WARRIORS HAD ALREADY DESCENDED INTO THE PIT, BUT DESPITE ITS VASTNESS, THE PASSAGE EVENTUALLY LED TO A DEAD END. THERE WAS NOTHING THERE; JUST SOIL, SOME IRON ORE OF POOR QUALITY, AND ROCKS. EVEN THE MOST SKILLED DWARVEN MINERS COULDN'T FIND ANYTHING OF VALUE, AND THEY WERE CERTAIN THAT THE AREA HADN'T BEEN EXCAVATED FOR OVER A THOUSAND YEARS.
IT WAS AS IF THE ENTIRE STRUCTURE HAD BEEN A FAÇADE, A GRAND DECEPTION, WITH NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE LYING BENEATH. ON THE SURFACE, IT SEEMED LIKE A WASTED EFFORT; A TOWER BUILT ON NOTHING BUT A HOLLOW PIT. BUT SOMETHING WASN'T RIGHT, AND THE MAGES KNEW IT.
"THE MATERIAL EVIDENCE MIGHT BE LACKING, BUT WE'VE MADE PROGRESS ON THE THEORETICAL FRONT," THE MAGE SAID, HIS VOICE RISING WITH DETERMINATION. "IF THE EARTH VEINS ARE REAL, THEN EVERYTHING THE HALF-BLOOD PSYCHIC SAW IS REAL TOO. PERHAPS THE SOULS OF THE DEAD ARE DRAWN DOWN INTO THE PIT, DISAPPEARING INTO SOME HIDDEN REGION. THE QUESTION IS; HOW DID THE ELVES HARNESS POWER FROM THIS PROCESS?"
THE URGENCY OF THE SITUATION PRESSED DOWN ON EVERYONE IN THE ROOM. THE WAR WAS RAGING MORE FIERCELY WITH EVERY PASSING DAY, AND THERE WAS NO TIME LEFT FOR PATIENCE. IF THERE WAS EVEN A CHANCE THAT THE PIT HELD ANSWERS, SOMEONE HAD TO GO DOWN, NOW.
"ORDINARY SOULS, ONCE SEVERED FROM THEIR BODIES, MIGHT LOSE THEIR SENSE OF SELF," THE MAGE EXPLAINED. "BUT CLAIRVOYANTS... YOU ARE DIFFERENT. YOU WERE BORN WITH THE ABILITY TO SEE AND TOUCH SOULS. EVEN IN DEATH, EVEN AS SPIRITS, YOU COULD STILL PERCEIVE THE WORLD AROUND YOU WITH CLARITY. THAT'S WHY WE NEED YOU TO GO DOWN INTO THE PIT. TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS TO THE SOULS AFTER THEY DISAPPEAR."
BASTIAN'S BREATH CAUGHT IN HIS THROAT. THE GRAVITY OF THE MAGE'S WORDS HIT HIM LIKE A WAVE OF COLD WATER. HE EXCHANGED A GLANCE WITH HIS FELLOW CLAIRVOYANTS, THEIR FACES PALE WITH THE SAME REALIZATION, THIS WAS NO SIMPLE SCOUTING MISSION. THEY WERE BEING ASKED TO PLUNGE INTO THE UNKNOWN, INTO A PLACE WHERE THE LIVING COULD NOT SURVIVE. THEY WERE BEING ASKED TO DIE, AND TO KEEP THEIR WITS ABOUT THEM AS THEY CROSSED INTO THE REALM OF SPIRITS.
IT WAS A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH, A FINAL JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS, WHERE THE ONLY HOPE WAS TO UNCOVER THE SECRETS HIDDEN BENEATH THE EARTH BEFORE IT WAS TOO LATE.
WHEN THE MAGE SPOKE AGAIN, HIS WORDS HUNG HEAVY IN THE AIR, EACH SYLLABLE MORE CHILLING THAN THE LAST. "YOU ARE OUR ONLY HOPE," HE SAID. "AND IF YOU DO THIS, YOU MAY JUST SAVE US ALL."
A SHIVER RAN DOWN BASTIAN'S SPINE, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE FELT TRUE FEAR. FEAR OF WHAT AWAITED HIM IN THAT PIT. FEAR OF WHAT HE MIGHT FIND OR WORSE, WHAT HE MIGHT NOT.
