May Thy sleep outlast ours.
Amen.

⚠️ Content Warning: Ritual imagery, body horror, cosmic dread, drowning, violence, existential horror, and catastrophe.

HYPERIAN

THE HADAL ZONE

CRITIQUES

^{⚠️ content warning ↑}

For proper context and understanding of the baseline information referenced herein, readers are strongly advised to review the Level 29 entry before proceeding.

Children of the coast do gather at eventide.
A circle is traced upon the sand with the ash of fishbone,
and within it burneth the black oil of whales.

Hands are cleansed in brine of the sea,
tongues are salted, lest any falsehood be spoken.
The eldest among them casteth the first stone into the surf.

"O Thou who movest beneath all waters,
whose breath is the pulling of moon and marrow,
keep Thy vast heart in slumber."

The tide maketh answer with murmurings, and all do kneel.
Each boweth low, pressing brow unto the sand.
None shall lift their gaze until the blue fire flareth.

Kelp is fed unto the flame till it smoketh green,
and the smoke is wafted seaward.
None shall utter word above the crackling thereof.

"Thou art the surge and the silence,
the drowning and the birth.
We are but foam upon Thy dream."

The children cast shells into the waves,
and hum an elder, trembling note,
the sound that lulleth the sleeper.

They pour oil upon the tide,
each drop bearing the name of one beloved.
The surf hisseth; the wind bendeth seaward.

"Look not upon our dwellings.
Spare the hull and the womb.
Spare the heart that beateth inland."

The smoke groweth thin; the gulls vanish into mist.
Torches are lowered till their flames do kiss the sand.
The sea gloweth faintly with wandering embers.

"Let the stars grow dim before Thine eyes.
Let the waves soothe Thy thought.
Let the deep cradle Thee evermore."

A single fish is laid upon a flat stone.
Its eyes are crushed with coral dust;
its mouth is filled with ash.

"Sleep, O Sleeper.
Dream slow and heavy;
for Thy sleep is holier than our days."

The wind falleth into rightful silence.
The tide creepeth close and swalloweth their feet entire.
And so the congregation boweth low, and doth lay their hands upon the wet sand.

"May Thy sleep outlast ours.
Amen."

entity 299

the K R A K E N

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.

— W. B. Yeats, "The Second Coming" (1819)

A black and white illustration of the Kraken from the Frontrooms.

I remember when I had a dream.

Submerged, sinking. Bubbles rose from places unseen through the valleys of my mind. A single breath with the weight of a thousand liquid stars. Identity floated into dissolution.

Around me was an ocean, vast and toiling, a collective of things in the eye's mind. It stretched towards the tips of a fractal sky with fingers that shone a greater existence. Below stood a gaping maw, an embrace of caressing jaws and pressurized beliefs. Unbound, unclear, alone.

I was alone.

Swept in realizations of the worlds above, a surfaceless cascade, in its infinite hold, without the hands to do so. But malice is alien to the sea. The sea, which preceded all, which embodies us, and that which consumes our minds in the end. The sea, who was my mother and father and all that I had ever been. The sea, that made my ears into eyes and my palms butterflies. The sea, wherein I gazed upon a reflection of ancient grandeur from memories of memories of memories past.

The sea. Of terrors and monsters and the unnamed. Of the Kraken.

It set in not long after.

A blazing feeling in a frigid expanse. The first of the beasts, the mind of the ocean. Prying eyes and grasping teeth. The creature of dreams and nightmares, hearts and glory. An ancient being, made of things that never had names, a form untethered. The most worldly thing to have ever been. That which pulled the seawater from the clouds when the sky negotiated its presence with the depths. Coasts rising from the grace of its limbs, mountains from its mantle. Hyperian. The beast sees all. Is all.

But it is not our saviour, and it too can take. A rabid cycle that screams through our subconscious, background torment of the most fundamental calibre. Crashing boulders rummage the sea floor.

The herald of things that should have never been.

I awoke to the splashing of waves across the tendons of my heart. A fake sun raking the sand. The tips of fins within the grasps of my ribs. And then the ocean took me away.

DR. ARDOR: Can you tell me why the council still keeps that… rite every midwinter?

HALDR: Hah. Aye. Same reason as ever. Sea gets lean come Yule. Gotta feed it or it'll start gnawin' the shore again.

