For years, the boundary of Driochmor has remained unchanged. It was not simply a line drawn upon the land, but an understanding—one that shaped how Scotara lived, what it allowed, and what it chose to leave behind. What lay beyond that boundary was not spoken of in detail, nor questioned openly. It was enough to know that it existed… and that it remained separate.
That has been the way of things since the decree was set. Many still remember it. They remember when magic was no longer something quietly accepted or cautiously regarded, but something named and set apart. They remember the shift—not sudden, but certain—as what had once been part of life was pushed beyond the boundary of Driochmor.
It was not so long ago that such things were spoken of more freely. Until now.
Word has begun to move through Scotara, not as rumor, but with a steadier weight. The king has turned his attention toward Driochmor—not in warning, not in decree, but in something far less certain.
He has chosen to open talks. The decision has not been carried by proclamation, nor spoken aloud in every gathering. It has traveled more quietly than that, passed from one voice to another, yet it holds no matter how it is told.
The king is reaching beyond the boundary. In villages across Scotara, the response is not easily named. Some receive the news with cautious thought. If magic was set aside in fear, perhaps it is time to understand it more fully. To leave something unknown is to leave it unchanged, and there are those who believe that what is faced openly may be better met than what is left apart. Others are less certain.
The decree was not made without reason. Magic was not simply discouraged—it was forbidden. Those who remember the shift recall the weight of it, the sense that something had been decided with finality. To turn toward it now feels, to some, like stepping back into something that was never fully resolved. And then there are those who say nothing at all. Who listen and wait. Who wonder not only what lies within Driochmor, but what may have changed in the years since it was set apart. Time does not leave anything untouched, not land, not people, not power.
If the king seeks to open what has long been closed… what, then, will answer?
Across Scotara, life continues as it always has. Fields are tended. Fires are lit. Villages hold to their rhythm. And yet, beneath it all, there is a quiet shift. Not fear or unrest. But the sense that something set aside not so long ago is being drawn once more into the realm.
And that such a choice, once made… cannot easily be undone.
