untamed long before man walked the earth. The heavy musk of the wilds, tinged with a dangerous, metallic scent, swept over her like a wave. His eyes, a deep, unsettling amber, sent shivers through her.

He didn't move, yet every muscle in his lean frame seemed poised, a predator at the clearing’s edge. It was a stillness that spoke of barely contained power, a quiet, whispering menace that made the hairs on Ellen's arms stand on end.

Kneeling on the rough, uneven ground, she felt the cold earth seeping into her knees as the last, smoky wisps of power left her. Her breath hitched in ragged gasps, each one a burning struggle. Her fingers tried to tighten around the chipped, black sword, but her grip was weak, her muscles trembling, refusing to obey. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind knew no such luxury. Ellen glanced at her reaper’s scythe, its power spent for now.

“Mine too,” she thought, her jaw clenching.

He watched her, amber eyes gleaming, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“Broken, but not defeated,” he thought, as she struggled to rise. "You wield power, Ellen," he purred, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of something else. "Power untamed is a dangerous thing. Show me what you are capable of. Not just the strength to kill," he paused, his gaze lingering, burning into her, savoring the flicker of unease in her eyes, "but the strength to endure… and perhaps," he added, a mischievous glint in his amber eyes, "...the strength to surrender."

He extended a hand, palm open, the gesture less an invitation, more a dare… a dare to yield, to fight, to trust, a dare she wasn't sure she could survive.

With all her strength, she pulled herself up on the scythe. Every inch cost her more strength, but she didn't want to make it that easy for him. When she was finally standing, she looked deep into his amber eyes and tried to look directly into his dark soul. She wanted to buy time. Time that she needed to weigh up whether she should trust him. Time that she needed to gather the last sparks of all her power. Then she saw it, deep inside him.

His soul was not dark. It was hurt and torn by hellish torment. She saw a house, laughing children romping in the grass and a woman waving to Ellen. But suddenly the world darkened and she heard screams and blood dripping from the walls of the house. The soul of the amber-eyed man whimpered, but Ellen knew she could give what his soul wanted: salvation and inner peace. She closed her eyes and reached out with all her remaining strength to extinguish the fire in the amber eyes forever.

A powerful blow hit Ellen and hurled her onto the cold forest floor. Her scythe of the Grim Reaper, which acted as a protective shield to ward off the spirits of the forest, had slipped out of her hands in the impact and was now too far away for her to reach. She tried to get up, but suddenly roots grew out of the earth and grabbed her like a fly in a spider's web.

"I thought you wouldn't give up, little one!" Ellen heard the untamed and ancient voice, which was getting closer and closer and dripping with scorn. The amber eyes fixed on her and his face twisted into a mischievous grin.

"The scythe!" flashed through Ellen’s mind.

Desperately, she summoned whatever energy she had left and focused on the distant glimmer of its blade. With a surge of determination, she whispered an ancient incantation, hoping to summon her weapon back to her side. With every ounce of strength, she struggled against the grasping roots, knowing her only chance of survival lay in reclaiming her weapon. As the figure loomed nearer, the air thickened with an eerie sense of dread, and Ellen could feel the weight of the forest's magic pressing down on her.

At that moment, the scythe began to sway. It was imperceptible at first. But its movements gradually intensified until it trembled vigorously, the blade emitting a low, menacing hum as it rattled. With one final, powerful jolt, it soared inches above the ground, landing perfectly in Ellen's outstretched hands.

Without a hint of hesitation, she severed herself from the entangling roots and stood her ground against the shadowy figure, hoping to both subdue and help him. As they locked eyes with each other, the figure's features became clearer, revealing a face twisted with pain and fear, begging to be put out of its misery. Ellen felt an unexpected surge of determination; she was not just fighting for herself but for the lost soul trapped in the darkness.

Leaning on her scythe, Ellen shakily raised a hand towards the figure, palm facing out; a sign of peace.

"I can help you," she reassured. The figure recoiled, as if the words struck a chord deep within its tormented spirit. He stared at the woman, his amber eyes periodically twitching. With great difficulty, Ellen staggered closer. As the distance between them closed, she could almost feel the sorrow radiating from him, a silent echo of shared pain in the twilight.

