How will you face this quiet apocalypse?

[singmod]

MAY 2026 FINALE EVENT — PART ONE

Enola brings forth a plan to stop the Darkwalker once and for all.

Truths are revealed.

The Interlopers now must make a choice, and decide both their own fate and the fate of this world.

Listen.

TO BLACKWOOD

WHEN: May 1st.
WHERE: Milton; Blackwood.
CONTENT WARNINGS: skeletal remains of animals and humans; mentions of blood magic.

The latest wave of the dead have been dispatched. It’s been a brutal couple of weeks fighting back the Darkwalker’s latest weapon against the Interlopers, but you’re alive. For now. There’s a brief respite to lick wounds, try to gather yourselves. Enola, Marra and Methuselah help out there they can — Marra keeps a watch on the town, keeping the lights going. Methuselah and Enola tend to the injured. Not everyone has made it to this day, and the dead are burned before the Darkwalker can raise them again.

Enola asks to gather the remaining Interlopers in the Community Hall once more, giving time for everyone to gather once more. She is tired and grim, sombre as she takes to the raised platform once more to look everyone over.

“I am so proud of you.” she starts off, her hands clasped. “We’ve made it this far, and I know not everyone has made it through these last few weeks but to see so many of you… you’ve taken the gifts I’ve helped you take and wielded them against the Darkwalker and its forces.”

And she does look proud, for a long moment. But she doesn’t let herself indulge for long in that pride she has for the Interlopers.

“I have one last thing I need to ask of you.” Enola tells you all. “This is where it ends. Today, we put a stop to the Darkwalker once and for all.”

There’s a brief lull in the crowd, people murmuring amongst themselves. Enola has some kind of plan, and the room falls to hush once more.

“Beyond Keeper’s Pass is Blackwood. That’s where I’ve been for over two years, keeping the Darkwalker at bay. That’s where I’ve caged it — but it keeping that way isn’t sustainable. Instead, now, we banish it.”

Enola raises an arm, gesturing towards the east.

“Timberwolf Mountain is days away, and I won’t ask you to travel there. This time I’ll lead the way.”

She motions: dragging her outstretched arm back and across — hand twisting and finger curling as if grabbing something. A faint shimmer of iridescent passes over her eyes and colour twirls at her fingers. Behind her, the wood of the wall shifts and flickers — revealing an opening to a stormy lavender-grey sky, green lightning forking through the skies and the heavy scent of charred, dead wood.

“If you’re ready, we’ll go now.” she looks to Marra and Methuselah. “All of us.”

Enola lifts her chin. “The Witness, right? And the Last Woman Standing.”

Methuselah is thoughtful for a long moment, but then dips his head. Marra stares at Enola, but says nothing.

Enola leads the way, turning and walking through the opening she has created. She turns briefly, smiling grimly. She is apprehensive, and yet confident all at once. Following her through sends the Interloper into what may be a familiar place: a burned-out wood. The scent of charred trees hangs in the air, a little petrichor. The world is cold and empty and dead. A stillness that does not feel peaceful, and a quite reminder: this is the ending of all things.

You walk through the woods, through snow, through a grave — dead trees, bleached bones of humans and animals. Green lightning streaks overhead and after a time, the silence is pierced by an inhuman, furious howl — low and ancient. It makes you want to run. You do not.

The trees thin and fall away, the ground is barren. The world goes black before you, the earth falls away, a huge curve of an edge like a grin, littered with cairns tall as any man. You realise, as your gaze lifts — you stand at a precipice. A creature, having clawed its way out from the very depths of the world. Long has it slumbered, and now it had woken, ready with hungry jaws.

Before you, impossibly huge, in the abyss stands the Darkwalker.

Three wolf skulls lung and snap, the being screams at you: "Interloper."

A shimmer of iridescent, the colours of the Aurora wrap around it like chains — its form jerks and twists. Enola stares at the Darkwalker for some time.

“You thought you could break me. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d say it was revenge.” she says softly.

“You were the first to arrive. You will be the first I devour.” the Darkwalker sneers, and you shudder at the words.

“Mm. Sure.” Enola is nonchalant, turning back towards the Interlopers.

Enola inhales deeply before she addresses the gathered Interlopers. She shifts her hands before her — drawing something before her in the air.

“You're familiar with the sigils used against the Darkwalker.” she tells you. “Ones to ward, ones to free yourselves of the toxic fog it created. You worked out what makes it more powerful: you, your blood.”

A shape forms in the air in light, a rune. A new one, but the edge of it feels familiar — like the ones Interlopers had learned before.

“This is the banishment sigil. This is what we use to banish the Darkwalker.” Enola explains. “By giving your blood, it will power the sigils to banish the Darkwalker. You may give as much as you wish, the price is your own.”

