redjinald-daan

[redjinald-daan]

The Eternal Termina (Fanwork)

📓 Karine’s Diary. Entry 6

Topic: Smiles, masks, and too many coincidences

Saying that this city plays games with me is an understatement. Every day, it whispers the same question: “What if it’s all real?” And every day I answer myself: “No. It’s just theater. A cultural performance. Local myth.”

But more and more, I feel like the only one lying to me is… me.

⸻

Today I met with Marin again. She suggested we walk through the northern district — shops, theaters, markets. I just wanted something normal. People, storefronts, streets. No groves, no priests, no crowned cockroaches. Just a street.

We walked along cobblestones past mask shops, storefronts with moving dolls, and walls covered in anonymous poetry. And it was all… too beautiful. Too synchronized.

— “You still don’t believe, do you?” Marin asked, stopping in front of a window where a plush Pocketcat sat at a tiny table, like it was hosting guests.

— “I believe in set design,” I replied. “I believe you all have excellent taste and a flair for drama. But this isn’t magic. It’s aesthetics.”

— “Then explain why no one ages in the northern quarter.”

— “Good medicine and skincare routines, probably.”

— “Why are children born with masks?”

— “You’re exaggerating.”

— “Am I? Or are you just denying?”

I fell silent. Denial… seems to be my survival mechanism lately.

⸻

We kept walking. On Termina Square, I saw a man in white. He just stood there, arms outstretched, whispering. I came closer — he was speaking in a language I didn’t know. It sounded like clicking beetles. I tensed up.

— “An actor?” I asked Marin. She shook her head. — “One of those who hears the city’s song. There aren’t many. Sometimes they come here when they feel… a wave.”

— “You seriously think the city sings?”

— “No. I think it breathes. And we’re part of its breath.”

I scoffed. — “Don’t you think you’re all just too invested in mythology? This is a cultural construct. Have you read Bakhtin?”

— “Do you really want to live in a world where everything is explained?”

— “I want to live in a world where I know what’s real.”

— “Sometimes, explanations are the worst kind of lies,” she said softly. “Because they sound so convincing.”

⸻

We reached the fountain on Silver Square. Sitting there were two people: an old woman with translucent skin, and a girl with no eyes — just dark hollows. They were feeding pigeons. I turned away.

— “Why haven’t you left this place?” I asked.

Marin smirked.

— “Why are you still here?”

— “I…” I hesitated. “Because I’m curious. Because I want to understand.”

— “Understanding doesn’t always come from words. Sometimes you have to live it. Or feel it.”

I felt exhausted.

⸻

📌 Notes to self: • Talk to Eolit again. She’s definitely hiding something. • Termina Square — too many coincidences. • Who are the “those who heard”? Why do they speak that strange language? • If this is all a play — where’s the backstage? • I need to leave. Or at least find out if there’s a train station.

⸻

I don’t believe in magic. But the city keeps whispering: “You will. Once it’s already too late.

[redjinald-daan]

The Eternal Termina

📖 Journal Entry 5: The Southern Quarter – Order and Fear

I decided to explore the southern quarter today. Nadzura came with me — she said it was better not to go there alone. I didn’t argue.

The air changed the moment we crossed the plaza. The streets were straighter here, cleaner — unnaturally so. People walked quickly, avoided eye contact. Even the air felt… sterile. Too sterile.

The Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun patrols every street. Men in long black coats and iron badges. I thought they were actors at first. But their eyes said otherwise. Cold. Measuring. Watching.

We passed the headquarters, a brutalist stone building, and then the Black Limit — a massive mausoleum structure. Nadzura lowered her voice when she said its name. There are rumors that something ancient sleeps there. That Lady Luna lost the keys, but still pretends to be in control.

Her estate is nearby. Gated, overgrown, guarded. We didn’t go closer.

We moved through the slums — places where people whispered. The Goldslashers, Nadzura told me, rule here. Led by a man named Karl Vareeza — rough, violent, but protective of the people against the Brotherhood.

She took me down a narrow street called The Alley of No Sound. A painted sign read: “Silence is obedience.” No one spoke. Even the birds were quiet.

This place isn’t just about order. It’s about fear. Fear dressed as structure. Worship of silence.

I asked Nadzura if the people here believe in Lady Luna.

She paused.

“They have to.”

That was all she said.

