Vibrations shook the earth beneath his feet. Rumbles echoed throughout the city. The sky lit up with flames above the central district of Bareon.

A part of him wanted to drop everything and rush there. It was clear now that the burning church was nothing more than a distraction to force Lord Orlein to divide his forces, and it had worked. There were over three dozen people just trying to put out the church while even more people tirelessly worked to save the lives of the wounded and dying. Soldiers were busy trying to find the perpetrator, and even Midhir himself was preoccupied with saving lives.

Their plan had worked – the Bareon forces were divided. But that alone was hardly enough to win against Lord Orlein’s full strength.

Another series of explosions followed the first one, shaking the very earth. The ground shook violently, and the alarming sound of something cracking under pressure reached his ears. His gaze darted up, towards the toppling tower above him.

“Run!” He shouted at the top of his lungs as he let go of the metal rod, running away from the church. He heard the tower crash into the ground behind him with a deafening boom. Shrapnel flew past him – small stones and shards of glass. He threw himself to the ground, covering his head with his arms.

Pieces of debris fell to the ground, some hitting his back and legs, while others hit the other people in the vicinity. Shouts echoed in his ears. Screams of fear, pain, and terror sounded across the city. Before the debris even finished raining down, a blood freezing creak echoed.

The ground beneath him suddenly felt a lot less secure. His eyes widened in shock as the ground shattered, and he fell.

The sensation of falling only lasted for a split second before he felt his consciousness yanked away by force. The falling rocks and pavement were no more as he stared into the endless abyss that was the Old God’s pupil.

A black tendril blocked half of his vision. He helplessly watched it reel back, only to strike his eye.

Pain blinded him, it jolted throughout his body, threatening to take away his consciousness. It took all of his willpower to even stay awake, though his restrained limbs went limp as he felt blood flow down his eye.

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Power

It was a concept that suddenly appeared in his mind. Clearly originating from the Old God before him, the thought grew stronger.

Power!

It was clearer this time. It lingered in his mind, like a thought refusing to be ignored.

“I don’t understand,” his voice was but a whisper. Did the Old God offer him power? Or ask for it? Was it condemning him for not having enough power, for being too weak? He didn’t understand – nor did he want to. He needed to wake up, to return to the waking world. Bareon was under attack, and he was falling through the pavement to who knows where.

“What do you want from me?!” He shouted in desperation, pushing the foreign thought away. “People are dying, I need to be helping them!” His pleading would be meaningless to a being so different. Did lives even matter to it? Looking at the endless abyss beyond its eye, he didn’t think so. Why would it? Humanity was but a fleeting moment in its endless life, wasn’t it?

Death

A shiver ran down his spine.

Bareon… ancient…

It understood him. And, in its own way, replied.

It felt like his head was about to burst from the pain and pressure. He could feel his mind bend under the thoughts reflected into it.

Temple

An image flashed before his eyes – a chalk-coloured altar in what seemed to be a large, empty space. There were a few things decorating the altar, but the image flashed away too quickly.

Power

He saw a beautiful flower, glowing brightly with spiritual power. It was a clear, vibrant blue in the centre, with crimson veins slowly invading the edges of its petals.

Then, the image faded, allowing him a glimpse of the Old One before he hit the ground. A pained groan escaped his lips before he touched his left eyelid in a panic. He could still see – the world’s light was still there, he hadn’t lost his eye, or his sight.

A nightmare, he wanted to convince himself so desperately. Yet he couldn’t – he had witnessed something no man should, and he could feel the toll it took on his mind.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that though. He pushed himself up on his feet, thankful for the thick layer of soft, cushy moss that cushioned his fall and likely saved his life. Looking up, he could see the smoke-covered night sky, and the dancing lights above ground.

The church was still aflame, and so far high up.

It was dark down here, so he touched the hilt of his sword, directing a small part of his power to the augment embedded in the hilt. The blade burst into flames, which he gathered in his palm, making them into a denser, brighter light to illuminate his surroundings.

The dancing flames lit up the stone walls of the large cavern he had found himself in. The ground was covered in moss, though he could see some chalk-white veins beneath it in some places.

His gaze followed those veins as they concentrated around a single point – a large, chalk coloured altar at the other end of the cavern.

He knew a blue-crimson flower was resting atop it before even laying his eyes on it.

He simply knew.