Before he could act on the story hook, the interface flickered and dimmed. A low hum filled the chamber, and the air around him shimmered like heat over asphalt. The book in his hands snapped shut on its own with a decisive thud and zipped to his side, where it latched securely against his hip. Just as the final echo of the sound faded, the drafting room collapsed into darkness. The next instant, he was standing somewhere entirely new.
Just moments earlier, he had been inside the drafting chamber—a high-ceilinged, featureless sphere filled with shifting light. Now, without any clear transition, he was somewhere else entirely. He appeared to be hovering above what resembled a fog-covered grid, faint outlines of terrain stretching out in every direction below him. Was this part of the design interface? His floor editing space? It made sense—he needed a canvas to work from. The change in environment wasn't disorienting so much as abrupt, like waking up in a different room than the one where you fell asleep.
For a while, nothing happened. Then the fog deepened slightly. He glanced down and noticed the book at his hip glowing with a soft pulse, as if waiting for his acknowledgment.
He tapped the cover. With a quiet click, the Core Weave activated, and pages unfolded in a slow, deliberate motion. Their surfaces glowed gently, revealing seven labeled tabs that hovered midair:
📚 STORYBOARD
Guide the floor's tone and narrative direction.
⚔ ENCOUNTERS
Manage enemy placement, patrols, and behavior.
🎭 AESTHETIC LAYER
Edit visuals, fog, ambient sound, props, and buildings. Elements must align with the selected theme.
🧱 TRAPS & HAZARDS
Place and configure traps. Options expand with milestone progress.
💬 LOOT SUGGESTION
Submit item names and lore. AI determines eligibility and rarity.
🏆 MILESTONES
Track Prestige and Infamy. Detailed unlocks hidden until activated.
🧠 SYSTEM NOTES
AI feedback and design interpretations appear here.
Evan studied the tabs, appreciating how neatly everything was arranged. There were submenus, sure—but nothing buried so deep it became a guessing game. No blinking alerts or chaotic UI elements. Everything felt smooth, logical—like it was made to encourage creation instead of getting in the way. "I could get used to this," he said, mostly just to break the quiet. The silence around him was growing too still, and even a small sound was comforting.
He selected the Aesthetic Layer. "Let's start with the look of the place," he murmured. It felt like the natural first step—establish the tone, then fill in the content. As he made his choice, the rest of the menu tucked itself neatly aside. The ground beneath him shimmered slightly as a transparent overlay appeared, casting a faint grid over the landscape. Alongside it, a clean, scrollable sidebar unfolded with the following options:
Fog Density: 30–100% Moonlight Filter: Neutral / Full / Blood / Eclipse Ambient Sound Layer: Wind / Distant Howl / Whispered Voices / Bells, etc. Environmental Props: Effigies, Lanterns, Graves, Ruins, Hanging Rope, etc. Buildings: Chapel, Farmhouse, Bell Tower, Ruined Manor, Shed, Tavern, etc. Color Palette: Natural tones / Edit
He adjusted the Fog Density to seventy percent. "Let's make it creepy, but not a headache to navigate," he said, watching as the terrain responded almost instantly. The mist flowed outward, gathering low along the ground. It softened edges and swallowed distance, but still allowed enough visibility to guide exploration.
When he selected the Moonlight Filter and set it to "Blood," the sky above shifted subtly. A soft, red glow began to wash over the environment, and a large red moon faded gently into the simulated sky. The effect wasn't dramatic—it felt eerie, quiet, almost solemn. "Weirdly cozy," he muttered. "If cozy means haunted with a chance of ritual sacrifice."
He began adding buildings. First, he dropped a Chapel in the center. Behind it, he positioned a Graveyard, then a leaning Bell Tower nearby. A Tavern took its place near what would become the village entrance. Finally, a Ruined Manor went in at the far edge, just where the forest began to thicken.
To give the place some scale, he started filling in the outskirts with less distinctive structures—Farmhouses, Tool Sheds, Storage Barns, and Abandoned Shops. Near the center, he built out a collapsed Market Square, flanked by crumbling Stalls. Paths stretched outward into winding lanes dotted with Homes, their positions irregular but believable. He kept placing until the area covered several square miles. "If they think there's a secret in every one of these," he said, "they'll waste days trying to find it. Perfect."
As he placed each structure, the world responded with small, organic animations. Stones settled into place. Wood creaked gently into form. Moss grew along the bases of walls. Inside one house, he spotted an overturned chair. Another had shutter slats that rattled in the wind. It didn't just look inhabited—it looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry.
He added props next. Lanterns dangled from crooked poles. A weather-worn scarecrow leaned against a fence. In one alley, he tucked a small pile of crates, half-covered by a forgotten tarp. He added a cracked well near the center and placed a broken bucket beside it. Every object seemed to anchor the illusion a little more.
Next, he adjusted the Ambient Sound Layer. He selected Wind, then added Distant Howl, and finished with Whispered Voices. As the mix activated, he heard the landscape shift. The wind hissed through dry grass. The distant howls came and went, never quite repeating. And the whispers—they weren't words exactly, but they ebbed and flowed like breath against a wall.
He backed up and looked around. The layout had come together smoothly. The fog, lighting, and ambient cues all worked together with a kind of quiet precision. Nothing looked accidental or out of place. "Almost feels familiar," he said softly, then paused. It wasn't familiarity exactly—it was the sense of purpose in the details. Like the space had emerged from a clear set of rules rather than random placement. "Like it's already a real place," he added, mostly to himself.
He spent a few more minutes refining the road layout. He dragged paths around buildings, placing trees and debris for natural choke points. Sometimes the AI suggested a shortcut or bend, and if it made sense, he followed the prompt—letting the system subtly optimize a curve or a blind corner. Other times, he ignored it. One road he let dead-end into a gnarled oak that leaned just a little too far over the trail.
He switched to the Color Palette tab and experimented. In the end, he went with the standard tones but added a faint red tint to the grass and leaves. The red moon overhead already colored the world unnaturally, so he leaned into it just enough to be unsettling. "Yeah... weird is good," he muttered, locking in the changes.
At last, he opened the Encounters tab. The display shifted, revealing bestiary options, behavior toggles, and patrol paths.
He smiled faintly. "Time to populate the place."
He hovered a moment longer, considering where to begin. Before he could click anything, the STORYBOARD tab pulsed twice, catching his attention. Curious, he opened it.
The screen expanded into a layered interface that resembled a branching timeline. At the top, his chosen hook glowed faintly:
[Narrative Hook] – The Red Howl rises with each full moon, drawing bloodthirsty things from the forest.
Beneath it, new fields appeared, waiting to be filled:
Origin Legend
Trigger Conditions
Enemy Behavior Traits
Recurring Cycle Effects
A smaller prompt in the corner blinked patiently:
"Define a local myth, inciting incident, or rumor related to The Red Howl."
Evan read through the editable sections, nodding slowly. "Okay, so it's not just backstory—it's modular storytelling. These things can echo out into the actual mechanics."
He tapped open Origin Legend and spoke aloud, watching his words appear in glowing script as he dictated: A forgotten village at the edge of a cursed forest. Every full moon, the "Red Howl" rises and something hunts anything that moves. Villagers vanished decades ago. Now, only monsters remain—drawn to the moonlight and thirsting for blood.
The system highlighted keywords—"Red Howl," "cursed forest," "moonlight," and "monsters"—and projected faint behavioral templates and event triggers along the margins of the interface.
"Now we're getting somewhere," he said, settling in.