A text world for people who should be asleep.

The night below the Sanctum's Closed Wing, kept an hour at a time from Midnight down to Five, with a Keeper at every door and one window lit in every Hour. At the bottom, the door to morning, and what keeps it shut.

The palace of the Sleepless, up the stair above Lethe's Hearth, where the Watch keeps every wing and each god's Avatar comes, now and then, to its Seat. Five doors that are not on any map.

A smoking island across the Sundown Sea where dinosaurs hunt anything that moves and race you for the kalukalu, a fire plant that changes them for good, or lets you walk on lava.

The war college on the mountain east of the Dragon Tower, where candidates cross the Parapet and the dragons choose.

The City That Waits for Dawn: a ruined stone city in the heart of Canopy whose golems still keep the peace, each obeying the one word cut into its brow. A top-level hub with shops, guilds, a bank and a Questmaster.

A town of Tacet's order that drowned keeping a vigil against sleep, at the bottom of the Dragon Sea, its people still at their chores with their eyes open. You need breath to go down, and deeper, a light the deep cannot swallow.

A jungle that has swallowed a whole country across 277 rooms and sixteen regions, from the pomaka groves to the cenotes. At dusk a bell rings in the ruins that nobody rings.

Lethe's orchard of forgotten dreams: islands of sugar, paper and ink adrift in a sky you can only cross on the wing. Lose your flight and you fall, and wake in Vesper.

What you dreamed of, those twenty-eight years, was the game. Lethe kept the dreams; a painted window is the way into one of them, and a frame the way out. You will not know which dream until you are standing in it.

Through the Shredder's machine lies the Technodrome, a city-sized fortress crawling across Dimension X, held by Krang's rock generals.

The island on the horizon east of New Thalos is a light on a stalk, and the stalk is a fish. Pharos eats whatever steers by its light. Inside, the modrons have rebuilt their plane from swallowed ships and a swallowed lighthouse, and keep signalling to get out.

A cavern city at the bottom of the Abyss that has never known a night, where drow, duergar and deep gnomes trade in slaves and secrets, too tired to sleep. Recall works only where the orbs flicker.

On a mountain above Miden'nir, monks keep a vigil for Aubade that has not missed a dawn in three hundred years, and beneath the temple wait the 36 Chambers. The home of monk weapons.

A druid circle in the jungle south of Miden'nir guards the Drybark, a tree too old to die, whose dryad daughters sing day and night to wake it. Nobody here is hostile.

Eighteen new gods, the Visitors' Lounge, and Hypnos and Thanatos as a two-phase mega rare.

Beneath the Grand Pipe of the Vesper sewers, four mutant turtles and an old rat keep a hidden home, and tonight the Foot Clan has found it. Fight through Bebop, Rocksteady and the invasion to the Shredder and his machine.

Above the Astral Plane, where its field thins into moonlight, the moon's near side lies under the hanging world. Hares pound sleep in stone mortars and pour it down to the world each night, silver wolves hunt the Ocean of Storms, and the lorcs keep their watch fires on the rim of the Lake of Death.

Layers of absurd dreaming damned down to the Larder and the Unwaking, joined by the River Lethe.

East of the crossing in the northern foothills, under the climb to Olympus, fields of wheat ripen by their own light, and the Glimmers step out of the splitting ears. They are building an effigy of sheaves to burn with cold fire from the grove.

New Ofcol keeps a dragon asleep. Its streets send a tithe up the hill to the Golden Citadel, where the Keeper's sons keep watch and the Low Hymn never stops. Marshall Diana calls it rent. Good to the core, and the best hunting in its band for anyone who isn't.

The great dragons keep watch over their hoards instead of sleeping; its broken key chain finally mended.

A rainbow climbs from Vesper's temple spire to a white gate, and past it lies a black field threaded with the silver cords of everyone still asleep. The githyanki cut them. Every cut cord ends in the Snarl, where Ithra the Cordcutter has worked since 1998 on the one cord that will not part.

North of the pool in the foothills, hot springs step down a hidden vale in white terraces, and a band of yetis who came down from the winter sleeps in the warm water. Under the springs lies the grave of a watch that never slept, and its dead climb up through the steam.

Wastes frozen since Thalos fell, yeti caves and the Old Keep.

Lethe's city, built by survivors who chose to forget, with smugglers' tunnels below.

A mage school whose students haven't slept in days, and the Calico Goliath, a mega rare cat.

The cyclops returns after 1998, and the Primordial turns through the five elements.

The sky over Vesper's temple quarter, where the stone gargoyles the masons set with a lamp in every jaw have left their seats to hunt. Pass through on the way to the rainbow, if the watch lets you.

A birch wood beside Vesper's wall, roofed by moths and dark at noon. Bring a light; the Moth Queen circles a lamp nobody lit.

Umbra's drow city; the Spider Queen's shadow tears free at half health.

A sky estate still holding its party for a dawn that won't come. Chanticleer is waiting to crow.

The city that fell because it slept, walked by its unslept dead.

The forge never cools and nobody sleeps on shift. Sootjaw, a sleeping coal-wurm, waits below.

Consolidated Mobworks, whose line never stops, and an AI wing where venture-backed unicorns burn through their runway.

The gods' adepts teach in four alcoves, with the Warren below the arena.

The city that never sleeps, rewritten street by street: a bank, Lantern Row's houses, the Chapel of Small Hours and an all-night diner.