In the shadowed halls where whispers dare not tread, the anvil awaits. Each strike a sonorous call to the void — an echo answers, or so the legend says. Beneath the anvil lies the oath, inscribed not in ink, but in the shadows of the dying light.
Upon entering, initiates find themselves clasping iron chains — not to bind, but to connect. The echoes speak, murmuring secrets of the night, interwoven with the scent of old tomes and forgotten memories. Were they ever here? Or did they witness this from realms untold?
To the north, a door. To the south, a corridor. Both echo the same truth. Choose wisely, for the voice that guides may not be your own. Seize the moment, for time here bends like candlelight, flickering on the edge of reality.
The oath, unspoken yet binding, rests in the silence that follows the echo. What is heard must be understood, what is understood must be believed, and what is believed must be obeyed. Or else...
Return to the Shadows Enter the Inner Chamber