It must have been more than a day that I crept through the muddy pitch blackness. I lost all track of time.
I know that I fell asleep at one point, laying my head upon my satchel in the ankle-deep sludge. When I awoke nothing had changed; all was silent, and still, and dark. The tunnel breathed in deep synchronicity with the pulse of the earth. A million tree roots intertwined around the cavern, wet and glistening against the intrusion of my lightorb. I continued on.
Eventually I arrived at a fork in the path. Tunnels branched out in five directions, each as black and unidentifiable as the last.
A signpost rose from the mud, and again I found the telltale handwriting of Bag Man.
Harken, said one of the markers, with an arrow pointing back from where I came.
Ashrain, said another.
Ruins of Pendulum, said another. I didn’t know either of these names.
Mapless Storehouse, said the fourth.
Generatia, said the final marker.
That was my destination for this journey. Onward I pressed into the darkness.