The torch Callum held came hoisted above his head to illuminate the long corridor. For as far as the light stretched, there was still a vast darkness it couldn't penetrate, and an ominous feeling came from it which pierced the heart, as if something was staring him dead in the eyes.

How did I even get here? he wondered hazily.

There was the faint marching of drums approaching in his ears. That sound which everyone hears when they are stuck in a situation they can't get out of, and not because it was physically impossible, but because the desire to press on outweighed the fear that came along with it.

Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. It felt like war itself was knocking on the pearly gates of some divine afterlife, but then the gates stayed closed and resisted any attacks. It was as if some inexplicable feeling had thrusted itself through the veils of fear itself, and made him realize that he came here with a goal in mind - not to flee. I have to press onward.

He heard noises as he continued; dripping in the furthest corner of the corridor, wind blowing from one of the cracks in the walls which he studied with an inquisitive eye (considering they held depictions of the people that once roamed these halls), and the tiles scraping against each other with each step he took. Age had worn them out, and they had come loose because of it.

Finally, a door.

It was made out of brass, and depicted a series of hieroglyps, carved into the metal with precision and skill. He slid the torch between one of the cracks in the wall and withdrew a journal from his satchel. Flipping it to a specific page, he came upon the hieroglyphs marked upon the door, and started translating its meanings.

Tread no further, trespasser, for a death more horrifying than the Titans themselves awaits.

Would be quite dull if there wasn't a little risk involved, he thought to himself. He let his fingers run along the grooves of the carvings until he felt a small rectangular pressure plate hidden within one of the hieroglyphs. When he pressed it, the brass door sunk into the earth faster than he had anticipated, as if it had fallen from its hold into the depths of Azeroth itself, and then a beam of light fell upon him.

It was dazzling at first, simply blinding, and he tried shielding his eyes for a moment while they adjusted. When that happened, he looked into the room and his jaw dropped in amazement. Statues of Titanic craft adorned the lengths of the walls, a large cylinder maintaining light blue crystal hung from the ceiling and let the stars shine through in a mesmerizing effect, and in the center of the room stood a large stone cube which radiated a feeling of unease at first sight.

Skipping the decorations within the room, he walked toward the stone cube. It held his every attention and everything else didn't matter. No doubt that if the cube hadn't been there, he would've instead looked upon the cylinder hanging from the ceiling in adoration, and the statues would have been examined from head to toe, but the dark stone cube littered with inscriptions from corner to corner captivated his soul.

He took out his journal along with a gnomish engineered mechanical pen and started going from side to side while documenting and copying the inscriptions. He couldn't understand them, but he could copy them and figure them out at a later date. After an hour of scribbling away like a mad man, he had finished the four walls, and a dozen pages in his journal were filled just like that.