"You miss your family, don't you?"

The voice that answered was stolen from a warm autumn night from years ago. It was low and sweet, and drew Ellen towards a bonfire under a harvest moon. She leaned into her lover and listened to the voice repeat her own words back to her.

"You miss your family, don't you?"

She didn't though. She could see her parents sharing a hot mug of something, while her brothers played with the other children. Tonight, she would walk home with them after the festival, and in the morning see them again.

"It's nice to see them this way. This isn't how I see my family when I close my eyes."

Something was wrong. Ellen tried to turn to look at the person she was leaning on, and they held her tighter. She couldn't see their face, and their name... what was their name? Every bone in her body knew that voice, trusted it, but why couldn't she think of their name?

"My family's always with me, but not like this. Not happy. Not peaceful. I see them all the time, and I can't bear it any more. I miss living. I want to live again, and not exist with one foot, one eye, one ear in perdition."

Ellen blinked at their words, and a bit of her training returned. This wasn't real. He had slipped into her mind, and she needed to break free.

"I think you are going to help me live again, Ellen."

Help him live again?

The final words of the man- who she now realized was a stranger, born from her dream- shook Ellen to her core. The festival’s music had vanished, and the bitter memories of her family had faded. Only that damned sentence remained.

This was bad...

This was really bad.

Her training had failed her as the world around her crumbled. Bricks of reality tumbled from the walls of context, revealing, piece by piece, a war-torn wasteland.

"Help me live again, Ellen!"

The stranger was her battle companion. His wounds were severe; he needed urgent care. Frantically, Ellen tore strips from her tattered uniform, fashioning makeshift bandages. As she struggled to wrap them around the soldier’s wounds, his face began to change. It morphed with slimy noises into something eerily familiar. Slowly, he turned toward her and began to mumble. At first, the words were inaudible.

Then they grew louder.

"Wake up, Ellen."

She frowned, confused. "Stop talking, you’re losing a lot of blood, buddy." But he didn’t stop. And he wasn’t alone.

As she turned, horror seized her. Fallen soldiers surrounded her, their mouths moving in unison, chanting those dreadful words. Behind them, a tower burned.

Was that the Tower of Yerçun?

But the tower had fallen, destroyed by the…

Cold realization gripped her. This wasn’t a dream. This was a memory. But it was not hers.

She had to wake up. The Blight Bomb was about to detonate. She needed to focus, remember her training, but the pleading corpses clawed at her mind.

Breathe.

“Wake up, Ellen."

Think of what you hold dear.

“Wake up, Ellen.”

Picture a better place.

“Wake up, Ellen!”

"Menijerakargaröt!"

She finally remembered the incantation to break free. But was she fast enough?

The sky turned a sickening green.

Dreadfully, Ellen closed her eyes.

A hand gripped her shoulder and jolted Ellen awake. At the same time, a cloud of dirt and gravel burst over her front and into her mouth.

“Eccch … accch … kaff kaff kaff,” Ellen instinctively dived away from the explosion and collided with a man’s knee.

“Oof. Ah… Are you okay…” he said. More than a little dazed, Ellen could barely stand the sun rays dappling through all the dust. She continued to choke and could just squint out the other bodies through the grey haze. Turning, she finally noticed the rumbling echoes of a collapsed opening not far from her. The sight made her inhale sharply and then double over in another coughing fit. Anger and grief came later; and after several sobs passed her knees, she rose.

By then, the air had cleared, and Ellen saw she was standing in an arid plateau with similarly dry hills in the distance. She kept staring at the pile of rubble in contemplative silence until a brusque hand, again, pulled her from herself. She knew he was talking to her- probably something important- but Ellen could not respond. Plenty of faces crossed her vision; each looking increasingly concerned. A weight tugged at her arm as she was led away through the sand, then the grass and then a hard floor. Finally, Ellen was eased onto a soft bed and laid with a cozy blanket.

Left to her lonesome, Ellen could do nothing but wallow and commiserate.

Just her and her fluffy.

