The Forgotten Halls Of Samara

You can find a story right below.

A story about a forgotten manor. A story about another world. A story about transcendence.

My hope is that you enjoy this story.

Right within that hope, there is another hope: inspiration.

My hope is that this story inspires you.

Regardless of that, though, let’s begin!

The Forgotten Halls Of Samara

Somewhere along the Sea of Aurora, there lies an island.

No name was ever given to this island.

On the island, there is a manor.

A manor known as “Samara.”

Constructed by Eleonora of the Sun, Samara was erected for a purpose.

A purpose that is no longer present within the memories sheltered within this moment.

Our concern is not with this purpose, though; our concern is with Samara itself.

Right within Samara, one can find old, hallowed out catacombs; a vast library, rich with treasures; an array of gardens, each one greater and more elaborate than the others; galleries upon galleries of arcane, forgotten works.

And so on and so forth.

Our concern is not with these spaces.

You see, within the very depths of Samara, there is a basement.

A basement that is defined by the absence of light; the presence of old memories; the dust of passing.

A wealth of old archives, photographs, journals, canvases, crates, and machines lie within the basement.

Our concern is not with these items.

Right underneath an old set of crates, each one storing journals made of tattered parchment and faded black-and-white photographs, there is a door.

A wooden door that opens up to reveal a metal ladder.

You can climb through this doorway and step onto the surface.

And, in doing so, you will be met with the forgotten halls of Samara.

Each hall is lit by faint candles, powered by a flame that surpasses time.

Buried within the forgotten halls of Samara, there are 77 rooms.

Every room serves as a chamber, sculpted from stone, marble, and moss.

Right within a room standing along the Eastern edge of these buried halls, there is a door.

A door buried within the stone floors, encumbered by moss, corrosion, and water.

You can open this door and fall into the water that lies below.

And, in doing so, you will find yourself in a cave.

No, not a cave; a cave network that encompasses the entirety of our nameless island.

Right within the hallowed out halls, drowned catacombs, and mossy chambers of this cave, there is a canvas.

A canvas sculpted from gold, steel, and glass.

Right within the center of this canvas, you will find a work of art.

No, not a painting; a body of water.

A body of water, encased within a prison of gold, steel, and glass.

Going Through The Doorway

The body of water contained within the prison is not a body of water.

Rather, it is a doorway.

A singular opening that leads to a space.

You have been here before.

A vast, infinite ocean; no beginning and no ending.

Pure blue. Pure light. Pure motion.

You can move through this space, soaring through the infinite waters of this ocean, never reaching the end.

You have been here before.

You feel this. You sense it. You know that you have been here before.

And, yet, within your heart of hearts, you know that you haven’t.

You have never been here before.

But, you have.

You know this, too.

You know that you have been here before, for in stepping into this ocean, you know this ocean.

You know this ocean.

And, you know what this ocean is for.

You were born here.

All that you are, all that you can ever be, and all that you can ever be; it all comes from here.

Every story you’ve ever told yourself; every idea you’ve ever had; every yearning you’ve experienced; it all comes from here, from this ocean; this eternal moment.

You know this.

The Greatest Depth

Our ocean is infinite.

No beginning. No ending.

Even if you soared through the ocean for eternity and eternity, you would never be able to reach the farthest depth.

And, yet, there is a farthest depth.

The existence of this farthest depth is paradoxical. But, it exists and, in existing, it is present.

Right within this farthest depth, there are beings.

Grown from the ashes of a dream that was dreamt so long ago, these beings appear to us as vast forms.

Vast forms that exist in a manner not unlike those that the mushrooms, trees, and flowers of our Earth embody.

The first ones.

Our ideas come from them. Our stories come from them. Our dreams come from them.

Our very being comes from them.

We are born from them. And, we are bound to them.

A Neverending Transcendence

The first ones exist beyond that which is, that which can be, and that which will be.

And, yet, they are bound to the ocean, bound to the dream, and bound to the memory.

Confined to the spaces they inhabit, and bound to the bodies they are, the first ones are imprisoned.

But, we, as human beings, are not.

The first ones created us; our form, our structure, our very sense of self — it all comes from them.

Right within our form, our structure, our very sense of self, there is a spark.

A spark that allows us to imagine; to experience; to soar; to yearn; to create; to dream.

The gifts that arise from this spark — our concepts, ideas, and notions — allow us to surpass the ocean.

To surpass the ocean, transcend the dream, and go beyond the memory.

Our very being allows us to transcend, for in making us, the first ones made us in the image of that which they wished to be, but not that which they were or, ultimately, could be.

That was their gift to us.

We are born from the ocean. But, we are not bound to the ocean.

Conclusion

If you read this story, thank you so, so much!

Even if you didn’t, thank you so much!

My hope is that you enjoyed this story and that it resonated with you.

If you wish to reach me, for any reason, you can do so by sending an email to “maxwellcakin@gmail.com.”

Best wishes and have a great day!