Metora is a massive resurrection machine, standing alone in the center of a flat, shallow red lake. The water is calm and still, an eerie quiet that surrounds those who return.
When someone dies, their signal is drawn back to Metora. The machine begins reconstructing their physical form, based on data scattered through the system. Multiple bodies can be respawned at once, depending on how many lives were lost.
A body being reconstructed within Metora
A body being reconstructed within Metora
At no point is anyone clothed. They emerge naked, dazed, and vulnerable, cast directly into the red lake. Some awaken immediately, others remain unconscious until approached. No guidance is offered.
Metora does not erase memory, but it cannot always retrieve everything. What returns is partial fragmented, leaving the reborn in a state of confusion. They sense something missing… but not what.
The true origin of Metora is unknown. Some whisper that it was left behind by a forgotten people to preserve life in an unstable world. Others believe it was a relic meant for a noble purpose, now hijacked by the very system it was supposed to protect against.
But in its current state, Metora has become a systemic loop: a place where death is not the end, but a reset. A reset with no reflection. No growth. Just return. And that is the tragedy.
Unlike traditional respawn systems in video games—where you come back and continue where you left off. Metora does not honor your past. It sends you back to the start without context, surrounded by a world that treats you as replaceable. Each return is a different experience. The passage of time, interference from others, or even memory corruption can alter how you come back, and who you come back as.
For those trapped in Keshuma, death is not an escape. It’s a cycle of near-eternal return. And if you’re unable to grow, if you're stuck repeating the same patterns, the same fate, with no access to your past then the loop becomes something far worse than death. It becomes a form of living purgatory.