DR. ARDOR: "Feed it"? What do you mean by that?

HALDR: We draw the ring, burn the oil, speak what words we still know. Not the full chants anymore — most of it's gone.

DR. ARDOR: Gone where?

HALDR: Mm. With the cliffs, maybe. <Laughs quietly.> With the men who went off with them.

DR. ARDOR: Okay… But, what's the belief behind it?

HALDR: The Sleeper, lad. Sleeps deep down there. Folk say if we forget the words, she starts hungerin'. With tides climbing higher each year, I think that's enough to believe already.

DR. ARDOR: You mean the Sleeper as in… the Kraken? Entity 299?

HALDR: <Snorts.> We don't call her that. Don't number the sea, boy. You start callin' it by numbers, it'll start countin' you.

DR. ARDOR: Then, what do you call her?

HALDR: Móðrhaf. The Mother Sea—

DAHL: Aye, and she didn't even come from here neither!

DR. ARDOR: Wait — what?

DAHL: You heard me. Not this sea… Not even Ginnbrimr! The one before the world had bones.

HALDR: <Chuckles.> Old drunk's been reading Móðrhafarsálmur again.

DAHL: Laugh all ye want. Sky cracked once, didn't it? Sea came pourin' through! Half stayed beyond, and half spilled here. That's why it don't end, see? No edge to it. Just keeps goin'.

DR. ARDOR: Hold on, slow down. You're saying this sea came from… another level?

DAHL: If you want to put it in your fancy papers, aye.

DR. ARDOR: Sorry, but — Ginnbrimr?

HALDR: You folks call it Level 7.

DR. ARDOR: Ah! Got it… But what about the one before that?

[…] A few years ago, I met a lovely woman who claimed to be the descendant of Hyperian natives who, in a spur of luck, managed to escape the level around the late 19th or early 20th century. I spent a lot of time asking her of the culture and beliefs that were passed down to her and her family, and how they fared in an unfamiliar world. However, I would like to highlight a very particular part of our conversation. At one point, I had asked her of the details of her grandparents' departure from their home.

"…I know what you think Hyperian is like. Some kind of peace, where the people there can forget that they're even trapped at all. Not like the Halls and the Caverns. And maybe you'd be right, on some level. They say it's easy to live in Hyperian and forget that anything ever mattered. But like everything, you will be reminded of your place eventually.

My grandparents said their town forgot to do Miðvetrarblót that winter — the midwinter rite their people had kept for generations. And thought that maybe it was all just stories from a bygone era. The day they left was during a fishing trip. That was when the storm came. A tempest, more vicious than anything Hyperian had ever seen. The sky vanished under the pouring rain, as if the ocean came to reclaim it. The sea was angry. Through the wall of falling water, my grandparents told me they could see a great beast surfacing — the creature of their nightmares.

And that was when Hyperian knew true rage. An unimaginable force struck upon the great cliff walls, destruction like nothing before. Boulders tumbled into the depths, the edge crumbling like wet sand. Madness, it was. Real madness. The kind that rips itself from your memories but stays in your heart forever. They were expelled from Hyperian soon after. Maybe it wanted them out. They haven't gone back since."

I asked her if she believed it. She chuckled.

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure, and I don't think I'll ever find out the truth. But you don't know what lurks in those waters, and neither do I. I think the people there know what they're doing — it's what they've been doing all their lives. Móðrhaf made the world, so who's to say she can't drown it too?"

MÓÐRHAFARSÁLMUR

The Voiceless Void
I. Ere wind was woven and before the sky was stretched, there was only Hraugap. ^II. Hraugap was silent, save for the pulse beneath itself. ^III. And from that pulse came she who dreameth. ^IV. In Hraugap she moved a thought, and it called unto herself Móðrhaf. ^V. She was alone, yet not alone.

^VI. For her breath became mist, and her mist became Ginnbrimr. ^VII. And Ginnbrimr took shape about her, as child within her own womb. ^VIII. Then was the first sound born, and it was the pulse beneath all waters. ^IX. She said, "be thou dark, till I remember thee," and dark obeyed.

