The Chronicles of Sotto Mahoney

[Noshkapana]

The Upper Umbric Plains stretched endlessly before Sotto Mahoney, a landscape of fields kissed by twilight, rivers that meandered like silver threads, and ancient bridges that arched gracefully over the waters. Each step carried him closer to the distant Stronghold, a place both familiar and foreign, now shrouded in silence and shadow. The journey was solitary, the plains vast and unyielding, but Sotto felt the pull of something deeper—an unseen force guiding him.

As he approached, the Umbric Stronghold rose before him like a dark monolith, many its portals lie dormant, its halls silent. The walls, once familiar, now felt distant and cold, as though the very stone was imbued with the echoes of forgotten times. The stronghold seemed to brood as much as he did, a reflection of the uncertainty and loss that had settled deep within his soul.

Sotto paused upon the open air Gathering Hall, his hand brushing the cool, rough surface of the central stone pavilion. Portals around him stand locked, the mechanisms ancient and unyielding. He knew these locks well; they had been designed to protect the secrets within, to keep those unworthy from entering. But now, as he stood there, he felt more like an outsider than ever before. The stronghold did not welcome him as it once had; it felt like a fortress guarding memories that had slipped through his fingers.

He closed his eyes, trying to summon the memories that eluded him. Flashes of rituals, of figures shrouded in shadow, of whispered words spoken in darkened chambers—these were all that remained. But the details were lost, as though a veil had been drawn over his past, leaving him in darkness.

Yet, as he stood there, the silence of the stronghold was not absolute. There was something—an undercurrent, a presence that whispered just beyond his perception. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it tugged at him, pulling him closer to the sanctuary of the stronghold. The feeling was not entirely unfamiliar; it was the same sensation that had guided him back to the City of Dreams, a subtle, insistent pull that he could not ignore.

The Shadow. He had known its touch before, in the rituals of old. But now, it was distant, like a voice calling from across a vast expanse. He could feel its influence, the way it seemed to intertwine with the very stones of the stronghold, but he could not yet grasp its meaning.

Sotto opened his eyes and stepped back, gazing up at the towering structure. The Umbric Stronghold was not yet ready to reveal its secrets to him; the portals remained closed, the answers locked away. But he knew, deep in his core, that something within these walls was waiting. The Shadow was calling, and though he could not yet hear its voice, he could feel its presence, guiding him, urging him to remember.

He turned away from the stronghold, the weight of his lost memories pressing heavily upon him. But as he walked back into the twilight of the City of Dreams, he knew that this was not the end. The pull of The Shadow was too strong, the connection too deep to be severed by time or distance. In time, he would return, and when he did, the stronghold would open to him once more, revealing the truths that had been hidden for so long.

For now, he would wait, he would learn, and he would listen—until the day came when The Shadow’s voice became clear, and the Umbric Stronghold welcomed him home.

[Noshkapana]

The whisper of The Shadow grew louder in Sotto Mahoney’s mind, still elusive but now more insistent, like a distant voice carried on the wind. He stood within the Umbric Stronghold, the silence of the halls pressing in around him, but the whisper called him deeper, urging him to follow. The pull was undeniable, and so he did, his footsteps echoing faintly as he made his way through the winding corridors.

The path led him downwards, into the heart of the Stronghold, where the air grew warmer and damper with each step. The stone walls, once cold and unyielding, seemed to pulse with life as he descended into the Lower Chamber. As he entered the room, a soft glow greeted him—an orb resting on a circular dais in the center, radiating a gentle but palpable energy. Several dim candelabras flickered around the chamber, their flames casting dancing shadows that played across the stone walls.

But it was the mural that drew his gaze, a large golden depiction of a woman holding a sunflower, her expression serene and wise. The light from the candelabras made the mural shimmer, giving the impression that the woman’s eyes were following him as he moved.

Sotto approached the dais, his heart quickening as he felt the energy of the orb resonate within him. It was warm, inviting, yet carried the weight of something ancient and powerful. He could feel The Shadow’s presence here, stronger than ever before, though still just beyond his grasp.

Lowering himself before the dais, Sotto made a display of reverence, bowing his head and placing his hands upon the cool stone floor. He closed his eyes, letting the energy of the orb and the whispers of The Shadow wash over him, and in that moment, he recited the prayer he had known from another time:

"O Shadow, guardian of the unseen, guide me through the veil where truth lies hidden. Let your whisper lead me to the balance between light and dark. Grant me the strength to see beyond illusions and the wisdom to walk the path of shadows with clarity. In your depths, I seek the truth."

