The Eternal King

The darkness does not consume you — it completes you. The Hollow Crown fuses to bone and thought alike, and what crawls from the rubble of Valdremor wears your face but carries something ancient behind your eyes.

The moon above dims to a cold, dead sliver. Your pursuers' torches gutter out one by one, and their screams are brief. You remember being a scholar. It feels like a dream someone else had.

The kingdoms of the living have forgotten what true night is. They are about to remember.