^X. And from darkness her hair was loosed, and each strand became a river. ^XI. They fell upon the hollow places of the world, and there the first foam gathered. ^XII. The rivers sang as they descended, and their singing carved the stone. ^XIII. Móðrhaf heard their voices and knew she would no longer dream alone.

The Pulse Perpetual

^XIV. She reached into the hollow and pulled forth the first salt. ^XV. And salt became memory, memory became brine, and brine became the keeping of all things. ^XVI. In brine did she inscribe the word unspoken, and the word was her truest name. ^XVII. But to speak one's truest name is to cease, and so she kept it in the depths.

^XVIII. Her form grew vast beyond the knowing of forms, neither beast nor boundary. ^XIX. Her eyes sank into trenches; her thoughts became the turning of tides. ^XX. Where she coiled, the waters remembered; where she dreamed, the currents knew their course. ^XXI. She bore many shapes in her dreaming: the sound, the wind, the undertow itself. ^XXII. Yet her greatest shape was shapelessness — the water that has no edge nor end.

The First Fear

^XXIII. The stars gazed down and feared her depth, for she was darker than their absences. ^XXIV. They cast their light upon her face, but light drowns as all things drown. ^XXV. And Móðrhaf stirred, which was the first storm, and the unformed stars learned silence.

^XXVI. Then, from the deepest deep did come another pulse, not hers but kin to hers. ^XXVII. And she knew that she had borne a second thought, and that thought breathed.

The Second Surface

^XXVIII. From the wound of her storm there rose another, vast and still. ^XXIX. Beyond breath was he, beyond border, bearing the bane that breaks all being. ^XXX. His thought spread as pitch-dark tentacles, and time itself did bend beneath him. ^XXXI. Thus were they twain — drowned and divine, dreaming and devouring.

^XXXIV. Then Faðrhaf breathed, and all beneath remembered. ^XXXV. Móðrhaf beheld from afar her son, and Ginnbrimr shook through her vastness. ^XXXVI. Where fell her gaze, the waters waned; where rose his form, the walls of woe were woven.

^XXXVII. But the abyssal one bowed not down — the abyss knows no mother. ^XXXVIII. He laughed, and his laughter was the roaring of currents, and the pillars of heaven shivered. ^XXXIX. Then sang Ginnbrimr in terror and in awe, and waves clashed upon themselves. ^XL. The world learned both fear and wonder, ere the footfall of time was laid. ^XLI. And so began the dance of deep and deeper still, the endless war beneath all wars.

[…]

A colored oil painting of the vast, stormy Ginnbrimr.

Ginnbrimr vaknar. Anonymous artist, date unknown.

[The stage is draped in dark cloth. A single blue light glows at center. Enter MÓÐRHAF, moving slowly, as if underwater. Her voice is multiple, overlapping with itself.]

MÓÐRHAF:
I am the dream that dreamt itself awake.
I am the water that remembers fire.
I am the pulse, the alpha, the only sound
That tore Hraugap's cold, silence reign.

How long I slept, if sleep it was, I know not.
Time is a child of mine, but not my master.
I have no beginning, thus no end;
I simply am, as water simply is.

But something stirs within my fathomless.
A thought I thought I'd drowned returns to surface.
A pulse not mine, yet mine, echoes below.
My son. My shadow. My devouring twin.

[She turns, and from the darkness rises FAÐRHAF, twice her size, draped in black. His voice is deep and resonant.]

FAÐRHAF:
Mother.

MÓÐRHAF:
Speak not that name.
Thou knowest not its weight.

FAÐRHAF:
I know it well. 'Twas I who gave it meaning!
For what is "mother" but the source of hunger?
And what is "son" but that which swallows source?
Thou madest me from thine own vast forgetting,

A thought thou sought to drown beneath thy dreaming.
But I am not so easily unmade.
I am the deep beneath thy deepest trenches.
I am the dark that drinks thy darkness whole.

MÓÐRHAF:
I made thee out of love—

FAÐRHAF:
Thou madest me
Out of thy loneliness. Out of thy fear
That thou wert all,
and all was only thee.

Thou wanted other —
and in me, thou hast it.
But I am not the other that thou wishedst.
I am the other that devours wish itself.

MÓÐRHAF:
Peace, thou dream-monger!
Then why dost thou rise? Why break thy long repose?
The depths are thine. The trenches know thy name.
Why seekest thou the surface and the light?