The conclusions you draw are your own, but one could easily guess: the more blood, the more potent the sigil. A life price could be given, if an Interloper so wished.

“To come through the Aurora, to accept the gifts I helped you take — it has given you power. It has all led to this. I called to you, and you answered.

And… Now for one last time, I ask you to help me save this world. Help me banish the Darkwalker and let this world live. I paused the Quiet Apocalypse alone. It was not enough to do it by myself. Now we stop it all together.”

Enola lets the wait of it settle. A choice. One last call. But there’s a shift in amongst the Interlopers, one that catches her attention. She frowns, not recognising the face.

“It was you.” a voice pipes up from the crowd. “You did all this.”

REVELATIONS

WHEN: May 1st.
WHERE: Blackwood.
CONTENT WARNINGS:

THE SCIENTIST

A woman stands in amongst the crowd of Interlopers, moving forwards towards Enola. Somewhere in her late-twenties, thick curls hidden under a wool hat, carrying herself with quiet, authoritative certainty. She weaves through to the front, and it’s clear that she isn’t an Interloper given her outfit. Her clothes are worn, but well fitting and modern — expensive, built for the climate. Not the beloved, sturdy hand-me-downs Interlopers had inherited from the people of Milton. Her glasses are taped at one of the legs, a lens cracked at one edge.

“One of you told me on the radio that you were brought here against your will. That you were stolen from your worlds.” The woman continues as she pulls her way to the front of the crowd, to Enola. “It wasn’t Aurora instability. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Enola stares at the woman for a long moment, her expression unreadable. She raises her hand and the woman flinches, uncertain. But Enola simply gestures the banishment sigil away. Finally, she gives an answer, the words are heavy:

“Yes. I brought them to this world.”

The weight of the answer hangs for a long moment. The woman swallows, then nods.

“I came here through Keeper’s Pass. Whatever barriers were in place were failing, and I could get through. I came to this place, and I saw that thing being held here. It spoke to me. It told me what you did—”

The woman rounds on the Interlopers.

“You know me as Bearoak. It’s a code name, obviously. But I guess my real name doesn’t matter all that much now. I was sent here on a government research program with others. I came here to study the Auroras, why the activity was so high in this place. Why the Auroras weren’t just regular auroras. We could barely comprehend the energy levels.”

She stops, raising a hand, as if to remind herself of something.

“It started quietly, at first. The muskeg. It began to fill up with buildings, vehicles, creatures, people — all from different time periods. And then the power went out, the world went silent. But things kept appearing, the Auroras— the Auroras aren’t just auroras, they’re weakpoints in reality itself.”

She looks at Enola, accusatory in her stare.

“The Graveyard was your training wheels, pulling things through to see if you could. The Graveyard is filled with your failures.” she spits. “And now… all these people. That’s your success story. But I’m guessing you continued to fuck up with everything else that kept falling through.”

Everything else that kept falling through. The monsters, the creatures. Of course some of the events in the Northern Territories have been of the Darkwalker’s design. Some have been of Enola’s. Some have been of this own world’s creation. But others— others didn’t come from this place and the powers within this world. Others came through the Aurora, just as the Interlopers did.

“And for what? The desperate struggle to stop the world ending.” Bearoak finishes. “The end of the world was always coming. We’ve had five before now, but you made things so much worse. And you dragged all these innocent people into it. And what about the others from Mountain’s Watch? What happened to them?”

Enola shifts, she looks pained. “They came with me to stop the Darkwalker. They died.”

The regret on Enola’s face is genuine. If there was anything in the truth, it would be the pain she has felt, the guilt. Her eyes are glossy, but she raises her chin.

“I never asked for any of this. I didn’t come here on purpose. I was a child, and the Aurora it… changed me. I never had a choice about the things I was able to do, but this world is my home. I had no choice in being here, but I wanted to save this world anyway. Why else could I be here?”

“But you took their choice by taking them.” Bearoak counters. “You’ve meddled further, caused further upset. The Aurora isn’t stable, not with everything being pulled through it.”

“I chose them.” the answer is short, “And still I gave them choices. I gave them the choice of my gifts, I give them the choice of helping me with this. And afterwards I’ll give them the choice of what they want to do with their fate.”

Enola gestures behind them, to the open maw of the earth and the Darkwalker contained within it. Green lighting streaks across the skies overhead, the ground quivers beneath their feet. The Darkwalker writhes, but remains silent. It watches with interest.

“I brought them all here. I chose them.” Enola looks to the Interlopers to address them now, “I saw you through the Aurora and I chose you. I saw your lives, I saw what you were made of and what you could become. Some of you I stole away at the very brink of your deaths. I saw everything. I stole you away because I believed you were the right people, for one reason or another, to be the ones who could help.”