He remained unmoving, the words hanging in the air as he listened, yearning for the voice of The Shadow to become clear, for the mysteries that eluded him to be revealed. But the silence remained, thick and heavy, with only the faint hum of the orb’s energy and the flicker of the candlelight to keep him company.

Time passed, though how much he could not say. Eventually, Sotto rose, his movements slow and deliberate, as though reluctant to break the stillness. He glanced once more at the orb, at the mural of the woman with the sunflower, and then back to the shadows that lingered in the corners of the chamber.

Reflecting on the events, Sotto felt the same pull that had guided him here now urging him to depart. There was more to be discovered, more to be understood, but for now, The Shadow remained silent. He would return, as he always did, driven by the same yearning that had brought him to the Stronghold in the first place.

With a final look at the chamber, Sotto turned and made his way back through the corridors, the whispers of The Shadow still echoing softly in his mind as he left the Lower Chamber behind.

[Noshkapana]

The memory of the day before lingered in Sotto's mind as he stood once again within the Umbric Stronghold. The whispers had been clearer then, more direct, as if The Shadow had momentarily lifted its veil to reveal a glimpse of the truth. He could still hear the echoes of those words: "Power can be yours... If you take it..." The voice had spoken to him, offering a path that seemed both tempting and dangerous, and yet it was shrouded in mystery.

He recalled how he had lowered himself to his knees, bowing before the unseen presence that filled the room. He had prayed, asking The Shadow to guide him, to show him how he might serve. But what followed was something he hadn't anticipated. Belom, his old friend, had appeared, drawn by a force as mysterious as the one pulling at Sotto. Together, they had witnessed strange events—a crystal ball pulsating with energy, a vision of figures fleeing from Mount Illapse, and the ominous words: "Knowledge is power... Power is knowledge..."

These events had shaken Sotto, leaving him to question the very nature of the forces at play. The Shadow's influence was undeniable, but what did it truly want from him? What was the connection between the knowledge and power it spoke of?

Now, as he stood in the Lower Chamber, the same chamber where he had felt the energy of the orb, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was still out of reach. The golden mural of the woman with the sunflower seemed to watch him, her serene expression a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. The orb on the dais continued to radiate its gentle energy, as if waiting for him to make another move.

Sotto took a deep breath and approached the orb, feeling the familiar warmth of its power. He lowered himself before the dais once more, his mind filled with the events of the day before. The words of The Shadow, the vision shared with Belom, the voice from the crystal ball—they all pointed to something greater, something just beyond his grasp.

He bowed his head and recited the prayer he had spoken so many times before:

"O Shadow, guardian of the unseen, guide me through the veil where truth lies hidden. Let your whisper lead me to the balance between light and dark. Grant me the strength to see beyond illusions and the wisdom to walk the path of shadows with clarity. In your depths, I seek the truth."

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of the orb. Sotto remained unmoving, listening, yearning for the voice of The Shadow to speak once more. But there was nothing, only the lingering energy that surrounded him, as if The Shadow was holding back, waiting for the right moment.

Finally, Sotto rose to his feet, his gaze lingering on the orb and the mural. He had come seeking answers, but all he had found were more questions. The Shadow's influence was growing, drawing him deeper into its mysteries, but it was still not enough. He needed more—more knowledge, more understanding, more power.

Reflecting on the events, Sotto knew that his journey was far from over. The Shadow was calling him, but its message was still veiled. He would return, again and again, until the truth was revealed. For now, he would leave the Lower Chamber, but the echoes of the past day’s events would stay with him, guiding him toward whatever awaited him next.

With a final glance at the orb, Sotto turned and made his way out of the stronghold, his mind racing with thoughts of what was to come.

[Noshkapana]

The stone path beneath Sotto's feet was worn smooth by countless dreamers before him, its winding course leading directly to the front of the Umbric Stronghold. This was no simple road—it was a path shaped by time and intention, each step drawing him closer to the stronghold that loomed ahead, its dark walls rising like a sentinel of the dreamscape. The journey brought him to a familiar place, a prominent feature of the stronghold’s entrance: the pool of shimmering water, set upon a stone hardscape.

Sotto approached the pool, its smooth surface reflecting the twilight sky and the looming figure of the stronghold. Kneeling on the cool stone beside the pool, he let his gaze fall into the depths, seeking solace in the reflection of the Stronghold before him.