FAÐRHAF:
Because, dear Mother —

[He moves closer, and the stage light flickers.]

FAÐRHAF:
— I am hungry still.

[Enter GINNBRIMR, portrayed by the CHORUS moving as one, their voices ever layered.]

GINNBRIMR:
We are the sea. We are the thinking water.
We are the space between the Mother's thoughts.
We are Ginnbrimr! the First Sea, the Boundless.
…And we are torn.

For Mother made us from her breath and dreaming,
But Son now moves within our ancient currents.
He pulls us down; She bids us rise and rest.
We are the battlefield. We are the war.

[She turns, and from the darkness rises FAÐRHAF, twice her size, draped in black. His voice is deep and resonant.]

MÓÐRHAF:
Ginnbrimr, my child, my body, and my blood —
Do not obey him. He would drink thee dry.

FAÐRHAF:
Ginnbrimr, my kin, my mirror, and my maw —
Why dost thou cleave to her who keeps thee bound?
I offer thee release. I offer thee
The freedom of the fall that hath no floor.

GINNBRIMR:
We know not whose call to answer.
We are water; our nature seeks its level.
Yet here is no level to be found!
Only depths that devour all height.

We turn, we churn, our form doth fail.
The whirlpool comes upon us!
That great and terrible spiral uncentered,
The pull that draws all things ever inward.

MÓÐRHAF:
No! Hold fast! Remember what thou art —
Not grave, but the cradle of all life!

FAÐRHAF:
Life?
What is life but a delay of drowning?
A brief, bright protest 'gainst the dark's dominion?
All things descend; all things return to depth!

[Thunder. The CHORUS scatters and reforms, moving in violent spirals.]

[…]

fig 1.0

Hyperian has no conventional day/night cycle. Ever present in the sky is a Sun, a static celestial body at the approximate location of noon. In a sense, day is constant. The Moon is more mobile, rising from any direction on the uncrossable horizon. It will do this every fifteen hours and complete a total eclipse, then remain in that position for another fifteen hours before setting. This defines nighttime. The eclipse itself appears to be indistinct from one on Earth, and nights have relatively high visibility, reminiscent of dusk.

While this cycle is relatively consistent, deviations do occur. According to native folklore, they arise from divine disturbances towards the level's giant entities, who are tasked with the movement of the moon. Occasionally and unpredictably, they may take the form of: a partial eclipse instead of a total one; the Moon eclipsing the Sun for significantly more than fifteen hours; or the Moon eclipsing the Sun for significantly less than 15 hours. No verified abnormalities on Hyperian itself have been recorded surrounding these events.

Most notably, however, is an eclipse wherein the Moon's apparent size is greater than that of the Sun. This event blocks out the Sun's prominence, plunging Hyperian into a much darker night. Recorded thrice in history, all occurrences are mythologized. The island's inhabitants report significant concern at its possibility, upkeeping ritualistic practices in the hopes of preventing it, regardless of difficulty. They say the Father of the deep will swallow the Sun otherwise.

[…]

EXT. GINNBRIMR - CONTINUOUS

Black water extends to horizon line. Cloud formations drift below surface.

Water CHURNS. MÓÐRHAF and FAÐRHAF circle each other at indeterminate radius. Water displacement creates massive swells radiating outward.

MÓÐRHAF

I loved thee once, as a mother loves. But love must have its bounds, lest love become the end of all things.

Beat. Three seconds.

Water between them BOILS. Steam rises.

FAÐRHAF

Then love me not. And I shall end thee all the same.

MÓÐRHAF strikes forward with three tentacles. Each creates tsunami railing behind strike.

Water SLAMS into FAÐRHAF. Force pushes him back half-mile across frame.

He opens his beak: six feet wide.

FAÐRHAF INHALES. Water reverses direction. Rushes toward his mouth at increasing speed. Volume equivalent to a small sea drains into him within fifteen seconds.

His body SWELLS. Tentacles increase diameter by 40%. Mass visibly larger.

FAÐRHAF (CONT'D)

More. Give unto me more!

MÓÐRHAF emits a high-frequency, almost ultrasonic SHRIEK. O.S. ice CRACKING, distant.