Her gaze focuses on particular Interlopers at her words: Some of you I stole away at the very brink of your deaths. Enola had looked, she had seen. She knew. Of course she had known.

“The Darkwalker can be banished. Over two years ago, I tried to do it with help from people I had come to know from Mountain’s Watch. It didn’t work. All I could do was keep it restrained.

“I… I needed more people like me. More Interlopers. And so I searched through time and space, through the cosmos, through reality itself — and I found you.

“This time, I know we can finally end this. Banish the Darkwalker for good.

“And I promise you—”

THE MOTHER

“Beatrice.”

It is Marra’s voice that cuts across Enola’s, and the woman steps forward. She carries her weariness quietly, but there’s a coldness in her expression.

“That is enough. This world is dying. You can’t fix this.” she says. “And even if you could stop the Darkwalker, what happens after? The whole world’s gone dark, for all we know. Everything’s gone. There are no ships, no communications, nothing.”

She gestures to the Interlopers as she continues.

“You stole these people away from their homes to fix the inevitable.”

Enola’s jaw sets. She stares at Marra, and something works in her jaw for a few moments, fighting to find the words.

“At least I’m trying to fix it, Mom.”

There is bite in Enola’s words that makes the older woman pause. She is at a loss for words, her face pale and eyes wide. But Marra takes a moment and exhales softly, shaking her head.

“No, Beatrice. You killed my sons.” the words are final, like a death blow. “You were a child. You didn’t know better.”

The pain on her face is visceral. Marra’s head dips for a moment as she tries to wrestle with it. She can barely bring herself to speak of it, and yet she must. She wonders, quietly, if this might be her own doing. If her own choices had set Enola on this path. If maybe she had stayed, if maybe her own grief hadn’t been so much. She had taken this girl in, raised her as her own. But when her sons and husbands burned — she could no longer look at this girl, this strange child from another world who could do things no other could do.

“I walked away because I couldn’t fix it, either. I couldn’t cope with what you did, and I couldn’t fix it. Mothers always fix things, don’t they? That’s why I can do the things I do now, isn’t it? Because of you. Whatever magic you could do, how you changed everything you touched — I knew in some way you couldn’t help it. You were a child.”

“But you killed my sons. They’re gone. My family is gone. You can’t give them back. Saving this world doesn’t change what’s already been done. The world was ending long before the Darkwalker woke up.”

She remembers faintly, a memory from many years ago. She had awoke to find the beaching of dozens of whales along the shores of Silverpoint. She had listened to the radiowaves, heard the calls of ships grow less and less frequent. Saw the arrival of ships at Silverpoint’s docks grow few and far between. She has watched, at the edge of the world, the slow and painful decline of a world growing darker.

“You were a child, then. You aren’t now.” Marra says softly. “And you have learned nothing.”

The words are gutting, and Enola’s shoulders square at them. Her expression shifts into something pained, but she holds it back — barely.

“Let these people go back home.” Marra says finally. “If the world is to end, then maybe that’s just what was always meant to happen. Mine already ended long ago, it’s time everything else caught up.”

Enola shakes her head.

“You left me alone.” she says softly. “Maybe if you hadn’t, it would never have come to this.”

“Maybe.” Marra agrees after a long pause. “Or maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

THE WITNESS

Methuselah is as still and quiet as stone as he watches the exchanges between Enola, Marra and Operative Bearoak. He weighs up the arguments with care and attention. In his eyes, there is perhaps a little disappointment in Enola, for her actions of bringing the Interlopers here. But he cannot pass judgement, not truly.

Because, in truth, he remembers the child who came in from the wilds. The child who did not speak, who always looked sad. The child who was gifted with inexplicable abilities, and who could not control them. The child who tragedy followed, and had no one to call her own. Not truly. He stands, his gaze passing from Enola to the Darkwalker. It is a child’s wish, to banish the boogeyman from beneath their bed.

The judgement is not his to give. He is not the wronged party here.

“I had hoped one day she might find her kin. I did not imagine it like this.” he says finally. “Enola brought you here, unwillingly. You have faced hardship, you have known hunger and the biting cold of an unforgiving world. You have known terrible horrors.”

He lets the moment pass.

“But you have been brought here, together. I cannot speak for the worlds you have left behind, but in this one I have watched you create a new one. You have built your own homes, your own families. Maybe that is worth the pain, the hardship. Maybe it is enough to allow the anger to pass.”

His gaze moves towards the Interlopers, and he looks over them. Some of them he has known for a long time, now. Others less so. But he holds a deep fondness for these people. They had helped balm the loss of the people of Milton.

