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The Lore of The Last Of Us is FANATICAL

The Seraphites were not born from conquest or survival.
They were born from silence.

In the ashes of the old world, a woman with no name gathered followers—not with promises, but with presence. She spoke of cleansing, of nature’s revenge, of a world that had grown deaf to truth. Her words were never written, only remembered. Passed from mouth to mouth until they became more than teachings. They became law.

The Seraphites rejected machines, names, and noise. They carved ritual into their skin, built shrines from bark and bone, and hunted with bows drawn in sacred stillness. To outsiders, they were ghosts. To the Wolves, they were a threat. To themselves, they were chosen.

From the hidden island of Haven to the shadowed forests of Seattle, their influence spread like roots—quiet, unseen, and unshakable. They did not fight wars. They performed judgments. And when their beliefs were challenged, they answered with silence sharper than steel.

Even in collapse, their legacy lingers. In scars. In whispers. In the eyes of those who were raised by it and scarred by it—like Lev. Like Yara. Like every child taught to obey without question.

This is the story of a religion that was never written.
Only remembered.
Only feared.

The Lore of The Seraphites
2250

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