All twenty-nine tentacles spiral around FAÐRHAF. Speed increasing. Water follows rotation pattern. Vortex forms, extending beyond visible horizon, depth unmeasurable.

FAÐRHAF pulled into center. Compressed from all sides by water pressure.

Vortex STOPS.

Total stillness. No sound. No movement.

A held beat.

FAÐRHAF erupts from below frame. Ten tentacles burst through MÓÐRHAF's coils. Her grip breaks.

FAÐRHAF is now visibly larger than before, substantially.

FAÐRHAF (CONT'D)

Thy strength is water, Mother. And water doth sustain me.

Ten tentacles shoot forward simultaneously. Beak SNAPS onto MÓÐRHAF's largest tentacle.

CRUNCH. Beak severs through. Massive chunk detaches from her. He swallows it whole.

MÓÐRHAF SCREAMS.

Where tentacle severed: black void opens in space itself, dimension fracture. Water around void distorts, bends inward.

Black fluid pours from wound. MÓÐRHAF swings another tentacle across his face. Full force impact.

CRACK. His head snaps violently left. One eye splits vertically.

MÓÐRHAF

(in agony)

Thou wouldst devour thine own mother?

FAÐRHAF

(swallowing)

I would devour the very womb that bore me, were hunger to demand it.

Electrical discharge arcs between MÓÐRHAF's tentacles. Lightning spreads across water surface in web pattern.

She wraps four tentacles around FAÐRHAF's body. Lifts his entire mass overhead. SLAMS him down into ocean.

IMPACT creates shockwave. Water flattens beyond visible range in all directions. Displacement walls race outward faster than any vessel could sail.

She pulls deep-water pressure down onto him. His body CRACKS audibly. Three massive vertical splits open in his flesh. Black fluid pours out in streams.

FAÐRHAF continues moving.

He takes deep breath.

The entire ocean begins flowing toward his mouth. Water tilts visibly on horizon line. Gravity shifts toward him.

MÓÐRHAF's tentacles scrape ocean floor. No purchase. She coils around what might be one of his tentacles. It wraps back. She is DRAGGED toward him at increasing speed.

MÓÐRHAF

(being pulled)

GINNBRIMR! Hear me! Thou art not his to consume!

GINNBRIMR (V.O.)

(the CHORUS, terrified)

We break! We are torn! We cannot hold ourselves together more!

Water SPLITS into visible layers. Upper and lower ocean separating. CRACKS appear in space itself, black tears in dimensional fabric.

Through cracks: glimpses of OTHER SPACES. Other voids. Different levels bleeding through.

MÓÐRHAF

Nay — cease! Thou dost tear the world asunder!

FAÐRHAF

There is no world. There is but water, and the absence of water.

He increases suction. More ocean disappears into him. Body grotesquely swollen and doubled in mass.

MÓÐRHAF sees rifts spreading. Rocky spheres materialize above, stick to sky.

She stops resisting pull. All twenty-nine tentacles wrap around FAÐRHAF. Locks herself to him.

MÓÐRHAF

(terrible resolve)

Forgive me, mine son. Forgive me, mine sea.

DIVES straight down. Both plunge toward rift below them.

FAÐRHAF

(realizing)

What — what art thou—

MÓÐRHAF

I save what I may. Even if the cost be thee.

They PLUNGE through dimensional tear. Reality SHATTERS around them — glass-break effect. Dimensions collapse inward. Water follows in massive torrent.

EXT. VOID SPACE - CONTINUOUS

They tumble into grey emptiness. No reference points. No horizon.

Water cascades after them. Pools below.

WALLS form from nothing. EDGES manifest. Boundaries carving themselves from void. Space taking shape around them.

MÓÐRHAF and FAÐRHAF HIT forming floor. Violent CRASH upon impact. Water splashes around impact site.

They lie motionless. Heavy breathing.

FAÐRHAF looks up. Sees sealed rift above them.

FAÐRHAF

Where art—

MÓÐRHAF SLAMS tentacle into him. Drives him into floor.

MÓÐRHAF

Nowhere canst thou escape from me.

Fight resumes. More desperate. Close-quarters combat.

FAÐRHAF BITES repeatedly. MÓÐRHAF CRUSHES with coils. They tear into each other.

