What secrets lie within

Chapter X Echoes of Eternity

The chest creaked faintly with each jostle of the caravan's wheel over the uneven terrain. Cloaked in shadow, Vizeren Mazek lay contorted within its confines—a self-imposed prison of wood and iron. The amber light of the afternoon sun, which painted the world beyond in hues of gold and warmth, did not reach him here. It was now a bit past the hour of noon, and the fortress of Anwir loomed close, a mere hour or two by the steady gait of horse and hoof.

Yet, as the world outside bustled with life and anticipation, Vizeren found an unlikely sanctuary amidst the dark. This void, this absence of light, it was his element, his domain. There was a peculiar calm that came with the obliteration of sight—a tranquility that settled in the marrow of his bones, whispering secrets of a realm where he was once unbound.

Each bump in the road threatened to untether him further, to unravel the tightly woven fabric of his corporeal form and return him to the aether from whence he came. Like ink diffusing through water, his essence quivered at the edge of dissolution. But he held fast. Clinging to the material shell that bound him to the physical plane, Vizeren resisted the call of the infinite.

In the rhythm of darkness, there was a pulse—a slow, steady beat that resonated with the hidden heart of the universe. It was a reminder of a past punctuated by loss, a cadence that spoke of a Shine snuffed out and scattered across the cosmos. In the cavern of the chest, the echo of those memories played against the walls of Vizeren's mind, each throb a silent dirge for what once was.

The sway of the caravan became a dance with shadows, a waltz with the ghosts of his own making. He felt the weight of a thousand extinguished worlds, cradled in the palm of his hand, their collective light dimmed by his vengeful embrace.

A single tear, darker than the abyss itself, escaped the corner of his eye—a tribute to the joy that might have been, to the life birthed from the light of a being who was more than a companion, more than any word in any tongue could ever capture.

"Forgive me," he whispered into the void, the words dissolving before they could take flight. For even in this sanctum of seclusion, even here, remorse had no place to rest.

Vizeren shifted slightly, feeling the press of the chest's edges against his skin. The fortress neared, a beacon of struggle and strife, drawing closer with each resolute step of the caravan. It was time to cast aside the shroud of the past; there were battles yet to fight, truths yet to uncover.

The ache of remembrance ebbed as Vizeren steeled himself for the present. With the fortress on the horizon, he would emerge from the darkness once more. But until then, he floated, adrift in the serenity of his endless sea, waiting for the moment to reclaim the light.

Vizeren's breath came in shallow pulls, the air inside the coffer stale and confined—a stark contrast to the boundless expanse of the void he once roamed with ease. His body, a cage of flesh and bone, restricted him to this physical plane, its limitations grating against the essence of his true form. A form unshackled by mortality, by breath, by the very beating of a heart that now rhythmically drummed a reminder of his corporeal imprisonment.

"Confining" was the word that flitted through his mind, like a bat lost in daylight, seeking the solace of an endless night. The human shape, with its sensory demands and fragility, chafed at his ancient soul. Yet, it was necessary—an anchor to a world that demanded tangibility, interaction, manipulation.

He shifted within the chest, muscles protesting the cramped quarters. The subtle creak of wood, barely perceptible over the caravan's din, was symphony enough for one who'd known eons of silence. He yearned for the vastness where he wielded forces both wondrous and terrifying, bending the fabric of reality to his will. There, he was a maelstrom of dark energy, masterful and unrestrained.