Where reflection becomes ritual, and the currents of memory gather in one quiet cove at the edge of Wulverik.
The Tideborne Sanctum rests where the glowing surf meets a crescent of black stone, carved into the cliff as if the sea itself hollowed it out over centuries. The walls shimmer like wet obsidian, holding echoes of every wave that has ever touched this shore.
The entrance is framed by two pillars of stone-veined glass. Water flows silently down their faces without ever running dry, vanishing into the floor without a sound. Pools of soft blue light gather along the path, pulsing in slow rhythm with a heartbeat you can’t quite locate.
The guardian of this temple, known only as the Tidecaller, rarely appears directly. You glimpse it in reflections along the water’s skin— a lupine silhouette tracing the horizon, eyes like twin tidal moons.
Sometimes the reflection moves when you do not. Sometimes it lags behind. Sometimes, when you look away, you feel something walk beside you without leaving a footprint.
The Tidecaller does not speak. It pulls. Gently. Relentlessly. Like the tide that returns, no matter how many castles are built to deny it.
At the heart of the Sanctum lies the Mirror Pool — a wide, perfectly still surface of dark water ringed with soft blue fireflies. It does not show your face. It shows the one emotion you have refused to name.
For some, it is grief. For others, rage. For others still, a tenderness they have tried to bury beneath armor and sarcasm. The pool reflects only what you are not yet ready to admit… until you are.
Those who cannot name what they feel may still leave the Sanctum safely… but the water will remember, and call them back in time.
Beyond the Mirror Pool, narrow walkways lead to smaller chambers carved into the stone. Some hold quiet alcoves where Echoes of past tides can be heard as soft murmurs. Others house suspended droplets of water that never fall, each containing a memory sealed at the moment it almost overflowed.
One passage leads to a chamber where the ceiling is nothing but water held above your head — a vast, suspended ocean that never descends. Lightning flickers far within it, revealing silhouettes of wolves, travelers, and moments you recognize but can’t quite place.
Few speak of the tide-locked chamber, a sealed space said to exist somewhere behind the Sanctum’s rear wall. Some claim its door only appears in the stone when the tide is at its lowest. Others insist there is no door at all — only a choice.
Whatever the truth, rumors say this chamber is where travelers face the moment their feelings were first denied: by others, or by themselves. No songs echo from inside it. Only the sound of breathing, and the slow drip of water counting each second of courage.