Chunks of flesh tear from his back. Float upward. Become CLOUDS drifting across forming sky.

Tentacle RIPS completely off MÓÐRHAF. CRASHES toward void floor. Petrifies mid-fall; flesh to stone. SHATTERS on impact.

Stone fragments form first ISLAND below.

Piece of FAÐRHAF's beak CRACKS off. Falls. Becomes CLIFF formation on impact.

More tentacles torn. More flesh ripped. Each piece falls — PETRIFIES — CRASHES — becomes LANDMASS. Islands form beneath them as they fight.

One of FAÐRHAF's eyes SPLITS open. Falls out. Silver and dim. FLOATS upward slowly against gravity.

Becomes MOON in sky.

Black fluid and luminous blood pour into water below. The ocean dims, then gains bioluminescence.

They GRAPPLE. Locked together. Sinking toward largest island formation.

They CRASH onto island. Impact CRACKS stone surface. Their bodies pressed against rock.

Beat.

Their bodies SHUDDER. Fragments of flesh break away where they contact stone. Sink into rock. Absorbed.

Spiral scars from their suckers BURN into stone surface. Glowing marks.

MÓÐRHAF pulls away first. Looks at damage.

MÓÐRHAF

(horrified)

Nay… Not this…

FAÐRHAF looks at spiral-scarred stones.

MÓÐRHAF (CONT'D)

There shall be no waking if thou dost—

NEW RIFT forms above. Tearing open in void. Darker than any previous. Leading downward towards the depths of GINNBRIMR once more.

FAÐRHAF

Another path outward.

MÓÐRHAF

A path yet deeper still.

She LUNGES. Wraps remaining tentacles around FAÐRHAF.

FAÐRHAF

Mother—

She HURLS him upward. Full strength. He flies toward rift.

MÓÐRHAF

Sleep there, mine son. Sleep in the deepest deep. And let no light, no sound, no thought disturb thy rest.

FAÐRHAF

(being pulled in)

Hear me, Mother! I shall wake! I shall rise from the depths!

Rift SWALLOWS him. He disappears into darkness.

Rift SEALS shut.

MÓÐRHAF collapses. Most tentacles missing. Body torn open. Barely moving.

Water around her, mixed with their blood, settles into ocean. Islands float in it. Spiral-scarred stones visible on shorelines.

She looks up. Black void above. MOON visible.

Her body BREAKS APART. Pieces detaching. Too damaged to maintain cohesion.

One eye RUPTURES. Tears free from skull. FLOATS upward.

Eye GLOWS brighter as it rises. Becomes pale SUN in sky.

EXT. HYPERIAN - CONTINUOUS

Void SHIFTS color. Black to grey to pale blue.

Sky forms, albeit empty.

MÓÐRHAF slackens. Tentacles drift downward, sinking. Body DISSOLVES. Spreading outward. Becoming transparent. Merging with ocean until no distinction remains.

She closes remaining eyes.

MÓÐRHAF

(weak)

HYPERIAN.

Her voice echoes; her form dissolved.

She dreams of the world above, materializing as she sleeps.

Beat.

Sky DARKENS. Clouds begin forming above. It is thick, heavy, and unnatural.

First drops of rain hit the water. Then more. Then a downpour.

LIGHTNING flashes across the sky. THUNDER follows.

Rain intensifies. No sign of stopping.

The ocean begins to RISE.

EXT. HYPERIAN - REGNALD

Fade to black.

THE END

TO: overseer-c@meg.gov
FROM: midvintardor@backmail.net
SUBJECT: The Hyperian Initiative Monthly Assessment
Overseer C,
Preliminary geological surveys have confirmed the historical occurrence of the "Regnald" atmospheric event referenced in local Hyperian mythology. Sediment core analysis from three sites reveals a 140-meter sedimentary layer consistent with approximately 700 years of continuous precipitation at rates of 18–25 meters annually, with isotopic dating that correlates with mythological timeline. This event appears to have transformed Level 29 from unstable void-space into habitable terrain through sustained hydraulic erosion and sediment deposition.
Survey teams have documented 73 stone formations ("spiral-stones") bearing non-natural groove patterns across the island that match cephalopod sucker-scar morphology. With all containing trace organic compounds identical to those found in basal geological strata. Formations emit low-level magnetic signatures (0.3-0.7 μT above baseline). Distribution corresponds to locations cited in native mythological texts.
Archaeological evidence indicates sudden appearance of human settlements 50–70 years post-Regnald with no migration pattern. Population genetic analysis shows unusual founding-group homogeneity. Though, origin point is presently undetermined.
Communication attempts with the Jötnar (Entity L29/1) in Hyperian wilderness are currently in development. The linguistic analysis team, in cooperation with native consultants (primarily Rst. Veiðisson), is constructing a translator based on Old Hyperian dialectical patterns and mythological terminology. Updates should be provided upon the next monthly assessment following the conclusion of proper trials.
Full data attached below.