"LET THE CLAIRVOYANTS GO DOWN IN SPIRIT FORM? YOU MEAN YOU WANT US TO DIE?" BASTIAN'S VOICE WAVERED AS HE LOOKED AROUND AT THE OTHERS, HIS FELLOW CLAIRVOYANTS. THE UNEASE IN THE ROOM WAS PALPABLE, THE WEIGHT OF THE MAGE'S REQUEST PRESSING DOWN ON ALL OF THEM.
THE OLD SHAMAN STEPPED FORWARD, HIS VOICE GRAVE BUT STEADY. "NOT EXACTLY," HE BEGAN, GLANCING AT THE ANXIOUS GROUP. "AMONG OUR SHAMANS AND WITCH DOCTORS, THERE EXISTS A RARE AND COSTLY POTION 'SOUL WALKER.' IT ALLOWS THE BODY TO APPEAR DEAD, WHILE THE SOUL TEMPORARILY LEAVES, FREE TO ROAM. IT'S USED TO CONNECT WITH THE SPIRITS OF NATURE, THE ELEMENTS... BUT FOR WHAT WE NEED, IT MIGHT ALLOW YOU TO EXPLORE DEEPER REALMS, PERHAPS EVEN THE PIT ITSELF."
THE PLAN SOUNDED HASTILY THROWN TOGETHER, AS IF IT HAD BEEN BORN OUT OF SHEER DESPERATION. SEND THE CLAIRVOYANTS DOWN INTO THAT DARK, MYSTERIOUS PIT, NOT IN BODY BUT IN SPIRIT. SEE IF THEY COULD TRIGGER SOMETHING, ANYTHING, THAT THE OTHERS HAD MISSED.
BASTIAN'S MIND RACED. HE KNEW THE DANGERS OF WHAT THEY WERE SUGGESTING. "SHAMANS HAVE TRIED THIS ALREADY," HE POINTED OUT, REMEMBERING THE FAILED ATTEMPTS. "THEIR SOULS WANDERED THAT PIT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND FOUND NOTHING. WHAT MAKES YOU THINK WE'LL BE ANY DIFFERENT?"
THE SHAMAN NODDED GRIMLY. "IT'S TRUE, WE'VE TRIED EVERYTHING WE KNOW. BUT CLAIRVOYANTS LIKE YOU... YOUR CONNECTION TO THE SPIRIT WORLD IS STRONGER, MORE ATTUNED. YOU SEE WHAT OTHERS CANNOT. WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF OPTIONS, AND YOUR ABILITIES MIGHT BE THE KEY TO UNRAVELING WHAT'S DOWN THERE."
BASTIAN LOOKED AT THE SHAMAN, THE LINES ON THE OLD MAN'S FACE ETCHED DEEPER BY WORRY AND TIME. "I WON'T LIE TO YOU," THE SHAMAN CONTINUED. "SOUL WALKING IS AN ADVANCED SKILL, SOMETHING ONLY THE MOST POWERFUL SHAMANS ATTEMPT. IF YOUR SOUL IS NOT STRONG ENOUGH, IT COULD START TO DISSOLVE THE MOMENT IT LEAVES YOUR BODY. AND EVEN IF IT DOESN'T... THERE'S NO GUARANTEE YOU'LL RETURN."
THE ROOM FELL INTO A TENSE SILENCE. THE RISKS WERE CLEAR, THIS WAS NO ORDINARY MISSION. WALKING IN SPIRIT FORM WASN'T JUST DANGEROUS, IT WAS DEADLY. AND YET, THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION MADE IT HARD TO REFUSE. THE WAR WAS UNRAVELING, AND IF THEY DIDN'T DO SOMETHING SOON, THEIR PEOPLE WOULDN'T STAND A CHANCE.
"I'LL GO." THE WORDS CAME OUT QUIETLY BUT WITH A FIRM RESOLVE. ONE OF THE CLAIRVOYANTS STEPPED FORWARD, A LOOK OF GRIM DETERMINATION ON HER FACE.
"I'LL GO TOO," ANOTHER VOLUNTEERED. "WE HAVE TO TRY SOMETHING."
