In the drowned swamps of Doaden, wanderers lose more than their way. The fog carries whispers, promising light to those who suffer long enough to seek it. When at last the lost behold the Waybeacon’s glow, its beauty consumes them. They fall to their knees before the radiant flame and the pale figure who guards it. Exuvia, the Moth Queen, speaks softly to their hollow minds, offering absolution through surrender.

To prove devotion, each must swallow a living larva drawn from her own silken brood. The creature burrows deep, feeding on pain and memory until it replaces both with worship. The Acolyte rises changed, their eyes glassy with reverence, their bodies threaded with fine scales that shimmer beneath the glow.

They no longer remember their names or their grief. All that remains is yearning, the need to be near the light, to bask in its impossible purity. They wander the marsh like sleepwalkers, whispering prayers through trembling lips, guiding others toward the flame that will unmake them. Within their song lies joy, for they believe the light will burn away every sin, leaving only beauty behind.