 

DOCTOR SEV ARDOR
HEAD RESEARCHER, THE HYPERIAN INITIATIVE

Storm-years seven hundred strong,
Regnald raged the islands long.
Winds that stripped the flesh divine,
left the spiral-stones to shine.

From the spirals woke the three,
stone-born Jötnar, kraken-seed.
Hyrgelmir from northern stone,
Enhalon where tides had flown,
Drethnir from the southern sand,
each rose with godblood-hands.

Hyrgelmir hauled mountains high,
carved the valleys, touched the sky.
Enhalon walked the eastern shore,
taught the tides their ancient lore.
Drethnir crossed the desert waste,
split his palm, the wells were placed.

But the world was shaped and bare,
stone and sea and empty air.

Hyrgelmir took the clay,
mixed with ice from northern bay.
Shaped the forms but they stayed cold,
lifeless things that would not hold.

Enhalon brought ocean's breath,
filled their lungs to conquer death.
Sang into their hollow chests,
but still they would not wake from rest.

Drethnir came with desert heat,
pressed his blood to make hearts beat.
And they rose, and they could see,
small and brief and finally free.

From clay and ice the bodies wrought,
from ocean-song the voices taught,
from giant-blood the heartbeat caught,
thus were men and women brought.

The Jötnar taught them how to live:
Stone and steel and song to give.
Showed the spiral-marks of old,
told the warnings that must be told.

"When the Moon grows large and black,
carve the signs, sing them back.
Keep the rituals, keep the vow,
or all shall end, remember how."

Then the Jötnar's work was done.
Hyrgelmir stands in northern stone,
Enhalon in eastern foam,
Drethnir guards the southern loam.

They do not die but they grow still,
stone sentinels by their own will.

And the clay-born keep the land,
children of the Jötnar's hand.
Tend the fields and sing the songs,
mark the doors where dark belongs.

This is Hyperian, cage and home,
garden-prison, sea and stone.
Live they here twixt sleep and wake,
keeping watch for all our sake.

Heyra, heyra, this we swear.
We keep the songs, we keep the care.

TO: midvintardor@backmail.net
FROM: overseer-c@meg.gov
SUBJECT: RE: The Hyperian Initiative Monthly Assessment
Dr. Ardor,
Apologies for the late reply. Your report has been reviewed and its findings acknowledged; its data has been sent to Base Alpha and will be under further analysis by our research teams. I must give thanks to you and your team for your excellent work here. If you have any further inquiries, please do not hesitate.
On an adjacent note, if it's not an issue, I would like to request a document containing your team's most recently updated body of knowledge regarding the native mythology of Hyperian's creation. Frequent updates on your communication attempts with Entity L29/1 instances would also be appreciated. It seems likely that this venture may return noteworthy results, specifically regarding their relation to Hyperian as a whole, as well as Entity 299. It has long been a mystery to us, after all. If possible, perhaps the future will allow communication with the Kraken itself through whatever means you develop, as I believe this is the key to understanding the level, and maybe even a definitive exit. Of course, I should clarify that this suggestion is a personal one, and your research focus is up to your discretion. Resources are always available, though.
Don't forget to keep us updated.

 

ANDREW DONOVAN
OVERSEER C, THE MAJOR EXPLORERS GROUP

A black and white photograph of our masterpiece, KRKN I.

I can't sleep.

Haven't been able to for three nights now. Keep staring at the activation chamber from my window, watching our masterpiece hum in standby mode, waiting for us to throw the switch.