Methuselah remembers the pain of arriving in town after the Darkwalker initially arrived. The bodies in the snow, each one a sharp slice of a knife against his skin. The Interlopers were certainly not replacements, but they have been a comfort. His head dips and he sighs.

“I am but a witness. I cannot decide for you how you may feel.” he tells them. “Perhaps you may be moved by Enola’s plight, by her call for aid. Perhaps you feel wronged to have been spirited away.”

He would understand it. The anger of being stolen away, the anger at the difficulties the Interlopers have faced — whether they had been of Enola’s own design or by her fault of an ability to pull whatever she could through the cracks of the universe. He would hold no anger towards the Interlopers if they chose not to help Enola.

“Whatever it may be, your choice is your own.”

THE CHOICE

WHEN: May 1st.
WHERE: Blackwood.
CONTENT WARNINGS: minor self-mutilation/self-harm; blood; .

The Darkwalker has heard enough. From above, it curls against its chains — three wolf skulls curling into grins. Here, its presence is formidable: it churns up within you, a feeling of wrongness. Of something so cold and dark and vast. Something terrible and so ancient that it makes you shudder, your head bending under the weight of its existence.

“You were deceived, brought here and made in her own image.” It hisses in your ear. “Nothing but puppets in her childish game.”

Enola stands firm. She does not bow, she does not cower back from the Darkwalker’s presence. Instead, she turns and faces the being. She stares up at it squarely. She is not afraid. She has spent long years keeping it contained, having it whisper in her ear — trying to break it down. She has never folded, has never broken down to allow it to escape its confines.

“They are worthy.” Enola says. “They are not nature’s design, but they are mine.”

“They are wrong.” the Darkwalker sneers.


“I don’t know why I was brought here to this world.” Enola says. “Why the universes decided to send a child into this place. But maybe it was all to stop you. My blood was enough to keep you in place, think of what all of us can do. Think of what I can do without having to concentrate on keeping you in place.”

The Darkwalker thrashes violently, the ground rumbles — enough to make you shift your feet to keep your balance. Thunder booms overhead, low and dangerous: the wroth of an ancient being. The jaws snap in its hungry fury.

“You think your blood can banish me?”

Shapes form around the Darkwalker in the black abyss. They shimmer in sickly-green light, difficult to define at first as they shift and jerk unnaturally. But after a few moments, they take the form of human bodies. Slowly, you come to realise, these bodies are familiar to some of you. The shape of them, their features shifting into something recognisable — particularly two women. They hover before you, limp and lifeless — a white, wide gaze in frozen horror.

The victims of the Darkwalker. Those who the being came for personally, and left their broken bodies behind in the snow for Interlopers to find in its wake. The names dance over the tip of your tongue, bitter and mournful.

“I have devoured. I have claimed eight as my own.” the Darkwalker declares, “May their blood and souls unbind me from this temporary cage.”

The Darkwalker’s gigantic visage lowers closer to the gathered crowd. A beast pressing its jaws between the bars of its cage.

“As will yours.”

Rage twists into Enola’s expression. Iridescent flashes in her eyes, sharper than steel. She makes a gesture of striking, and the Darkwalker jerks to one side — the blow landing. But still, it laughs and rears up again. Enola breathes hard, turning her head to look back at the crowd.

“You need to decide.” Enola tells you. “I’m sorry. I stole you. I don’t regret it.”

She chose you. Each and every Interloper who walked these wilds. She turns, her hands twisting to form the banishment sigil again. Light twists in the air, the run taking shape.

“I regret the pain I have caused.” she continues. “And I carry responsibility for each one of your deaths. I’m sorry I could never do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

She presses her hand to the rune, and with a bite of pain, the light sears into her open palm. She brands herself with it, blood weeps from the wound. Enola nods, imploring you to step forward.

“Help me put an end to this and I swear, on anything worth swearing on, that I will put this right.” she tells you. “And after this, I will give you the choice you want.”

The Darkwalker looms before you, above Enola. The blow hurts, but still it laughs. The bodies of its victims hang in the air — a reminder of what is already counted.

“How do you know she speaks the truth? She has used you, she will use you further.” The Darkwalker insists, “Release me— and allow nature to complete its design. If you bend, I will allow you to return to where you came.”

Two choices lie before you. Two paths. Both with their own consequences and futures. Only time will tell how each will play out. Banish the Darkwaker, or Release it.

The choice is yours, Interloper.

FAQs

FINALE

This is a read-only event.

Players will have a chance to thread out their final threads for the game in the second part of the finale.

READ AND CHOOSE WISELY.

You have until May 10th to cast your vote.