MYSTERY FLAVOR: Such a Mysterious Flavor 

Selections from the Cameron Cowan Journal 

Musings by Union | Avenue  

The Great Miami River in Middletown serves as a tangible and strategic element in the narrative.  It situates the characters within the city, providing a clear physical environment that shapes  movement and discovery. The river’s banks and surrounding areas can reveal objects, debris, or  clues that guide the characters toward hidden paths or forgotten names. Navigating these areas  carries natural risks—unstable terrain, industrial remnants, or obstructed crossings—that create  tension and challenge. The river functions as a neutral framework for action, connecting the  characters to the city’s history and the tasks implied by the prophecy, without  anthropomorphizing or assigning it intentionality. Success or failure in interacting with this  environment directly impacts their progress and the unfolding of the story’s central mysteries. 

The prophecy manifests in Middletown, Ohio, along the Great Miami River because of the  town’s dense historical and social layers. Industrial development, riverside commerce, and  small-town networks have left the streets, mills, and neighborhoods rich with forgotten histories  and hidden truths. The river, while not mystical, provides a clear, tangible setting where clues  and consequences naturally converge. Middletown’s geography and human memory make it a  logical location for secrets to resurface, and for the prophecy to guide characters toward  uncovering these truths. In this context, the prophecy is location-dependent, grounded in the  town’s physical and social landscape rather than abstract forces. 

Something in those waters brings the prophecy into being. The Great Miami River flows through  Middletown, carrying the residue of a hidden past, traces of a wrong long buried. Its surface  glints in the early light, ordinary from decades of labor, neglect, and oversight. Along its banks,  abandoned mills slump against the skyline, their windows darkened, their walls etched with time.  Streets lead to forgotten corners where remnants of the past remain: rusted tools, discarded  crates, debris from old industry. 

It is simple, spoken in warning though no one says it aloud: Follow the river to the forgotten  streets. Find the hidden names and the paths they conceal. Ignore them, and the town reveals  what has long been buried. 

Those who move along the riverbanks, who follow the neglected streets, encounter the traces of  the town’s hidden history. Nothing speaks; nothing warns. The clues are physical, visible, and  waiting. 

Despite the knowledge of the water’s history, despite the dangers present in these forgotten  places, there are still those who tempt fate. On a quiet stretch of riverbank, someone kneels,  lowering their hands to the water. They cup it, letting it fill their palms. The current presses  around their fingers, cool and indifferent. 

They hesitate. They do not call the warning aloud. They simply lean closer, poised to drink,  testing the boundary between what has been hidden and what is about to be revealed.

The river accepts nothing, offers nothing. It carries only what it always carries: water, debris, and  traces of a past the town leaves unexamined. And still, someone reaches for it. Middletown  continues its rhythm, ordinary on the surface, yet beneath, the past waits. 

Something in those waters—what it is, what it has been, and what it might bring—remains  unspoken. And for the moment, the choice rests with the one leaning closer. 

“Cum aquas veteris fluminis gustabit unus electus, columna cathedrae tremet, et umbrae  veritates invisibiles dicent. Trias congregabitur, et quod in siti incipit, in revelatione finietur.  Caelum supra frangetur, et solum ii qui per limen ligati sunt, exitum tolerabunt.”