The corridor stretched before him, impossibly long, impossibly dark. Kaelen walked with his hand pressed against the wall, using the warmth of the white stone in his pocket as a guide. The ring on his finger pulsed with each step, a steady rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
The walls were smooth, polished to a mirror finish. He caught glimpses of his reflection as he passed, but the face looking back at him was not always his own. Sometimes it was older, lined with centuries of weariness. Sometimes it was younger, fierce with the fire of purpose. Sometimes it was a face he did not recognize at all, but somehow knew.
The Keepers who came before, he thought. They're all here. Waiting.
The corridor began to curve, spiraling inward toward the light at its center. The warmth grew stronger, more insistent. The air became thick, heavy with the weight of ages.
He walked for what felt like hours. Or maybe minutes. Time had lost its meaning in this place.
