Zanzibar is the blueprint of all Windmills—King’s will made whole. It is the original pattern from which every Windmill would follow. At the dawn of the Infest, the Windmills rose as crude monuments of chaos, indistinguishable echoes of their master. They churn the Noise into the Mortal Realm, birthing corruption where silence once ruled. These were the Apex Windmills, the beginning of all ruin.

But the Windmills do more than stand as monuments—they are conduits. Through them, the Noise is given form, and the Infest spreads. They are fragments of lost history, monuments to forgotten sins. Yet the Windmills did not remain the same. As the Honor Guard were reborn, each carried with them a reflection of their essence, and their Windmills began to twist into new forms. With King’s Apex, they reshaped the corruption into something deliberate, orchestrated, and unstoppable.

When the Apex rises in unison with its echoes, the Noise reaches its final crescendo. That convergence is Zanzibar—the ultimate Windmill, where chaos crowns itself. In its shadow, the world does not merely fall. It is remade.

The Infest is the plague of King, a sickness that spreads through spirit, mind, and flesh. Within a host, it begins as whispers in thought, then splits mind from body, hollowing the soul until only obedience remains. Across nations, it sweeps like a tide—turning unease into paranoia, paranoia into slaughter, slaughter into silence. Those claimed by the Infest do not simply die—they are rewritten, their bodies and memories bent into resonance.

The Windmills serve as conduits of this corruption, amplifying the Noise and accelerating the outbreak. Yet the Infest has its own rhythm, a progression marked in stages:

• The Unheard: Infection begins unseen. Whispers stir beneath silence, gnawing at the edges of thought. Entire regions tremble with unease they cannot name.
  
  
• The Split: Minds fracture. Compulsions fester. Families and armies alike tear themselves apart as violence erupts without reason.
  
  
• The Shell: Flesh and spirit divide. Victims become hollow vessels, shells driven by echoes of the Noise. Cities collapse beneath swarms of shells.
  
  
• The Harmonized: The Noise reaches full pitch. Populations fall into perfect obedience. Here the Harmonic Stewards emerge—rare figures who retain fragments of self, channeling the Noise not as madness, but as purpose. They become commanders of shells, keepers of Windmills, and the first true preachers of King’s rise.
  
  

Through individuals, the Infest hollows. Through Stewards, it directs. Through Windmills, it multiplies. And when these forces converge, the Infest becomes more than a sickness—it becomes an army. A warfront. A system of corruption that moves with one will. And when it reaches its crescendo, there is no cure—only Zanzibar.

Chaos is the oldest force, the pulse beneath creation. It is not light nor dark, not good nor evil—it is the current of unshaped possibility. In the beginning, it was the raw wellspring from which magic was drawn, the rhythm of transformation that gave form to all realms. But when balance broke, chaos bled unchecked into the Border, becoming the fuel for King’s dominion. Now it lingers as Noise, sharpened and weaponized, stripped of wonder and bound to ruin. Chaos does not create, it corrupts; it does not destroy, it consumes. It is the hum beneath every silence, waiting to be heard.

The Border is the horizon between realms, the scar left when order and chaos were torn apart. Neither fully world nor void, it is a shifting threshold where time bends, memory frays, and the dead echo endlessly. Once it was a bridge, a place of passage where souls could cross and magic flowed freely. Now it is a labyrinth of echoes, a broken dominion where ruins linger from a forgotten age. To enter the Border is to step into what was lost: a place where history bleeds into nightmare, and where nothing remains whole.

"Sons and daughters of my Scourge remember this: I am not the end, but the beginning of their silence. Through my Windmills, the Noise will speak, and the world will learn to kneel. They will not find peace; they will find only Zanzibar.”
~KING