FIELD LOG 01 — MY FATHER WAS RIGHT

Expedition Archive // Restricted Access
Recovered Documents Dated: October 3rd, 1911
Author: Elias Voss

My father spent his entire life searching for a world most believed did not exist.

He dedicated decades to chasing fragments of myths buried within forgotten civilizations, ruined temples and impossible mathematical patterns hidden throughout human history. While other researchers searched for answers in the stars, my father searched beneath the Earth itself.

He believed there was another world existing alongside our own.

A world hidden behind ancient gateways built long before recorded history.

He called it:
The Black Sun World.

As a child, I thought the stories were fantasies born from obsession.

He spoke of ruined kingdoms beneath a sky dominated by a darkened sun. Of creatures older than civilization itself. Of artifacts capable of distorting time, memory and reality. He filled entire journals with strange calculations and symbols that seemed impossible to understand.

Every room in our house became consumed by his research.

Walls covered in maps. Ancient texts stacked across the floor. Endless recordings played late into the night while he attempted to decode repeating signals discovered beneath archaeological sites across the world.

My mother hated it.

She called the Black Sun an illness.

Something that had taken him from us long before he disappeared.

But despite everything… part of me always believed him.

Because sometimes, late at night, I would hear the recordings too.

A low repeating pulse hidden beneath static.

Almost rhythmic.

Almost alive.

The older I became, the more distant my father grew. He stopped discussing his work publicly after the university dismissed his findings as delusion. Funding vanished. Colleagues abandoned him. Friends stopped visiting entirely.

But he never stopped searching.

If anything, he became worse.

Obsessed.

Certain he was close to discovering something hidden beneath human history itself.

Then, one winter morning, he vanished.

No sign of forced entry.
No struggle.
No body.

Only his journals remained.

Most were filled with fragmented calculations and references to places that did not exist on any map. Others contained sketches of impossible structures, enormous gates and symbols repeated so often they became almost hypnotic to look at.

Near the end of his final journal, the entries changed.

The writing became unstable.

Rushed.

Fearful.

The final page contained only a single sentence.

“If the gate opens, do not follow me.”

For fifteen years, I tried to forget about the Black Sun world.

I buried the journals.
Ignored the calculations.
Convincing myself my father had simply lost his mind.

But the dreams never stopped.

The same ruined world beneath a blackened sky.

The same distant towers stretching across endless ash-covered landscapes.

And always…
the feeling that something inside that world was watching me.

Three nights ago, everything changed.

Hidden within my father’s journals, I discovered a sequence of calculations repeated across dozens of pages. At first it appeared meaningless — fractured mathematics mixed with symbols from civilizations separated by thousands of years.

Until I realised the calculations were not equations.

They were coordinates.

The sequence led me beneath the ruins of an abandoned excavation site hidden beneath Sector Nine.

I should have walked away.

Instead…
I opened the gate.

And when the darkness beyond it finally looked back at me…

I realised my father was never searching for the Black Sun world.

He was trying to escape it.