A body drifted slowly in an endless void, suspended in a space of pure, suffocating blackness.
The air—or lack of it—pressed down with an almost sentient cold.
Gradually he realised his body seemed to be adapting to the nearly nonexistent air, and somehow, breathing felt possible— as if the Void itself allowed it.
"A Sinner praying to an even greater sinner?"
The words echoed through his mind, each syllable reverberating like a tolling bell of judgment. The image of Arkyn's statue loomed in his thoughts, stark and unmoving.
"What does this voice mean? What... is it?" Darius's mind raced as he clawed his way back to consciousness, his eyelids heavy like iron gates.
'Am I really dead...?' He wondered.
When he finally forced them open, the sight before him was worse than blindness—nothing but infinite darkness, as though his eyes remained sealed.
'Damn it... what is this place? What is this entity?'
His heart pounded like a war drum against his ribcage. He tried to move, his movements more like gliding through viscous air.
Soon a dark realisation dawn upon him.
"Every direction was the same, this is a labyrinth of emptiness with no exit!"
A bitter, wry smile curled his lips as he stopped.
Memories of his younger days surfaced— painful echoes of jeers and whispered accusations branding him a coward just for choosing books over blades! For daring to be different!
'Just what is wrong with being a scholar and avoiding conflict? Can't diplomancy work for once?!'
'Whats the point of such a life anyway? War always disgusts me... always has' The irony wasn't lost on him— now in this void, his mind waged it's own battle. 'Maybe a prayer to Arkyn... would help?'
'But would he answer the prayer of a sinner?'
The voice had called him that—sinner—and the word burned in his mind like a brand. He wondered if there's some semblance of truth in it to trouble him this much.
'I mean it's not like I'm the first man to grow up in an Arkyn devotee family, who decided to practice err... Witchcraft maybe? And I never killed someone so how the hell am I a sinner, hmm?'
'Delusional talks, maybe I'm going insane, anyways I'm dead. It's not like I can suffer anymore' He shrugged.
A cold wind blew, his hairs stood and he shivered.
Remembering his current situation, he immediately stop whining and decided to take action... To pray. He felt that in this situation, Arkyn might be the only one who could help him out.
"Even in dead... I can find no peace?"
As the realisation of his situation dawned upon him anew, and with a shivering body, he clasped both of his hands together, and whispered into the void, "Oh, Lord Arkyn, I know... I'm not the most devout of your followers, to be honest, I'm one of the worst..." He paused trying to find the right words.
"...but I'm still yours... Please— save me from this plight." His voice cracked, letting his desperation seeping through every syllable.
The seconds stretched, each one heavier than the last. The silence seemingly mocking him, vast and indifferent.
"Dammit, am I really... Am I really forsaken?" Darius muttered, his voice trembling, "Nothing but a sinner?"
"Can He even hear me?" Desperation clawed at his throat, '...or am I ignored?'
He repeated the prayer, each word growing weaker, more desperate, like a fading mantra... Fading in the void.
"Please Arkyn—"
Swoosh!
A sudden, frigid wind cut through the void, sharper than a blade.
'A response!' A slight gleam of hope flashed through his eyes, he nearly teared up at the sight. He was not forsaken, he would be saved!
Then suddenly, the bone-chilling cold he remembered all too well surged back, piercing his skin, his eyes shut wide as he gasp, the cold seeping deep into his bones.
Even Breathing became a struggle, each inhale a jagged shard of ice.
Terror flooded his eyes as he gasped desperately, the cold squeezing the life from him.
"Not— AGain!" He screamed hoarsely.
This is no normal dead, this is hell and I'm getting tortured!
A low, magnificent sigh echoed through the swirling shadows, heavy with ancient power.
The sound wasn't loud, yet it seemed to rattle his very soul, a vibration that threatened to unravel him almost ripping his sanity apart.
"You called, sinner."
The voice was deeper now, more resonant, each word wrapped in a predatory calm. To add to his terror, it seemed to come from everywhere at the same time— he couldn't pinpoint it's direction!
"Now meet your answer."
A collosal shadowy hand emerged, darker than anything he could ever imagine, blotting out the void, it's descent was slow, deliberate— a crushing weight of otherworldly power that promised nothing but annihilation! Truly, this is no Salvation!
***
Meanwhile...
A few distance, away from Kragnir and near the dark woods...
Captain Cedric and his men arrive at the old stone tower, an imposing structure standing alone against the backdrop of a darkening sky.
As the men dismount and begin to assess their surroundings, Captain Cedric felt like he must say something and rally them to prepare for the tasks ahead.
Hooves clattered against the gravel as Captain Cedric reined in his steed. His sharp gaze swept over the stone tower, it's ancient silhouette cutting ominously against the darkening sky.
"So this is where we will be spending our future days..." He thought, his eyes a little squinted. The tower gave him an ominous feeling as if he's being watched...
By whom, he cannot tell nor could he point a direction to it's source.
The wind whispered though the clearing carrying the scent of damp earth and the distant murmur of the forest, as if the woods themselves were holding secrets.
He dismounted, the weight of his armor shifting against him, and turned to his men, who were gathering around.
'Time to rally the men' Cedric thought, steeling himself. He faced his familiar crew, sensing the weight of unspoken fears hanging in the air.