Altair had been unable to quantify the number of years he had spent in the darkness. It could have been countless years, cycles, or seconds, for time itself seemed to lose its meaning in the all-encompassing darkness.
Words and thoughts failed him, for they seemed beyond his reach, vanishing off the tip of his tongue like a wisp. And yet he knew where he was. Surrounded by a shadowscape of vast nothingness.
The Vale.
For a while, nothing but the lone cry of a raven carried forth the souls of creation; it filled the night like stars in the skies. Vast clusters of Soul Flames gathered to form nebulas spanning further than the eye could take them.
The Vale was as endless as the souls filling its depths.
