Music, soft, gentle and old. Moonlight, the blinded eyes of heaven casting their cold light from above, the ruins an ancient and bitter memory of what had once been. Even the stars were from an age long past, the shapes she had heard tales of in the distant myths of her people. Shapes formed in the hall below, ancient and ethereal, dancing beneath old moonlight.

Parth stepped into the room and woke Stathis, signaled to her for silence, then led her back outside. The dancers were now fully assembled, stepping through the complicated motions of a group dance. Such a thing hadn’t been heard in the mortal realm for centuries, was something she had seen only in memory-dreams, passed down from her elders, soul to soul through the long centuries since their ancient glory. Her soul moved in harmony, as the music shimmered through the air, performer sat beneath the painting of the three Destroyers, those that had destroyed the ancient empire. She could feel tears starting to trickle down her face – all the glory and grandeur that had once been, now reduced to dust and memory, performing beneath cold and uncaring moons.

A black-robed figure strode forth before turning, their ragged and tattered cloak flaring out, a stark difference from the other attendees. A skull, serene and chill, gazed out from beneath the hood. The dark pits of their eye-sockets met Parth’s eyes, as the sound of a bell chimed out, a red light burning in the dark sockets. Before she could shout a warning, her will, her very soul, was quenched. She could still feel her body, the air growing chill around her, the ghosts beneath her suddenly changing from being dull and silvery to vibrant, brilliant colours, the perfected arts of elven craft on display, even as their wearers melted away, flesh vanishing to reveal bone beneath, clothing hanging lank and loose on fleshless skeletons, more skulls leering at her. Her body was walking down the stairway, Stathis’ hand provoking an odd tingling as it passed through her body.

The banshee reached out towards her, calling her forward, eager to claim another soul. Parth tried to force herself to regain control, yelling inside her head without being able to make her body do anything. Not here, not by some damned summoning of the Destroyers, left here ever since the place had been sealed, some deadling wraith that had betrayed their people centuries ago, this was not how she wanted to die. Better a swift death in combat than this! Burning pain seared her shoulder, and then the ghosts surrounding her seethed with sudden rage. Clawed and skeletal hands lunged for her, seeking to rip her apart, claim her flesh as their own.

Stathis shouted down at Parth. ‘Run! We’ll meet up later!’

Parth bolted, ducking and waving between the skeletons grabbing for her, barely avoiding their claws, managing to get towards the door and into the hallway without them getting her as another arrow clattered off the wall. The pain in her shoulder was hot and piercing, where the arrow had pierced her. Stathis had shot her! It had snapped her out of the trance, but even so, couldn’t she have thought of a less painful way to do it? The wound burnt with pain with every step, the shaft shifting as she moved. As she ran, she reached up and snapped the arrow shaft, leaving enough to draw it out later, but making it less likely to catch on something.

The building, once an empty legacy to the glories of the past, was now alive with more awkward legacies, all trying to kill her. The creatures – she tried not to think of them as her ancestors – were clad in finery now seen only in times of high ritual, robes of the finest samite, gems and rare metals at necks and wrists. Parth tried not to calculate how much it was worth – a full set of ancestral chain-rings would be worth hundreds, and she’d just run past at least five!

Until she could draw the arrow out, her right arm would be useless, but she managed to fumble out her sword with her off-hand, the grip awkward. But useful, as an arm lunged from a doorway, her blade striking it and smashing through bone, trying not to wince at the destruction she had caused as she sliced through a robe older than most kingdoms. The creature slowly turned, moving to strike her with its other arm. Although it was quickly dispatched with a few strikes, the noise drew more of the things.

Thankfully, the creatures were slow, and not that perceptive. She moved a safe distance away, finding a patch of shadows, then hid, forcing herself to be calm, feeling her heart slow, willing herself to be like a tree; steadfast, enduring and resistant to pain, taking a moment to try and dress her wound. One of the creatures, a revered matriarch of a powerful clan, if her jewellery and robes were any indication, walked past her hiding spot, posture proud even in death, a ghostly image of her living face flickering over her pale skull.

