There are places in Scotara that belong fully to its people—lands walked, worked, and known through the passing of generations. Leighfeld, where healers tend their craft with patient hands and careful knowledge. Caerith, where the king rules and the weight of the realm is carried within stone walls and guarded halls. Venngraith, where the Hunters live by discipline and duty, their purpose as clear as the blades they carry.
And then there is Driochmor.
It does not belong in the same way. It is spoken of differently—when it is spoken of at all. It is not as a place one might travel to, nor as a land with purpose for those beyond it, but as something set apart. A place defined not by what it offers, but by what it holds… and by the unspoken agreement that it is best left untouched.
The boundary of Driochmor is not uncertain, nor does it shift with rumor or imagination. It is known. Marked in ways both seen and understood, its edges clearly set where Scotara ends and something else begins. No roads lead into it. No trade passes through it. Those who live beyond its border do so with the quiet awareness that they stand near a place that does not welcome them.
And they do not cross. They do not cross because they have been told not to. They do not cross because, after the Great War, a law was set into place.
It was during the rule of King Halric that the decree was made—a command spoken not in haste, but with finality. Magic, in all its forms, was declared forbidden within Scotara. Not misunderstood. Not merely feared… forbidden.
It was declared dangerous. Unnatural. A force that could not be trusted to remain contained within the hands that wielded it. Whatever tolerance may once have existed was stripped away in that moment, replaced by a single, unwavering truth: There would be no place for magic within the kingdom.
Those who possessed such abilities were given no choice in the matter. They were not hunted in the way enemies of the crown might be, nor openly condemned in the streets. Instead, they were driven out—pushed steadily and without exception toward the one place left for them.
Driochmor.
A land already known for its connection to the esoteric arts, where such practices had long taken root beyond the reach of the crown. It became, in time, not merely a refuge, but a confinement. A place where those who wielded magic could exist… so long as they remained there.
The boundary was drawn, and the understanding made clear. What lay within Driochmor would remain there. What lay beyond it would not be touched by it.
For years beyond counting, the law held. Generations grew beneath its shadow, raised on quiet warnings and inherited caution. Stories were told, though never in full, each shaped more by restraint than detail. It was enough to know that magic had once walked freely in Scotara—and that it had nearly cost the kingdom dearly.
Even now, few question it. In villages like Willowmere, the mention of Driochmor carries with it a subtle shift. Voices lower. Eyes turn, not in fear exactly, but in instinctive awareness that such things are not meant for open discussion. It is not a subject pressed or explored, but one acknowledged and then set aside.
That is how it has always been. Which is why the recent events have unsettled so many.
King Dravic has begun to turn his attention toward Driochmor. That what has long remained separate may no longer be left as it is.
Some wonder if the unrest spoken of across Scotara has reached farther than first believed. Others question whether something within Driochmor itself has changed—something that can no longer be ignored, no matter how long it has been left undisturbed. But there are other thoughts as well. More troubling ones.
If the boundary has held for so long, if those within it have remained unseen and unheard beyond its borders… then what has taken root there in all that time? What knowledge has grown, what power has been shaped, in a land set apart from all others?
These are not questions easily answered. Nor are they questions most wish to ask aloud. Yet they linger all the same, carried in quiet conversations and unspoken thoughts, settling into the spaces where certainty once lived.
What secrets will Driochmor reveal?
This sounds so interesting. I look forward to reading it.
Glad you enjoyed it, Jan.