In the corner of the room, there was a small coffee table with a kettle and some mugs. Ellen dragged herself from the bed and made some tea. It was the only thing she could do after all she had witnessed. But even the tea wasn’t comforting enough. It was very bitter and she tasted some dust.

Ellen coughed and put the tea back down. It was no longer green. It had become grey from the dust. She looked around for any cupboards, but there was nothing except the table. She would have to go back outside to search for water. If the pipes hadn’t been destroyed.

“You are too weak to be standing. Have some rest.”

A woman with slightly puffy eyes stood by the door.

Ellen jolted, but couldn’t respond. She simply made her way back to the bed and held her fluffy close to her chest. How could she rest when everything around her was reduced to rubble? The room seemed to be the only thing still standing.

The woman gestured towards the tea table. “Drink. It will get cold otherwise.”

“Where… where am I?”

“A safe house. There are others here like you.”

Ellen’s eyes widened and she turned in the woman’s direction. “Others are here?”

“Yes. But for now, please drink. You’ll need your strength for later”

“The tea is bitter.”

“It’s the only thing we have.” The woman sighed. “All the pipes are destroyed and we don’t have any bottles.”

Ellen’s shoulders dropped and she eventually took the tea. She sat on her bed and drank it in small sips. She grimaced. Now it was cold and bitter.

She pulled her fluffy close to her chest, whispering into its soft fur.

"We're still hiding, fluffy... Even if I don't know where I am..."

The tea in her hands had long gone cold, but she barely noticed. The woman at the door was staring past her now, listening. The silence had deepened, the room's atmosphere thick like molasses, dust swirling slowly through it.

Passing tremors shook the ground again, and the dusty tea rippled. Then, a shake like someone heavy stepping too hard, and the tea rippled again.

Another.

And another.

Ellen squeezed her eyes shut. “The Seeker is coming!”

The dust in the air froze, caught mid-drift. The ripples in the liquid paused.

And then the shelter wall exploded.

The door blasted off its hinges, firing forward into the room with the force of a cannon blast. It should have slammed against the wall. It should have shattered into splinters. But instead it stopped, hanging in midair. Every piece of wood, every shard, every swirling speck of dust, it was all caught in the frozen moment.

Unfurling, no longer a simple stuffed animal, but something sharp and fierce, Ellen’s fluffy became a living being- a guardian with sleek fur and claws that gleamed like polished onyx. It uncurled from her arms and stood on her lap. A low growl echoed from its chest. The Seeker stood motionless, watching. Then it spoke, its voice not a sound but a presence, pressing into the bones of the room itself.

“Found you.”

The Seeker lunged, its shadow tearing across the room like a storm of blades. Ferros struck first, no longer a soft comfort but but a blur of polished darkness and fury, his claws catching the light like shards of a shattered moon. They collided, shadow against shadow, but Ellen knew... this was no enemy of flesh.

The Seeker was not some ancient entity hunting her through broken worlds. It was the voice she could not silence. The memories she could not bury. The face that haunted her when she closed her eyes.

It was every moment of terror she had endured.

Every loss.

Every scream that echoed in empty battlefields and dusty ruins.

She saw the Seeker not as a monster, but as a shape crafted by fear, given strength by her silence.

It would never stop. Not until she faced it.

Ellen stood, heart hammering, but her feet were steady. She didn’t raise her fists. She didn’t run. She stepped forward.

The Seeker struck. But when her hand reached into the darkness, it wasn’t met with pain. Her fingers slipped through shadow, and the Seeker faltered. It recoiled, not from force but from understanding. The darkness crumbled, fragment by fragment, falling like ash beneath her gaze. No scream. No final cry. Just a silence as profound as it was final.

Ferros landed beside her, his shadow-form already fading. The world broke with him. The ruin fell away, the shattered shelter dissolving into mist. Cold gave way to warmth.

And then, she was home.

The morning light streamed through cracked windows, gentle and forgiving. Ferros lay still, just a stuffed memento from a life she had fought to keep. A relic of the battlefield. Proof that she had survived. She pressed her face into his fur, her chest shuddering with the weight of what was gone and what remained.

"I’m here," she whispered. "I made it."

And for the first time in years, she believed it.