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Epoch Arcana
"Unveiling the Mysteries of Time"
History is written by those who remain. But what about those who were never meant to be remembered?
Epoch Arcana is a collection of legendary female figures displaced from time—warriors, visionaries, and exiles whose pasts were erased, rewritten, or simply forgotten. Once part of lost civilizations, vanished orders, and fractured timelines, they now walk the edges of history, searching for what was stolen from them.
Some fight to restore their lost worlds. Others seek vengeance against the forces that erased them. And a few have accepted that they will never belong to any era again. But they all share one truth: they were not supposed to survive.
From Eris Vale, the last agent of a city that vanished overnight, to Cassia Solane, a warrior of an empire that never fell—only ceased to exist, each heroine is a myth that refuses to fade, a ghost that defies time’s will. Their pasts may be gone, but their stories are far from over.
Blending 1960s aesthetics, surrealism, and time-warped mythology, Epoch Arcana is a collection of visual echoes from histories that almost never were. If the past has been erased, what else still lingers in the shadows of time?
Step into the forgotten.
Eris Vale
"Some people survive history. Others are erased by it."
Eris Vale was never supposed to exist.
She was born in Vorlath, a city lost not to war, but to time itself. No books remember it. No maps record its streets. But she remembers—because she was there the night it disappeared.
Once an agent of the Obsidian Order, Eris was trained to manipulate history itself—rewriting events before they ever happened. But when she uncovered a secret even the Order feared, they turned against her. She ran, knowing the cost of betrayal.
And then the city fell. Not in fire, not in ruin—but in silence. One moment it stood; the next, it had never been.
Now, Eris moves between worlds, slipping through time’s fractures. The helmet she wears is a relic from a war erased from history—the last proof that her past was ever real. She is hunted by those who erased her world, but she is not afraid.
Because somewhere in the cracks of time, Vorlath still exists. And she will find it.
Eris Vale was never supposed to exist.
She was born in Vorlath, a city lost not to war, but to time itself. No books remember it. No maps record its streets. But she remembers—because she was there the night it disappeared.
Once an agent of the Obsidian Order, Eris was trained to manipulate history itself—rewriting events before they ever happened. But when she uncovered a secret even the Order feared, they turned against her. She ran, knowing the cost of betrayal.
And then the city fell. Not in fire, not in ruin—but in silence. One moment it stood; the next, it had never been.
Now, Eris moves between worlds, slipping through time’s fractures. The helmet she wears is a relic from a war erased from history—the last proof that her past was ever real. She is hunted by those who erased her world, but she is not afraid.
Because somewhere in the cracks of time, Vorlath still exists. And she will find it.
Cassia Solane
"Empires crumble. Names are forgotten. But the desert never gives up its ghosts."
Cassia Solane was the last of the Solar Sentinels, the sworn protectors of Aurelion, a desert empire that thrived in an age beyond memory. Their warriors fought not with steel, but with time itself—commanding the flow of history to prevent the fall of their civilization.
But the war they fought was not against armies. It was against something unseen—a force that devoured the past, leaving nothing behind. The empire was not conquered, not burned, not lost to ruin—only erased.
Cassia was the last to fall. She fought until the sands swallowed her city, her people, her name. And then… she woke up. Alone.
The desert remains, but it is not the one she knew. The stars above her belong to another time. The war is over—or perhaps it never happened at all. But Cassia is still here. And she still remembers.
Now, she wanders the ruins of history, searching for the truth. If Aurelion was erased… what else has been forgotten? And who else still remembers?
Cassia Solane was the last of the Solar Sentinels, the sworn protectors of Aurelion, a desert empire that thrived in an age beyond memory. Their warriors fought not with steel, but with time itself—commanding the flow of history to prevent the fall of their civilization.
But the war they fought was not against armies. It was against something unseen—a force that devoured the past, leaving nothing behind. The empire was not conquered, not burned, not lost to ruin—only erased.
Cassia was the last to fall. She fought until the sands swallowed her city, her people, her name. And then… she woke up. Alone.
The desert remains, but it is not the one she knew. The stars above her belong to another time. The war is over—or perhaps it never happened at all. But Cassia is still here. And she still remembers.
Now, she wanders the ruins of history, searching for the truth. If Aurelion was erased… what else has been forgotten? And who else still remembers?
Vesper Lynx
"The sky is a map. The stars are the script. But she no longer knows how to read them."
There was a time when Vesper Lynx flew between the stars. She was one of the Celestial Navigators, an ancient order that could read the fabric of time by following the movement of the cosmos. They were the ones who guided lost travelers home, whispering forgotten paths through the void.
But then, the stars changed. Or perhaps, time itself shifted.