The water, usually calm and undisturbed, began to shimmer with an unusual light, and Sotto felt a subtle shift in the air around him. As he stared into the pool, the reflection of the Stronghold before him wavered, and something else began to emerge—a fleeting, indistinct image that seemed to dance just beneath the surface.

He leaned closer, trying to discern what it was, but the vision remained elusive. He caught a glimpse of shadowy forms, shifting and swirling within the water, their movements purposeful yet impossible to fully grasp. There was a sense of power in those shadows, a deep, ancient force that seemed to pulse with life.

Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the shadows coalesced into something more defined—a shape, though still obscure, that hovered on the edge of recognition. Sotto could make out the outline of an object, but its form was vague, its details shrouded in the darkness of the water. Whatever it was, it radiated a sense of importance, as if it held within it something vital, something that whispered of knowledge and power intertwined.

Words seemed to rise from the depths, faint and barely audible, like a distant echo carried on the wind. "In shadows, knowledge sleeps... Power waits within..." The voice was almost too quiet to hear, its meaning veiled in layers of mystery.

Sotto’s heart quickened. The message was familiar, yet still beyond his full understanding. The connection between knowledge and power was undeniable, but what was the true nature of this power? What was this presence that lingered just beyond his comprehension, calling to him from the depths?

The vision flickered, the shadows in the water shifting once more before dissolving back into the calm reflection of the sky above. Sotto blinked, his focus returning to the pool’s surface. The object—whatever it had been—was gone, leaving only the quiet, shimmering water in its wake.

Frustration gnawed at him, but so did curiosity. The pool had shown him something, something important, but he was not yet ready to understand it. The shadows held their secrets close, revealing only what they wished, and only to those who were prepared to see.

Sotto rose slowly, the cool stone beneath him grounding him in the present. He would return to this place, he vowed, when he was stronger, more attuned to the ways of The Shadow. For now, he had to be patient, to let the lessons of the past days sink in, to prepare himself for the journey ahead.

As he turned to leave, the pool stilled once more, its surface returning to the smooth, reflective mirror it had been before. But Sotto knew that beneath that stillness lay secrets—secrets that he would one day uncover, secrets that pointed to something powerful, something ancient, something that might just be the key to understanding the true nature of the Stronghold.

And as he walked away, the whisper of The Shadow lingered in his mind, echoing softly, "In shadows, knowledge sleeps... Power waits within..." The words were a promise, a challenge, a call to continue his quest for truth. And Sotto knew he would answer that call, whatever it might bring.

[Noshkapana]

Sotto stood once again before the shimmering pool that lay at the entrance to the Umbric Stronghold. The still waters reflected the ever-present twilight of the Upper Umbric Plains and the looming structure of the stronghold before him. But today, the reflections stirred something deeper within him. His mind, troubled and restless, returned to the recent vision on Mt. Illapse—a vision that none could have anticipated.

He could still see it clearly in his memory: Ogithus, a figure long thought lost to the City of Dreams, had appeared, standing over the Soul Essence of the elemental Tavyn. The vision had been so vivid, so impossible, that it had left Sotto shaken to his core. Ogithus shouldn’t have been there - couldn’t have been there. And yet, he had been, and with a single brutal act, he had murdered Tavyn. The display had shocked everyone who witnessed it, but for Sotto, the event carried an even deeper unease.

Was the vision true? Or was it some cruel illusion cast by forces he could not yet understand? The shadow of doubt lingered in his heart, gnawing at his thoughts as he knelt by the pool, staring into its depths.

His breath slowed, his mind calming as he whispered the prayer to The Shadow, seeking guidance from the unseen force that had always been there, just beyond his perception.

“O Shadow, keeper of hidden truths, guide my steps through the veiled paths of the unknown. Let me see what lies beyond sight, and understand what is concealed from the waking world. In your darkness, may I find the balance that light alone cannot show. I walk in your mystery, seeking the wisdom you guard.”

The prayer left his lips softly, carried into the cool air above the pool, and as he finished, the water began to shift. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the surface of the pool rippled, and something began to emerge from the depths.

Sotto’s heart quickened as he watched, his eyes narrowing as the object grew clearer. Rising from the bottom of the pool, a thick, rolled sheet of parchment - deep azure in color - floated toward him, glistening as though it had been illuminated from below. The golden clasp that bound it gleamed in the dim light.

