The Ghost Regiments are the lingering formations of soldiers who fell during the American Foreverwar, their deaths too numerous and too sudden to settle cleanly into the afterlife. For the last three centuries, these spectral battalions have roamed the war-torn wastes of the Americas. Whether they fly the grey banners of Cordoba or wear the blue uniforms of Amazonia no longer matters. Entire companies are said to march together through fog-choked valleys, across abandoned rail lines, and along battle-scarred plains where their final engagements once raged. Soldiers fresh to the front lines often report hearing distant drums and shouted commands carried on still nights, followed by the rhythmic thunder of boots where no living troops stand.

Unlike common ghosts bound to personal grievance, the Ghost Regiments remain organized. Witness accounts consistently describe tattered uniforms reflective of multiple eras of the Foreverwar, banners half-burned yet still borne aloft, and officers whose faces appear blurred or indistinct beneath spectral shakos and helmets. Their eyes glow faintly with a cold, pallid light. Weapons are present but unstable, flickering between musket, rifle, and bayonet as if memory itself cannot decide the era. They do not speak to civilians. They issue commands to one another in clipped, echoing tones, often repeating fragments of orders that history records as their final directives.

Scholars of post-war thaumaturgy suggest that the scale and duration of the Foreverwar created a metaphysical scar unique to the Americas. So many soldiers died believing their mission incomplete that belief itself refused to release them. The Ghost Regiments are said to be attempting to carry out their last orders still, but time has twisted purpose into extremity. A command to hold a bridge becomes an endless slaughter of any who approach it. A directive to purge insurgents becomes indiscriminate assault on entire settlements. A mission to secure territory evolves into the ceaseless occupation of land long since reclaimed by forest and ruin.

They are not driven by hatred nor by demonic influence, but by obedience without context. To encounter a Ghost Regiment is to witness discipline divorced from reason, patriotism severed from nation, and sacrifice stretched beyond meaning. They march because they were ordered to march. They fight because they were ordered to fight. And until something greater than command releases them, they will continue their campaigns across battlefields that no longer remembers their names.