One by one, the Navigators disappeared, erased from the firmament, their names unspoken. Vesper was the last to fall—cast out of the sky, stripped of her purpose. She does not know who betrayed her order, or why the universe no longer remembers them.
Now, she wanders across a world that no longer knows her name, her wings as heavy as forgotten prayers. The stars above are silent. The paths she once knew are closed.
But in the distance, there is still something calling. And she will not stop until she remembers where she was meant to go.
There was a time when Vesper Lynx flew between the stars. She was one of the Celestial Navigators, an ancient order that could read the fabric of time by following the movement of the cosmos. They were the ones who guided lost travelers home, whispering forgotten paths through the void.
But then, the stars changed. Or perhaps, time itself shifted.
One by one, the Navigators disappeared, erased from the firmament, their names unspoken. Vesper was the last to fall—cast out of the sky, stripped of her purpose. She does not know who betrayed her order, or why the universe no longer remembers them.
Now, she wanders across a world that no longer knows her name, her wings as heavy as forgotten prayers. The stars above are silent. The paths she once knew are closed.
But in the distance, there is still something calling. And she will not stop until she remembers where she was meant to go.
Mireille Dusk
"Memory is fragile. A name is just a thread. And once it breaks, what is left of you?"
She was once a Keeper of Names, a guardian of stories, of lives, of the fragile threads that wove existence together. Mireille Dusk was the last of the Eidolon Archivists, a hidden order tasked with preserving the souls of those history refused to remember.
But one by one, the names vanished. The books of the forgotten grew blank. The voices faded.
And then, so did she.
It began slowly—her reflection blurred, her shadow grew thin, her voice became a whisper in the wind. No one saw her anymore. No one spoke her name. The world had already begun to erase her existence before she even realized it.
Now, she wanders the places where memory lingers the longest—the ruins, the graves, the places where the past is reluctant to let go. She does not know if she is a ghost, a story, or something even less real.
But there is one thing she still remembers: There was once someone she was meant to find. Someone who still remembers her name.
She was once a Keeper of Names, a guardian of stories, of lives, of the fragile threads that wove existence together. Mireille Dusk was the last of the Eidolon Archivists, a hidden order tasked with preserving the souls of those history refused to remember.
But one by one, the names vanished. The books of the forgotten grew blank. The voices faded.
And then, so did she.
It began slowly—her reflection blurred, her shadow grew thin, her voice became a whisper in the wind. No one saw her anymore. No one spoke her name. The world had already begun to erase her existence before she even realized it.
Now, she wanders the places where memory lingers the longest—the ruins, the graves, the places where the past is reluctant to let go. She does not know if she is a ghost, a story, or something even less real.
But there is one thing she still remembers: There was once someone she was meant to find. Someone who still remembers her name.
Odessa Noctis
"They thought taking her sight would make her powerless. They were wrong."
Once, Odessa Noctis ruled a city that no longer exists. She was the last monarch of Nocturne, a kingdom built on prophecy, where the future was written in the sky and rulers reigned not by blood, but by foresight.
She saw what was coming.
And they blinded her for it.
Her crown was taken. Her name was erased. The city fell, swallowed by the storm.
But Nocturne did not vanish completely. Somewhere, in the dark corners of history, its remnants still whisper. And Odessa still walks, eyes covered, vision stolen—yet seeing more than anyone ever could.
Now, she searches for the ones who erased her. Not to stop them. To warn them. Because what she saw before Nocturne fell… it hasn’t happened yet.
And this time, she will not be silenced.
Once, Odessa Noctis ruled a city that no longer exists. She was the last monarch of Nocturne, a kingdom built on prophecy, where the future was written in the sky and rulers reigned not by blood, but by foresight.
She saw what was coming.
And they blinded her for it.
Her crown was taken. Her name was erased. The city fell, swallowed by the storm.
But Nocturne did not vanish completely. Somewhere, in the dark corners of history, its remnants still whisper. And Odessa still walks, eyes covered, vision stolen—yet seeing more than anyone ever could.
Now, she searches for the ones who erased her. Not to stop them. To warn them. Because what she saw before Nocturne fell… it hasn’t happened yet.
And this time, she will not be silenced.
Selis Novane
"She was built to serve the timeline. But what happens when the timeline is wrong?"
Selis Novane was never born—she was made. Created by the Keepers of the Thread, she was one of the Sentinels of the Unbroken Path, an order tasked with preserving the flow of time by eliminating anomalies.
For centuries, she hunted those who strayed from fate—erasing those who weren’t meant to exist, ensuring history followed its intended course. She never questioned. She never failed.
Until one day, she found a name that should not have been erased.