[redjinald-daan]

The Eternal Termina

🗒️ Karine’s Diary – Entry 4 Topic: The city’s districts, patron powers, and a strange kind of “government”

Saying today was intense would be an understatement. If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be sitting in an ancient library in a city that doesn’t exist on any map, talking to a woman who calls herself a “keeper of dream archives” — I’d have told them to book a psychiatric appointment.

But here I am. Sitting on a hard wooden chair in the library of Pricheivel. In front of me is Eolit — tall, lean, with silvered hair slicked back, dressed in a modest yet immaculate robe stitched with the symbol of an eye. Calm, as if she owns the entire theater of this place.

⸻

“You want to understand how the city works?” she asked, without even introducing herself.

“I’d prefer to hear about actual structures: mayor’s office, police, council, something like that,” I replied, pulling out my notebook. “Aren’t you a librarian?”

She smiled faintly, as if I’d just called the moon a streetlight.

“I’m a Keeper of Knowledge. And we live under different laws here. Pricheivel is not governed by humans. It is governed… by forces.”

“You mean religion?”

“I mean reality,” she said quietly. “Each district has a patron. A magical will. This isn’t authority as you know it — it’s presence.”

⸻

I rolled my eyes — my default response to this kind of answer. But I kept writing. Even if this is just local mythology, it’s well-constructed.

⸻

🧭 Here’s what Eolit told me about the city’s districts:

⸻

🧊 North — Domain of Pocketcat

“The north belongs to Pocketcat. His palace, the beastfolk communities, merchant houses, and the ‘Lost Heaven’ bar. Here, everything is theater — masks, music, performance. He doesn’t rule directly — he influences style. Everything here is ironic, ambiguous… alluring.”

“And you call that ‘power’?”

“When he walks down the street — merchants freeze. It’s not an order. It’s… a shadow.”

⸻

🌳 East — Lands of Vinushka

“Forests, groves, the Wooded Quarter, Maiden’s Forest, the White Grove. Here rules Vinushka, goddess of nature. Her servants — druids, herbalists, those who speak with roots. Wild, but not cruel. People here grow like plants — freely, chaotically.”

“You speak as if the city is a temple.”

“It is a temple.”

⸻

🌕 South — Domain of the Moon

“The south belongs to Lady Luna. There’s the Black Limit, her manor, archives, laboratories, military headquarters, and… the Brotherhood of the Midnight Sun.”

“Nazi police, right?” I cut in.

“They call themselves gendarmerie. But yes, they’re remnants of an old world. Sharp as razors.”

“And Lady Luna protects them?”

“She protects reason. She rules those who believe in order.”

⸻

🌉 West — The Waterbound Edge

“The river flows there. Fisherfolk homes, the island of D’Abell, druids, overgrown bridges. This place lives beyond logic. There’s little power, but much memory. It flows, like the water.”

“And who’s the patron there?”

“The city itself.”

⸻

🕍 Center — The Core of the City

“This is where Rher’s cathedral stands, along with the academy, the library, the museum, and Silver Square. All paths converge here.”

“Symbolism?”

“Here rules the will of Rher, if you like. Or, more simply — truth itself. All that’s hidden… rises to the surface here.”

⸻

I closed my notebook and pretended to think. In reality, I was trying to decide whether to laugh or not. It all sounded like a metaphor for political science, played out on a theater stage.

“You seriously believe that people obey not laws, but… the will of patrons?”

“And don’t you obey your laws?” Eolit asked. “Don’t you bow to money, algorithms, and the voices on your screens? Worship is just a form of structure.”

I had no words.

Marin, who had been silently watching, nodded and smiled.

“We don’t expect you to understand right away. You have to feel Pricheivel.”

So here I am, trying to feel it. I still think this is all some kind of cultural theater, a ritual shaped into a city. But… I sense there is something underneath. Or someone.

⸻

📌 Note to self: — Find the “Black Limit” — Figure out who the “High Servants” are — Discover why librarians here talk like prophets

[redjinald-daan]

🗒 Karine’s Journal — Entry 3: The Silver Square

“This city doesn’t scare me,” I told myself this morning. “It’s just a tourist performance.”

Today, I decided to leave the hotel and walk through the central districts — Nadzura told me that’s where “the rhythm of the city is strongest.” Rhythm. She said it like the city was a living thing.

I passed through a crooked intersection where a cat with a human face was lounging on the roof of an old post office, then took a narrow stairway and found myself in the Silver Square.

The Silver Square.