BASTIAN STOOD IN SILENCE, HIS MIND SPINNING WITH THE WEIGHT OF THE DECISION BEFORE HIM. HIS THOUGHTS DRIFTED BACK TO THE STRANGE, VIVID DREAMS THAT HAD PLAGUED HIM. THEY WERE BECOMING SHARPER, MORE REAL AS TIME PASSED. IN THOSE DREAMS, HE HAD SEEN TERRIBLE THINGS, ELVES SLAUGHTERING CAPTIVES TO HARNESS MAGIC POWER, DARK RITUALS THAT SEEMED MORE LIKE REALITY THAN FANTASY. COULD THOSE DREAMS HAVE BEEN MORE THAN JUST DREAMS? WERE THEY VISIONS OF THE NORTH, WHERE THE ELVES WERE GROWING STRONGER BY THE DAY?
"IS IT REALLY JUST A DREAM?" BASTIAN WHISPERED TO HIMSELF. "OR IS THIS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?"
THE ELVES WERE CAPABLE OF SUCH HORRORS. HE HAD NO DOUBT OF THAT. HIS HESITATION MELTED AWAY, REPLACED BY THE COLD CERTAINTY THAT HE HAD TO KNOW THE TRUTH.
"I'LL GO TOO," BASTIAN SAID, HIS VOICE STEADY NOW. HE WASN'T SURE IF HIS DECISION WAS FUELED BY DUTY, CURIOSITY, OR THE NEED TO CONFRONT HIS NIGHTMARES, BUT HE WAS RESOLVED.
MOST OF THE CLAIRVOYANTS VOLUNTEERED FOR THE PERILOUS TASK, BUT NOT ALL WERE ACCEPTED. THE SHAMANS EXAMINED EACH OF THEM CAREFULLY. THOSE WITH FRAGILE BODIES WERE REJECTED OUTRIGHT; THEIR PHYSICAL FORMS WOULDN'T WITHSTAND THE EFFECTS OF THE SOUL WALKER POTION. OTHERS, WHOSE MENTAL STRENGTH WAVERED OR WHOSE SOULS SEEMED FRAGILE, WERE ALSO TURNED AWAY. THE ELDERLY, THE TOO YOUNG, NONE WERE SPARED FROM SCRUTINY.
AS THE SHAMAN WEEDED OUT THOSE UNFIT FOR THE JOURNEY, BASTIAN REALIZED THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION. THOSE WHO WERE NOT CHOSEN BORE THE SAME LOOK AS THE ONES HE HAD SEEN IN HIS DREAMS, THOSE UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO FALL PREY TO SOLESIA OR SICKNESS, SOULS LOST TO THE VOID. IT WASN'T JUST ABOUT BEING PHYSICALLY STRONG; THE SOUL HAD TO BE RESILIENT, ABLE TO WITHSTAND THE JOURNEY INTO THE UNKNOWN.
IN THE END, BASTIAN STOOD AMONG THE FEW SELECTED. HIS BODY WAS STRONG, HIS MIND FOCUSED. HE WAS NEITHER TOO OLD NOR TOO YOUNG, HE WAS THE PERFECT CANDIDATE. HE WOULD BE THE FIRST TO DESCEND.
THE POTION WAS BITTER AS IT PASSED HIS LIPS, AND WITHIN MOMENTS, BASTIAN FELT HIS BODY GROW COLD, HEAVY. THE WORLD AROUND HIM BLURRED, SLIPPING INTO DARKNESS AS HIS SOUL UNTETHERED ITSELF FROM HIS PHYSICAL FORM. HE FLOATED, WEIGHTLESS, DISORIENTED.
JUST AS HE WAS ABOUT TO BE CONSUMED BY THE UNFAMILIAR VOID, A VOICE REACHED HIM, ONE THAT WAS BOTH FAMILIAR AND UNSETTLING.
"I TOLD YOU WE'D MEET AGAIN," THE VOICE SAID, SMOOTH AND MOCKING. "BUT YOU KEPT ME WAITING TOO LONG."
BASTIAN'S SOUL TREMBLED AT THE SOUND. HE KNEW THAT VOICE.
"THE SNOWY OWL?" HE WHISPERED, CONFUSION WASHING OVER HIM. THE FIGURE BEFORE HIM SHIMMERED, HALF IN SHADOW, HALF IN LIGHT, A FIGURE THAT HAUNTED HIS PAST.