She hesitated. And in that moment, time itself betrayed her.
Now, Selis stands on the edge of a world that was never meant to be. She no longer serves the Keepers, but she does not yet defy them. Her blindfold is not a mark of obedience—it is a refusal to see what she has become.
She knows one thing: if she was created to correct time’s mistakes, what happens when she realizes she is one?
Selis Novane was never born—she was made. Created by the Keepers of the Thread, she was one of the Sentinels of the Unbroken Path, an order tasked with preserving the flow of time by eliminating anomalies.
For centuries, she hunted those who strayed from fate—erasing those who weren’t meant to exist, ensuring history followed its intended course. She never questioned. She never failed.
Until one day, she found a name that should not have been erased.
She hesitated. And in that moment, time itself betrayed her.
Now, Selis stands on the edge of a world that was never meant to be. She no longer serves the Keepers, but she does not yet defy them. Her blindfold is not a mark of obedience—it is a refusal to see what she has become.
She knows one thing: if she was created to correct time’s mistakes, what happens when she realizes she is one?
Nyssa Verne
"She has walked across time, yet no world will call her home."
Nyssa Verne does not belong here. She does not belong anywhere.
She came from a future that no longer exists. A world of glass cities and endless sky, where the past was merely a story to be rewritten. But the story collapsed. The world she knew unraveled, pulled apart by an event no one could stop.
Some say she was the cause. Others say she was the only one who survived it.
Now, she drifts across time’s forgotten places—always walking, always searching, never meant to stay. The visor she wears does not shield her from the world; it shields the world from what she has seen. The storm that follows her is not a coincidence.
It is a memory of a world that no longer exists. And something in it still remembers her.
Nyssa Verne does not belong here. She does not belong anywhere.
She came from a future that no longer exists. A world of glass cities and endless sky, where the past was merely a story to be rewritten. But the story collapsed. The world she knew unraveled, pulled apart by an event no one could stop.
Some say she was the cause. Others say she was the only one who survived it.
Now, she drifts across time’s forgotten places—always walking, always searching, never meant to stay. The visor she wears does not shield her from the world; it shields the world from what she has seen. The storm that follows her is not a coincidence.
It is a memory of a world that no longer exists. And something in it still remembers her.
Veyla Corvin
"She is not the first of her kind. She is the last."
Once, there was an ancient order of messengers—beings who carried the secrets of time itself between worlds. They were the Corvini, and Veyla was their last surviving emissary.
Their mission was simple: deliver messages from one age to another, passing whispers through the corridors of history. They did not belong to any single timeline. They did not shape fate. They only carried the words of those who did.
Then the messages stopped coming. One by one, the Corvini vanished, erased from memory, their wings clipped by something even time could not reverse.
Now, Veyla walks alone, her purpose lost, her message undelivered. She no longer knows who sent it. She does not know who was meant to receive it.
But one thing is certain—the message still exists, buried deep in her mind. And there are those who would do anything to ensure it is never spoken aloud.
Once, there was an ancient order of messengers—beings who carried the secrets of time itself between worlds. They were the Corvini, and Veyla was their last surviving emissary.
Their mission was simple: deliver messages from one age to another, passing whispers through the corridors of history. They did not belong to any single timeline. They did not shape fate. They only carried the words of those who did.
Then the messages stopped coming. One by one, the Corvini vanished, erased from memory, their wings clipped by something even time could not reverse.
Now, Veyla walks alone, her purpose lost, her message undelivered. She no longer knows who sent it. She does not know who was meant to receive it.
But one thing is certain—the message still exists, buried deep in her mind. And there are those who would do anything to ensure it is never spoken aloud.
Zylla Morrin
"The old gods do not die. They only fade."
Once, Zylla Morrin was worshipped. Not as a goddess, but as a force—a presence that walked the land long before men built their empires.
But time is cruel, and gods who are forgotten do not remain gods for long.
Her temples fell. Her name was erased from the stones. The last of her worshippers whispered her name one final time before silence claimed them. And then, the world moved on.
Yet she did not fade completely.
Zylla walks still, though the land no longer recognizes her. She no longer commands storms. No fire burns at her feet. The mortals who once feared her now pass her by, their eyes sliding over her as if she is nothing at all.
But something stirs. Something old.
The wind still speaks in a language she remembers. The earth still carries echoes of a time before time.
And if she is the last of her kind, then she will find out why. And what took the others away.
Once, Zylla Morrin was worshipped. Not as a goddess, but as a force—a presence that walked the land long before men built their empires.
But time is cruel, and gods who are forgotten do not remain gods for long.
Her temples fell. Her name was erased from the stones. The last of her worshippers whispered her name one final time before silence claimed them. And then, the world moved on.
