In the few decades I worked for the Galagon space station, my primary focus of study was that of Tagon. The Third Humanity had, in the time I worked with them, given me much of their archives -- and it was a lot.

Terabytes and terabytes of data were stored on large server farms situated in a specific sector of the Galagon, all pertaining to every ounce of knowledge on all-kind, their history, and the history of the planet Ciphrus.

The servers were remarkably organized, each with dedicated sections and subsections of their pertained knowledge, but there was one particular section which had relatively nothing on it --  a digital void. This was the section labeled “Tagon,” and when I had first begun working on the Galagon, I was completely dumbfounded by the emptiness of this encyclopedia.

The Third Humanity knew everything, or so all-kind believed, but upon entering their research and development sector, I thereupon had realized that even incredible beings such as the Humans were still ignorant to some truths of the cosmos.

This realization was particularly interesting, as it seemed as though all-kind had been researching Tagon for millennia now, but then I had come upon a further confoundment of all-kinds findings. Those findings were indeed a part of the collection of the Third Humanity, but the general culmination of such was so small, so as to only fill one or two percent of the total server space they had acquired. This was a stark example of the lengths at which the entirety of all-kind had come at a crossroads to, and yet it was still not enough compared to the other efforts of knowledge made by both all-kind and Humanity alike. Tagon was perhaps the greatest unknown of both our civilization, and Humanity.

What enlightened me more on my tasks to study both the Terrasque and Tagon as a whole, was that in the hundred years the Humans had been around, they hadn’t discovered much more than what all-kind had in our twelve thousand year history. The Third Humanity was renowned for being meticulous in their search for knowledge. Why haven't they found much on the Terrasque, or Tagon? What was keeping them from making such attempts? I spent a good chunk of my life attempting to relieve myself of these mysteries. All these questions I could never ask, for the Humans had disappeared shortly before I was born, nor would I get an answer until precisely a week after my retirement.

The city of Imadin was on the northern end of the Vai continental jungle, and housed nearly two hundred million people. The megalopolis spread far and wide, and alongside this widespread city were a myriad of attractions for all types of people. 

I found my interests more alongside the art exhibits and museums strung along most of the center city, as opposed to the brothels and bars on the outer edges. So, after Idon and myself split ways from our breakfast, I took a trip to the Iundan Cultural Museum to brush up on my anthropology.

The exhibits were exquisite, as they usually were, and as I found myself in deep thought sitting along a bench in one of the hallways, a peculiar man sat beside me. He was clad in a large and long coat, dark sunglasses, and a wide brimmed fedora so as to hide his identity. I hadn’t fully looked at him except for a few side glances, that is until he slipped onto the bench a black envelope encased in a white, wax stamp. The stamp itself was a horizontal crescent, an insignia I had never seen before.

I was hesitant to take the envelope, but it was clear the man had elsewhere to be -- or perhaps he simply didn’t want to be seen here. Posthaste, he picked up his belongings (save for the letter) and left the area. 

I didn’t immediately pick up the letter, instead I let it sit there for a while, hoping by some delusion that the man had simply left it there and intended to return for it. After about fifteen minutes, when he did not return, I picked up the letter and instead hunted him down throughout the entire museum.

I searched every exhibit, every bathroom and even a couple of employees-only areas (with stealth), yet I could not find him. When I had realized he likely left the museum altogether, I sat down at the nearest bench and stared at the envelope.

Clearly, this man had gone through some great lengths to give it to me, and his daring escape into anonymity had further told me that this was of confidential importance. So, I decided against opening the letter at least until I arrived home.

When I had arrived home, having still not opened the letter, I had done some research on the insignia itself. Many of my searches came up with estranged cults, teenage gangs and a few theories from just after the Tornun collapse. It was in this context of the collapse, however, that I found a rabbit hole of a particular faction that once fought against the Tornun empire over a century ago: the Executio.

Their crest matched that of the one on my envelope, but there was a major discrepancy in this: the Executio was disbanded a long time ago, just before the New World War, and had been consolidated into the world order we now live by.

This was well over a century ago, and so any group identifying themselves with the Executio’s emblem seemed more like a hoax than anything worthwhile. Still, morbid curiosity struck me, and I opened the letter.

The words were printed white on a black page, and read as follows:

The Great Barrier has shown itself to us.

Before the days of the Old World, the Haze told us once of a great barrier to bind all-kind against the tides of the cosmos. It was a shield to ensure our safety from anything that may come to harm us. Now, as we venture to the stars, the Haze tells us that it has since become our cage.

The Great Barrier must be torn down, like the walls of the countries that used to divide us. 

Beneath the writing was an address and a time, one which I did not take lightly, for not just anyone knew of the things spoken about in this letter.

The “Haze” was an anomalous entity that has existed around Ciphrus for centuries, and it was also kept supremely under wraps. The knowledge of its existence was not publicly known, with good reason for concern of public safety, and from its mention I knew that this story ran far deeper than I had initially realized.

Still, even in the immense data banks of the Galagon, not much was ever known about it. The Haze was one of the largest dead-ends of my work over the years, and I could not call myself a Scholar of Myrddin if I were not so inclined to investigate.

I called Idon over the phone, professed the address and time, and said: “Be there,” before hanging up and preparing myself emotionally for whatever phenomenon may lay ahead.