Auren wasn't sure how time flowed in the realm of true darkness.
And truthfully, he didn't want to find out.
If his instincts were right—and they usually were—then this place wasn't meant to be understood.
Not in the way normal things were.
This realm... it felt like it harbored secrets. Horrible, sacred ones.
Truths no sane mind should be forced to carry.
He remembered the first time he looked down—the way the ground pulsed with crimson light, like trapped memories clawing their way to the surface.
The whispers. The thoughts that weren't his, yet yearned to tear into his mind.
He had a theory:
They were fragments.
Slivers of forgotten things.
Broken echoes—desperate to escape.
And he would be indulging them if he let them stir anything in him.
So he didn't.
He kept moving.
A lone silhouette in the Hollow Plane, blanketed by a roof of endless black sand—hovering above like a sea of silent stars.
The journey was long. Too long.
