By the light of the stone, he could see shapes at the edge of his vision. Shadows within shadows, hunched, meagre, and yet powerful in presence. Startled, he scrambled back, thrusting the glowing quartz before him like a ward. His pulse quickened, pumping new blood into dried veins.
“Who are you?” His words came out in a hoarse rasp. He did not recognize the sound of his own voice. It unnerved him. A cool breeze brushed against his face, seeming to stoke the quartz, for it flared brighter. Was he outside?
“You are in the Darkwall,” came a thin voice that echoed quietly before and after it sounded, harmonizing with itself in dissonant yet ordered patterns. The phrase crescendoed and diminished rapidly, fading to nothing, dying with the breeze. The shapes at the edge of the light did not move, though he felt that the voice came from there. “Beyond light’s edge,” it continued. “We return to you, and have come to return you.” There was a pause, and then it spoke what he knew to be his own name.
“Aurum.”