Orriven's Red Locus

I have no explanation for what I witnessed. Only questions.

Dravendir returned without ceremony—no escort, no grand announcement. Just appeared in the Atrium with dirt still clinging to his boots and a journal in his hands that looked older than any binding I’ve ever seen. It was torn, weather-worn, and stained with dry, ancient looking blood.

He placed it on my worktable and flipped through its pages with a casual ease that shouldn’t have been possible.

The writing inside… it wasn’t any known tongue. Not ancient Latin, no Chinese characters… this looked otherworldly. It arced and spun in harmony from jagged lines to flowing curve, completely unreadable. But Dravendir could. He ran his fingers across the symbols like they were familiar, like he’d written them himself once and merely forgotten.

When I asked—“You can read this?!”—he didn’t answer. Just gave me that sly, half-amused smile, as though the question itself was beside the point. Then he spoke, clearly and without hesitation, the method for crafting a supplement he claimed had been “left behind by a different kind of seeker.”

He called it Orriven’s Red Locus.

The name meant nothing to me. But he looked distant when he said it. Wistful, maybe. Or haunted.

The recipe he gave was precise in its mysticism: extracts of red grape skin, refined under low vibration, sealed with a chant that he called a "zundrokh”. I assumed he had read this word in the book, but he spoke it so confidently that it seemed a natural part of his vocabulary... The creation of the Locus required no measurements. No diagrams. Just motion, mood and intent were enough.

And it worked.

The powdered mixture gleams slightly, like something caught between waking and dreaming. Those who’ve taken them report clarity, stillness, and a strange energy. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Once he was finished dictating, Dravendir closed the journal gently, almost reverently, and without a word, turned toward the exit. He was headed to Vault V.

He paused at the door and looked back—just once. That same quiet smirk on his lips.

Then he was gone.