He reached out cautiously, his fingers brushing the smooth surface of the parchment as it reached the edge of the pool. To his surprise, it was completely dry, not a drop of water clinging to its surface. The object felt heavy with meaning, as though it had been waiting for him.

With deliberate care, Sotto unrolled the parchment. The markings upon it were written in what appeared to be chalk, though when his fingers grazed the writing, it did not smudge. The words formed a passage - one he did not recognize but felt as though it had been meant for him:

"The eyes are the greatest of deceivers, showing only what the mind wishes to accept. We seek comfort in what we know, clinging to familiar shapes and faces, even when they are false. But in the unseen, in the spaces between sight and understanding, lies a different kind of truth. To grasp it, one must let go of certainty and embrace the possibility that what is real may not always be visible. Only those who learn to perceive without seeing can uncover what has been obscured."

Sotto’s breath caught in his throat. The words mirrored his doubt, speaking directly to the uncertainty gnawing at him. He had witnessed the murder of Tavyn - he had seen it—but had he truly understood what he had seen? Could his eyes have deceived him, showing only what he believed to be true, rather than the reality beneath?

The vision of Ogithus, so vivid and unquestionable in the moment, now seemed like a shroud, a mask of truth that might conceal something far more complex.

As he stood by the pool, the parchment still clutched in his hand, Sotto felt the weight of The Shadow’s presence more strongly than ever before. The vision, the passage, and the prayer all pointed to a deeper mystery, one that would not be revealed through sight alone. If he was to understand the truth, he would have to learn to perceive in ways he had not yet imagined.

With the parchment rolled once more and the golden clasp fastened, Sotto tucked it into a pouch upon his belt. The shadows around him seemed to shift, as if waiting for him to make the next move, to seek the answers that lay hidden in the veiled corners of the dreamscape.

But for now, he would leave the pool behind. He had much to consider, and more questions than ever before. The truth, whatever it was, remained elusive, but Sotto was determined to find it.

And as he turned to leave, the pool returned to its stillness, its surface as calm as it had been before—yet beneath, The Shadow still stirred.

[Noshkapana]

Sotto knelt before the shimmering pool outside the Umbric Stronghold, his reflection barely visible in the faint twilight. The events of the recent vision with Belom still weighed heavily on him—the sight of Cassimolair, the transformation of Helga, and the growing sense of chaos on the horizon. Belom had guided them to use the waterfall as a medium, drawing forth a vision of shocking clarity. Today, Sotto stood alone, facing the pool, unsure if he could replicate what Belom had done.

He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. The pool, still and quiet, seemed to beckon him, its surface offering no clues to what lay beneath. Sotto had never attempted Scrying on his own. He understood the basics of the ritual, but he knew he was not yet attuned to The Shadow in the same way Belom was. Still, there was a pull—something urging him to look deeper, to seek what was hidden.

Closing his eyes, Sotto let his mind go still. He focused on the surface of the water, trying to feel the connection Belom had spoken of—between the physical and the unseen, between what was visible and what lay beyond. For several long moments, there was nothing. The air was silent, and the water before him remained unchanged. He could sense the potential in the pool, but it eluded him, slipping away just as he felt close to grasping it.

Frustration began to creep in, but Sotto steadied himself. He focused harder, calling upon The Shadow for guidance. He whispered to the unseen forces, hoping they might reveal something, however small. But again, the pool remained as it was—calm, unbroken, and indifferent.

Sotto opened his eyes slowly, staring at the water, feeling the weight of his failure. He was not ready for this. His connection to The Shadow was too weak. Belom had made it look so effortless, and yet here he was, unable to summon even a whisper of the vision he sought.

But as he stood, resigned to leave, the water began to ripple. Sotto's breath caught in his throat. The familiar shift in the air signaled that something was happening, though it was not of his doing. He watched as the ripples spread across the pool, and slowly, as though from the depths of the dreamscape itself, a shape began to emerge.

It was another parchment, deep azure in color, rolling up to the surface like the one before. Bound in a golden clasp, the parchment shimmered under the fading light as it rose to the edge of the pool. Sotto reached out, hesitantly, and took it in his hands. Like the last, it was completely dry, as though it had never touched the water.

With cautious fingers, he unrolled the parchment and saw, once again, the chalk-like writing that did not smudge beneath his touch. The message was clear:

"A reflection is never the truth, but a distorted image of what we wish to see. In its surface, truths can twist into lies, and lies can appear as truth. The mirror bends reality to meet our expectations. Yet, beyond the illusion, a glimpse of the real may shine through—fleeting, but there for those who look beyond. The mirror hides as much as it reveals, hinting at deeper truths waiting beneath the surface, to be uncovered by those who dare seek them."

