We were no longer falling through stone or fire—we were tumbling through a void that bent space until even the scream in my throat warped sideways, stretched into a thousand echoes.
The walls around us pulsed like veins, slick with memory and black flame. Faces flickered in the dark—Serathion's shadow, skewered and writhing, Myrrath's runes flaring only to fracture, Kaelthys's wings burning until they crumbled into ash. Their deaths repeated endlessly, looping visions, unbroken torment.
I clung to Damon, but the vessel-chains lashing my chest dragged me deeper, as if the god had hooked anchors into my soul. Every heartbeat pulled harder. Damon's arm wrapped around me, but even he was being torn apart by the pull—the Scar at his chest split wider, leaking fire across his ribs like molten veins.
The void whispered to us, a chant carried on no tongue yet etched in bone:
"Nael vestra… vestra drown… shael forever…"
