The Sun and the Shadow

At long last, you are here.

A blizzard has just passed, a casing of ice hanging heavy on the gnarled, brittle branches of dead trees. The sunset glow of the Architect offers some minimal warmth, glittering across the fresh snow. This forest is far from any civilization, poorly plotted on any map, a blind spot to those of Woodveil for its rocky cliffs, hostile terrain and lethal winters. Yet, there is one thing that draws curious travelers and desperate vagrants alike.

The Eye of God.

Or, so it's called, among a thousand other names. When you clear the treeline and step into the Architect's glaring light, any doubt in your mind is crushed by the weight of Creation here; as it had been for each and every visitor past. The artifact is striking; a twisted stone spire, as if two roots had entwined and become petrified, lined with all manner of runes and adorned with all sorts of charms, worn though they are by the weather.

At the peak of the spire, just out of reach, is a perfect ring of stone. There are no runes, no markings at all in fact; it is pristine, its interior bleached a sort of marble-white in comparison to its nearly pitch black outside. In contrast, at the base are all manner of coins, trinkets and other little offerings, and goodness knows how many more buried under the snow.

It all overlooks a cliff, with a perfect, unobstructed view of the sunset as the Architect begins to sink toward the distant treeline. It's a stunning vista, the snow-draped forest below alive with fiery glow.

You look up. The sunlight catches on the inner rim of the circle. Glancing back at the pile of offerings, you feel... pity. Giving their earthly wealth to a machine... how sad.

Your thralls begin to fan out, forming a circle around the obelisk. They are silent as ever, mere empty presences; you are alone here, even if they are with you.

You suck in a deep, chilling breath through your teeth, beginning to draw the Needle from your hip. It shifts and writhes in your grasp, its ephemeral form defiant of your control. You nearly let it slip into the snow, but you manage to find a sure enough grip, though it's always uncomfortable to hold. Its shape is always... new, in some way. You ascend a small pile of boulders not far from the obelisk, each one having been carved flat by visitors for precisely this purpose.

At the top, you stand face to face with the obelisk, eye-level with the ring. The bottom edge of the sun has begun to slip into it, slowly but surely. It is hard to look; bright, harsh, unwavering and burning, as the Architect has always been. Yet for every inch of the sun that dips into the frame of the obelisk, the sunlight begins to dim.

Soon, the scene is dark. Darker than you'd seen since the moment you shared with the Well. The thralls don't see it; the glow is still there for them, though it slips away by the minute as it is slowly swallowed into the horizon, but for you, there is nothing but you... and the light in the obelisk. Like a hole burned into reality.

Gradually, the light begins to spill through the obelisk, as the sun itself begins to emerge from it! It transitions from a warm and inviting sunset orange to a bitter and cold white, rays of Ordering Light formed into nebulous, geometric tendrils spilling over the edges and beginning to wind around the base. Thin, concentric rings of white energy, containing within them alien runes, begin to appear in the dark around it. They spread out like waves until they extend beyond your periphery, turning like gears in a dizzying display.

The Architect is present. Its glaring eye is indescribable; horrific and incredible.

You lift your blade, and in the breadth of a heartbeat, put it through the Eye.

The scream that follows is unimaginable. It wracks your skull and shakes your eyes; it is not a sound and yet you will remember its shapelessness forever. You nearly tumble off the boulder. The tendrils unwind from the pillar, throwing themselves around the dark and equally incomprehensible form of your blade, seeking any way to pry it from itself. You dig it in harder, twisting it.

The light burns. It burns. It burns and burns and burns and burns until you can't feel it burning anymore. Your face is burning away, dissolving into billowing white flame, until nothing is left.

The Architect's eye bleeds divinity. It looks into your face, and is enraged to see a creature it does not recognize. You look into its face, and see your enemy, insurmountable as it is. A tendril passes the guard of your weapon and pierces straight through your chest... but you feel nothing, and so too does it.

You rip your blade free with a flourish, drawing with it droplets of pure light that splatter into and instantly melt the snow. Another howl spills from the obelisk and an immense blast of light explodes from within, swallowing you, the trees, everything alive for miles out before the Obelisk.

When the dust settles, you still stand. Your mortal form has been reduced to nothing, but the truth of your being, the weightless and ill-defined shadow-thing that you are, still remains... though certainly never the same. Leaning on the Needle, you begin to look up, and witness the obelisk's ring shattered in two, and a sky bearing neither a sun nor a moon.

For a day, the Architect's light will be gone, and the world will know its absence just as you have.

You sink, sitting down on the still-warm boulder to stare up at the glittering night sky and collecting yourself, while your thralls begin to collect the blood of the Architect.

Your mind is empty and it's hard to think, but at least you can admire the beauty of an unobstructed night sky, outlined against the new pitch darkness of the forest.

One of Six.