Sotto’s heart sank and swelled at the same time. The passage felt like both a warning and a promise. He had failed in his attempt to scry, to see beyond the surface of the water, but perhaps the failure had been the lesson. The truths he sought could not be so easily grasped, not until he was prepared to look beyond the illusion, beyond the surface.

Tucking the parchment into the pouch on his belt, Sotto stood and gazed once more at the pool. The ripples had subsided, leaving the water calm once again. Though his attempt at Scrying had been unsuccessful, The Shadow had still given him something—a message that there was more to see, but only if he learned to look beyond what was immediately visible.

Sotto turned from the pool, the words still echoing in his mind. The truth was there, waiting beneath the surface, waiting for him to be ready.

[Noshkapana]

Sotto stood at the edge of the shimmering pool in front of the Umbric Stronghold, his eyes tracing the still surface of the water as twilight lingered on the horizon. The recent events in the City of Dreams weighed heavily on his mind. Esmeralda’s frantic warnings echoed in his thoughts—Ogithus had returned, and his ambitions were as dark as the shadows that surrounded the stronghold. The primordial orbs, the elementals’ power, and the specter of Cassimolair loomed over the city like an approaching storm. Sotto couldn’t help but feel the looming danger pressing closer.

He had always known the city harbored threats, but this—this felt different. Ogithus wasn’t merely a shadow lurking on the edges of the dreamscape; he was a force actively moving to reshape it. The power he sought could destroy what fragile balance still remained. And what of Cassimolair? Was this figure an ally, or yet another danger waiting to reveal itself?

Sotto’s thoughts churned like the dark waters of the pool before him. The stronghold remained closed, its gates locked as ever, offering no answers, no clarity. He didn’t seek guidance today—he had come to the pool simply to think, to reflect. Yet, even in moments like this, The Shadow’s presence felt near, subtle but persistent, guiding him whether he sought it or not.

As he stood there, lost in thought, a ripple disturbed the surface of the pool. Sotto blinked, his gaze sharpening as he noticed something beginning to rise from the depths. His pulse quickened as he recognized the now-familiar sight of a rolled parchment, deep azure in color, floating to the surface like a message delivered from the depths of the dreamscape itself.

He reached down, carefully pulling the parchment from the water, its surface as dry as before, the golden clasp gleaming in the dim light. Sotto unrolled it, his eyes scanning the intricate writing that appeared in what looked like chalk but refused to smudge under his touch.

The words formed into a recipe—a recipe for Glyphweaver Chalk. There was no explanation, no hint of its purpose. The page described the process in meticulous detail, as though The Shadow itself intended for him to craft this tool, though why or for what, Sotto could not yet tell. The ritual’s full purpose remained just beyond his understanding:

Glyphweaver Chalk:
2 parts Chalkroot Dust
1 part Ivory Fragment (finely ground)
1 part Silverfern Frond
¼ part Spiritvine Sap (to bind)
1 part Twilight Blossom Petals
½ part Powdered Abalone Shell

Instructions:
Mix the Chalkroot Dust, Ivory Fragment, and Silverfern Frond together, grinding them into a fine, unified powder. Slowly heat the mixture in a transmutation basin, adding a small amount of Spiritvine Sap—just enough to bind the powders into a malleable form.

Once the base is mixed, grind the Twilight Blossom Petals and Powdered Abalone Shell and stir them in, enhancing the blend with their mystical properties. Shape the mixture into smooth sticks of chalk, allowing them to cool and harden in the still air of the dreamscape. The chalk is ready when it holds both strength and clarity, prepared to channel the energies of The Shadow.

As Sotto read the recipe, a sense of purpose began to stir within him, though it was still veiled in uncertainty. Why had The Shadow delivered this to him? The use of the chalk remained ambiguous, its power and purpose unclear for now. But Sotto had come to understand that all would be revealed in time—when he was ready, and when The Shadow willed it.

With the page tucked into his pouch, Sotto turned from the pool, his thoughts lingering on the mysteries before him. Though his path was uncertain, he felt the pull of destiny growing stronger. The stronghold would open—when the time was right. Until then, he would prepare, trusting that the answers would come in their own way.