It’s the heart of Preyheivel. Everything shimmers — as if gemstones are embedded into the paving stones, and the whole place is made from cold, silver-toned granite. People speak strangely here. Not loudly — but rehearsed. Their movements feel choreographed, like they’re actors in a silent play.

A woman in a red dress whispered something to her umbrella. A man with empty eyes played a violin, though his fingers never touched the strings. A boy — wearing a mask on the back of his head — welcomed me, but vanished the second I turned to him.

Then I saw it. The Cathedral.

The Cathedral of Rher.

A colossal structure, as if grown from the stone itself. Its stained-glass windows showed scenes I couldn’t make sense of: A man carrying his own skull. A tree feeding on crying people. A moon reflected in the eye of a beast.

My chest tightened. The crowd around me slowed — or maybe I did. The faces felt… not right. Like masks sliding just a little off.

I couldn’t breathe.

Panic. My body stopped obeying me.

Then someone grabbed my hand. I tried to pull away — but instead of cold fingers, I felt a warm, careful touch.

“You shouldn’t stand here alone,” a girl said. “The center can be… too loud.”

It was Marin. Her voice was calm, soft — untouched by fear. She led me through narrow side streets — between publishing houses and old faculty walls — until we arrived at the library.

It smelled like old paper, honey… and lavender?

Inside, Marin introduced me to a woman with golden hair and a long, navy-blue robe.

“This is Eolit,” she said. “She’ll answer your questions.”

I looked into her eyes, and they held something ancient.

“I’m not really looking for answers,” I tried to joke.

“Then,” Eolit replied, “you’re in the right place.”

⸻

It feels like the city is playing with me. And I’m starting to think… this isn’t just a performance. Or maybe… I’m becoming part of it.

[redjinald-daan]

Page 2 — “I Actually Found It”

I don’t know how else to describe it—except as an illogical chain of events.

After two days wandering through forests that seemed to rewrite themselves, I stumbled upon a half-ruined stone archway. No name engraved on it—just strange symbols, carved deeply into the rock, symbols that somehow made my fingers go cold, as if they remembered something my brain didn’t.

No GPS. No map. Phone dead. Compass spinning like it was dancing in some old Slavic ritual.

And then I saw her.

Tall, with lavender hair and eyes the color of early morning mist. She stood there as if she’d been waiting. She introduced herself as Nadzura. Her German was clear, though tinged with an accent I couldn’t place. She called me by name—though I’m sure I never told her.

She said:

“You come from a world where light is too direct. Here, you’ll learn to see through fog.”

Naturally, I assumed it was a performance. A clever piece of immersive tourism. Maybe an art installation? A secret festival?

Nadzura gave me a tour of the town—narrow cobbled streets like something from a faded photograph. She pointed out buildings and spoke of them as though they were alive:

“This is the library where forgotten things sleep,” “Over there is the café where cats argue with bartenders.”

I’m almost sure she was joking. Almost.

Eventually, she brought me to a small inn at the junction of two winding alleys—a stone building overgrown with ivy. The innkeeper, a woman with swamp-bird eyes, handed me a key without asking a single question and said:

“You’ve come to find what cannot be found.”

The eternal Termina

I smiled. Of course. Atmosphere, myth, immersion—classic tourist theatrics. I’ve seen similar shows in Berlin and Tallinn. This must be one of those. Right?

But why have my dreams since that night smelled like wax? And why, as I write this, is there a moth with human eyes perched on my windowsill?

This is Karina Lukashova. And I’m still trying to debunk the myth of the city that doesn’t exist. Though I’ve already written it into my journal.

[redjinald-daan]

The Eternal Termina

Hello! I make this Fanworld as that I like F&H setting and I want counting this project how journal

Karina’s Journal – Entry #1

Today I received an anonymous request: to debunk the so-called “myth of the city that doesn’t exist on any map.”

According to internet forums and old rumors, this “city” is supposedly hidden somewhere in Bohemia, surrounded by an impassable fir forest, swamps, and trails that allegedly “change every week.” Classic creepypasta bait.

Digging deeper led me to some bizarre reports: patients from Prague’s psychiatric clinics mention seeing this city in their dreams, and some psychiatrists claim the symptoms are consistent across individuals. That’s more interesting — though still likely a case of mass suggestibility.

Naturally, it doesn’t appear on any maps. Which means, of course, it doesn’t exist. And that’s exactly why I’m heading to Bohemia: to find the point where the legend falls apart.

If the city doesn’t exist, then I’ll be the first to find it.