He felt it the moment he was fully inside, a presence that wasn't quite consciousness but wasn't quite nothing. The valley had absorbed so much death, so much violence, so much concentrated betrayal that it had become aware in some limited, terrible way.
And it wanted to share what it knew.
The first vision hit him without warning.
☆☆▪︎▪︎☆☆
The valley was different this time, it was clean, the walls weren't scarred yet, the floor wasn't carpeted with dead. Two armies faced each other across the narrow space, weapons lowered, banners furled.
Galthor watched from nowhere and everywhere, seeing through eyes that didn't exist, understanding things he shouldn't have.
On one side stood the forces of a force, angels in golden armor, human warriors blessed with divine power, beings of pure light that hurt to look at directly. Their commander was a figure in white, radiant and terrible, whose face Galthor couldn't quite see.
