The chamber was dark, save for faint glimmers reflecting on the wet stone walls. It was here that the whispers began, soft, like forgotten dreams clawing their way back into consciousness. Neil had been chosen.
With every step deeper into the bowels of the ancient sanctuary, the air thickened with anticipation. It clung to his skin, a specter of something profound waiting to be borne. He recalled the words of the Eldest, a voice carved by time into his memory, urging him onward:
The ground beneath Neil's bare feet was cold—a reminder of the primordial beginnings, of the earth's unyielding embrace. Yet, the chill awakened something deeper within. The corridor opened into a vast hall, its ceiling lost to shadows, where figures moved in slow, deliberate dances. They were draped in cloaks that shimmered like the night sky, their faces hidden, save for the glimmer of their eyes.
As Neil crossed the threshold, he felt a warm surge, as if the hall itself breathed around him, enfolding him within its enigmatic rhythm. The initiates, he noted, moved in a circular formation, each step a heartbeat in the pulse of the night.
He was beckoned forward, not by words, but by the gentle insistence of unseen hands guiding him to the center. There, a pedestal awaited, bearing a single orb of crystalline light. It pulsed softly, an echo of the universe's heartbeat. Neil reached out, and immediately, visions flooded his mind—cascading histories, futures not yet written—all converging at this singular moment in time.
And then, silence.
The silence was profound, resonating in his bones, a cosmic void that spoke of beginnings. In that space, Neil understood the initiate's true rite: not the passage through the dark, but the awakening of light within.
Journey Further Past Ceremonies