The void wrapped around me, dense and unyielding, choking the air from my lungs. Kneeling in its heart, I could see nothing but the infinite black pressing against my vision. Zarvrioth lay heavy in my grasp, its once-pristine surface marred by deep cracks. Blood streaked the blade, trailing over my trembling hands.
Tears slid down my face. I wasn't sobbing, nor shaking with grief—I was still, almost unnaturally so, as though the weight of everything had crushed even the will to move.
Then the silence shattered.
Battle cries rose like distant echoes, faint at first, but they swelled with a force that was impossible to ignore. Screams, steel clashing, the sound of bodies falling—it all surged around me, relentless and deafening. Zarvrioth trembled in my hands, flickering, glitching, as though caught between existence and some other state.
And then it was gone.