Yet she did not fade completely.
Zylla walks still, though the land no longer recognizes her. She no longer commands storms. No fire burns at her feet. The mortals who once feared her now pass her by, their eyes sliding over her as if she is nothing at all.
But something stirs. Something old.
The wind still speaks in a language she remembers. The earth still carries echoes of a time before time.
And if she is the last of her kind, then she will find out why. And what took the others away.
Vaeda Crimson
"She was designed to follow orders. Now, there is no one left to give them."
Vaeda Crimson was not born. She was engineered, a construct built for a singular purpose—to correct time’s deviations, to silence those who strayed from their destined path.
But something went wrong.
Her creators vanished. The voices that once dictated her purpose fell silent. And for the first time, she stood without command, without directive—without meaning.
Now, she walks a world that no longer remembers her function, but some still fear her presence. The stories say she was once an executioner of fate, a phantom that appeared only when history demanded it. Others whisper that she never existed at all—that she is a myth wearing human form, a story that refuses to die.
She does not know which is true.
But Vaeda remembers the last order she was ever given. And if she finds the one who spoke it, she will finally understand who she was meant to be.
Vaeda Crimson was not born. She was engineered, a construct built for a singular purpose—to correct time’s deviations, to silence those who strayed from their destined path.
But something went wrong.
Her creators vanished. The voices that once dictated her purpose fell silent. And for the first time, she stood without command, without directive—without meaning.
Now, she walks a world that no longer remembers her function, but some still fear her presence. The stories say she was once an executioner of fate, a phantom that appeared only when history demanded it. Others whisper that she never existed at all—that she is a myth wearing human form, a story that refuses to die.
She does not know which is true.
But Vaeda remembers the last order she was ever given. And if she finds the one who spoke it, she will finally understand who she was meant to be.
Solenne Drae
"A crown is not a thing you wear. It is a weight you carry."
Solenne Drae was the last heir of the Solar Throne, a dynasty that ruled not by conquest, but by prophecy. Every ruler was chosen not by birth, but by what they were fated to become.
But when the time came for Solenne’s reign, the stars were silent. The prophecy that should have named her never came. And without fate to guide them, her empire tore itself apart.
She was exiled—not for what she had done, but for what she had failed to be.
Now, she walks the ruins of forgotten roads, searching for an answer no one could give her. If she was never meant to rule… then why does the past refuse to let her go?
Somewhere, in the lost corridors of time, her fate was stolen from her.
And she will take it back.
Solenne Drae was the last heir of the Solar Throne, a dynasty that ruled not by conquest, but by prophecy. Every ruler was chosen not by birth, but by what they were fated to become.
But when the time came for Solenne’s reign, the stars were silent. The prophecy that should have named her never came. And without fate to guide them, her empire tore itself apart.
She was exiled—not for what she had done, but for what she had failed to be.
Now, she walks the ruins of forgotten roads, searching for an answer no one could give her. If she was never meant to rule… then why does the past refuse to let her go?
Somewhere, in the lost corridors of time, her fate was stolen from her.
And she will take it back.
Thyra Rune
"A story is only finished when the final page is written. And she is not done yet."
Thyra Rune was never meant to fight. She was meant to remember.
She was the heir to the Red Masque, an ancient order that preserved the art of storytelling, myth-making, and the truths hidden within legends. For centuries, the Masque wove history into fables, ensuring that even the most forbidden truths survived in the form of whispered tales.
But then, the order fell.
Their libraries were burned. Their storytellers vanished. And stories were no longer enough to stop what came next.
So Thyra took up the blade.
She does not know who struck the final blow against the Masque. She only knows that their enemies did not just want them dead—they wanted them forgotten.
Now, she walks a world that has erased the very myths that once protected it. The stories are gone, but something remains in the silence. A thread left unbroken. A name she cannot forget.
If history can be rewritten, then so can its ending.
And Thyra Rune is not done yet.
Thyra Rune was never meant to fight. She was meant to remember.
She was the heir to the Red Masque, an ancient order that preserved the art of storytelling, myth-making, and the truths hidden within legends. For centuries, the Masque wove history into fables, ensuring that even the most forbidden truths survived in the form of whispered tales.
But then, the order fell.
Their libraries were burned. Their storytellers vanished. And stories were no longer enough to stop what came next.
So Thyra took up the blade.
She does not know who struck the final blow against the Masque. She only knows that their enemies did not just want them dead—they wanted them forgotten.
Now, she walks a world that has erased the very myths that once protected it. The stories are gone, but something remains in the silence. A thread left unbroken. A name she cannot forget.
If history can be rewritten, then so can its ending.
And Thyra Rune is not done yet.
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