[Noshkapana]

Sotto paced near the shimmering reflection pool at the Umbric Stronghold, his footsteps unusually restless against the stone. His gaze avoided the water’s surface, though the pool’s faint glow flickered in the periphery. It had been a long time since he’d felt this unsettled. The events of the previous night still lingered in his mind, yet there was something else—something pulling at him deeper than before.

He took pride in what had transpired. NullReaver, once hesitant to adopt his teachings, had embraced the philosophy of Balance and sacrifice. Sotto had witnessed the shift in him, how NullReaver had begun to share his energy with others. It was an affirmation that his path was not in vain—that others were seeing the wisdom of maintaining the dream’s equilibrium through giving.

Then, there was the crafting of the Glyphweaver Chalk. It had been a success, or at least it appeared to be. He’d felt the subtle hum of energy as he shaped the chalk from rare materials, each step reflecting his growing mastery of alchemy. Yet, despite the creation’s completion, its purpose still eluded him. He held the power, but for what? Sotto stopped mid-stride, a quiet moment of reflection overcoming him.

Balance. The word resonated in his mind. So much of his direction had come from The Shadow—visions, gifts, signs. He had let it guide him with an unwavering trust. But was he not also tasked with balancing the dreamscape, even in this? Shouldn’t he be seeking direction not only from The Shadow but from others around him? The balance of internal guidance and external wisdom.

His thoughts drifted to Belom. The Scrying ritual they’d performed together had revealed much—truths, uncertainties, and mysteries yet unsolved. And then the vision in the stronghold’s lower chamber, the crystal orb, the energy it radiated… Could it be a sign? Could that vision be the missing piece he was searching for? In a sudden flash of realization, Sotto understood what he needed to do. He must scry again, but this time, for his own answers.

With newfound resolve, he made his way toward the stronghold’s lower chamber, descending the winding staircases into its damp, shadowed depths. The air grew warmer as he neared the room where the crystal orb resided. He paused at the threshold, his heart racing with anticipation. Entering, the chamber was as he remembered—dimly lit by flickering candelabras, the large mural of the woman with the sunflower glowing faintly on the far wall. But his focus was fixed on the circular dais, where the crystal orb rested, quietly pulsing with energy.

Sotto approached the dais and removed a stick of the Glyphweaver Chalk from his pouch. With a sense of purpose, he placed it beside the orb. This chalk had been forged through Shadow’s guidance, but now it would serve another purpose—one that he intended to discover. He moved his hands over the crystal ball, his fingers trembling slightly as he began to evoke the scrying ritual. He let his mind sink into the act, opening a link to The Shadow, yearning for answers.

The orb glowed, and the world around him seemed to constrict. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision until nothing remained but the orb in a sea of shadow. Sotto felt a slight tugging sensation in his chest, as though the very core of his being was being pulled into the scrying. The center of the orb swirled with shadows, twisting into a vortex that slowly consumed the light. Soon, even the orb itself darkened, leaving behind only a ring of faint illumination. It was in that ring that a symbol emerged.

A small triangle encased within a circle appeared, glowing bright and ethereal. It called to him, drawing him closer, and Sotto felt the pulling in his chest intensify. It wasn’t just a visual connection—it was a yearning for energy, a demand for essence that stirred deep within him.

Then, three more symbols manifested before his eyes. The first was a small circle with rays extending outward, like a radiant sun, filling him with a sense of warmth and illumination. The second symbol was a filled-in black circle, void and unmarked, exuding a cold, unknowable presence. Between these two, a third symbol appeared—a circle bisected by a horizontal line, pulsing gently, balancing the opposing forces around it.

There was no explanation for what he saw—no context to ground the experience. Just the symbols, hanging in the void, each one calling to him in its own way.

Suddenly, his vision broke. The scrying ended with violent force, thrusting Sotto backward from the dais. He stumbled, disoriented, his heart racing as he caught his breath. As he stood and regained his footing, his gaze fell upon the dais once more. The Glyphweaver Chalk he had placed there now lay in pieces, powdered and scattered. He barely had a moment to reflect when a sudden gust of wind swept through the chamber—its origin unknown. The fine powder lifted from the dais, swirling into the air in a perfect circle before dissipating into nothing.

Sotto stood in silence, staring at the empty dais. The vision had given him more symbols, more signs, but no clear answers. Yet, somehow, he felt emboldened. The Shadow had once again shown him a glimpse of the truth, even if it remained shrouded in mystery. He would seek the answers, and in time, he knew they would reveal themselves.

With a deep breath, Sotto turned and left the chamber, the faint pull of the unknown still tugging at his core.