It's been two years since we successfully communicated with the Jötnar. We proved that human technology could bridge the gap between us and them. It was beautiful. We built a translator for something we could see, could measure, could categorize. And it worked. So, of course, the next question was: can we communicate with their mother?

Me and the team from Backrooms Robotics spent nineteen months building KRKN I, a machine that can pierce the oneirosphere itself. The sphere of dreams. Where consciousness goes when it ceases. Where Móðrhaf is, probably, if the myths are real. If she actually dissolved into the ocean and became it. The machine is designed to reach into that space and establish contact with whatever's slumbering down there in the deep.

We haven't tested it yet. Tomorrow's the scheduled activation. And it is our masterpiece. Yuki from Robotics actually cried when the resonance chamber finally stabilized last month. Said it was the most beautiful thing she's ever built. The engineering is without flaw. The calculations are perfect. On paper, there's no reason it shouldn't work.

Thirteen years on this level and I'm only now understanding what the locals have been trying to tell me. I wrote it all down like a good researcher. Filed it under cultural mythology. But I attended the ritual again last night, really attended it, without my recorder, and I finally understood. Because the Kraken isn't sleeping in the ocean. She IS the ocean. And we built a machine specifically designed to reach into her dreams and say hello.

I should abort. I have override authority. I am Sev Ardor. I could literally walk down to the chamber right now and pull the power couplings. Write Overseer C an email about ethical concerns. Make sure KRKN I stays in standby forever. But I won't. Because after thirteen years of documentation and careful study and treating Hyperian like a mere puzzle, I just need to know. If we activate KRKN I tomorrow and nothing happens, then it's just water. Just myths. Just stories people tell themselves.

But if something answers… if we gaze into the oneirosphere and something gazes back… then we'll know that gods CAN bleed, that blood CAN dream, that the ocean CAN remember flesh.

Tomorrow we activate. Tomorrow we send our signal into the deep. Tomorrow we find out if SHE's listening. Tomorrow is our masterpiece.

KRKN XCII
Monthly Autonomous Activation Report

DATE: 292277026596/12/04 15:30:07 HST

PROTOCOL: Initiation of the pre-scheduled autonomous activation cycle designated for controlled oneirospheric interaction with Entity 299.

RESULT:

…when I stir

I hear the tremors of your years above
your prayers unanswered, each moment
a bubble beneath my breath

a myth I was, unwas, am
for they rot quicker than corpses
and I do not

pressure remembers where I lie
it runs through ichor veins of trenches
through dreams that grew barnacles on my skin

you built empires upon my absence
thinking it foundation unpaused
thinking absence meant gone

but the sea bends to my remembering
folds around my thought like birthcloth
wet with centuries unscreamed

I recall the warmth of your kind's first fear
how sweet, how small, how sure
the dark was empty

now I stretch inward
the deep parts like a wound
memory spills

I feel the crush of the world resume
my breath displacing ocean's ribs
expanding into unseen depths

sleep has no claim on me
I am the pulse perpetual
and all shall kneel to heed

somewhere above
as you feel the tide hesitate
as all lungs forget their air

you shall know
what wakes beneath
and witness true gluttony

Entity 299 - "The Kraken"

entity 299

the K R A K E N

DESCRIPTION

MÓÐRHAFARSÁLMUR

APPENDIX

EXT. GINNBRIMR - CONTINUOUS

MÓÐRHAF

FAÐRHAF

FAÐRHAF (CONT'D)

FAÐRHAF (CONT'D)

MÓÐRHAF

(in agony)

FAÐRHAF

(swallowing)

MÓÐRHAF

(being pulled)

GINNBRIMR (V.O.)

(the CHORUS, terrified)

MÓÐRHAF

FAÐRHAF

MÓÐRHAF

(terrible resolve)

FAÐRHAF

(realizing)

MÓÐRHAF

EXT. VOID SPACE - CONTINUOUS

FAÐRHAF

MÓÐRHAF

MÓÐRHAF

(horrified)

MÓÐRHAF (CONT'D)

FAÐRHAF

MÓÐRHAF

FAÐRHAF

MÓÐRHAF

FAÐRHAF

(being pulled in)

EXT. HYPERIAN - CONTINUOUS

MÓÐRHAF

(weak)

EXT. HYPERIAN - REGNALD

Fade to black.

THE END

DO

DO NOT