Burning eyes hovered amidst the darkness, as the music continued to pour forth from the banshee and the harpist – it was only the throbbing pain from the arrow still stuck in her shoulder that allowed her to focus enough to resist its call. What was such a servant doing here? Such things were meant to have been scourged from the world in the aftermath of the Destruction, the servants of the light having sought them out from wherever they had hidden. But the Heartstealer had returned, so it seemed the shadows of the world contained much of the older darkness, awaiting a chance to bring chaos and death once again. This place must have sealed itself away from the world, the inhabitants sacrificing themselves to keep the creature away from the world.

She moved through the halls as swiftly as she could, keeping to the shadows, dodging between shafts of silver light, the cold beams restoring all it touched to pale shadows of lost grandeur. The things gathered as they had in their mortal days, clustering together in the corridors and grand chambers, as she tried to get outside without attracting more. Whatever effect was happening had served to restore the buildings, now decorated as they had been in their prime, everything bright and splendid, vivid colours even in the pale light.

She managed to make her way outside without being spotted again, glad of the open space. The moons shone bright in the sky above, their light illuminating a scene of ancient glory, hundreds of elves gathered around, surrounded by the beauty of elven craft and architecture. In the living world, such numbers were seen only at the grandest of conclaves. Here there were too many of the damn things to hide from, especially with the traitorous light of the moons shining down and destroying the shadows. Even with their poor senses, the creatures quickly spotted her, somehow communicating with each other, moving towards her in an increasing mass.

She abandoned caution and started running, the open space making it impossible to hide, speed now better than stealth. The things were slow, but everywhere, giving her no mercy, quarter or rest. At least the banshee hadn’t given chase, content to let its minions do the work. Such an opponent would prove troublesome - even in the time of the empire, the scions of destruction had taken great effort to destroy, and it was unlikely that the others could deal with it. Well, they were probably smart enough to not fight it, and there wasn’t much she could do about it if they were stupid. But this place must be returned to harmony, and the creature destroyed.

She looked around, seeking a refuge – in this strange half-world, everything shone and gleamed with inner light. Ahead of her, the palace shone, bright and brilliant, crimson banners flapping from the towers, while a light, warm and yellow, an actual, real fire, came from somewhere inside. She began heading for it, doing what she could to evade combat, the creatures everywhere, more than she could evade, breaking away but not before earning more injuries.

Over time, the moonlight paled, replaced by an eerie, constant glow, a vast misty dome above her shedding thin, vague light over everything, and making it hard to hide. The pathway to the castle was surrounded by empty ground, and there was already a group of the things after her. She started to move as fast as she could, injured leg dragging, forcing herself to keep moving. The gateway was open, a wooden bridge crossing a moat of depthless black. Something moved in the moat, dark shapes coiling beneath the inky waters. She kept moving, a glance over her shoulder confirming that the creatures weren’t stopping. A slender twist of darkness hovered in the air, a shadow flickering around it as she rushed past, hoping not to draw any attention, passing through the gatehouse into the castle.

Inside, every surface was beautiful and decorated, endless coloured swirls and spirals, broken only by paintings of her people in all their glory, fresh as when they were first painted. She reached out to touch one, just for a moment, running her fingers along the ancient stone – another glory, now lost to time. A creature bursting from a hallway broke her reverie, almost grabbing her before she ran, or at least limped, away.

The place was a maze, designed for pleasure and ease, despite the defensive walls. Which meant that everything was large, the chambers beautiful and likely with concealed passages for servants somewhere; no doubt Janaxia would approve, if she had survived the night. But with the things still coming, there was no time to look, meaning she had to keep moving through the doors. The previous occupants were still present, attired for dancing and feasting, their dresses, robes and suits now hanging grotesquely off skeletal frames, all now trying to kill her. If she survived, and the things could be defeated without destroying their clothing, it would be worth a significant sum. If they could get it out of here, although that might be complicated by the magical seal binding the place.

She stroked a weed, conjuring forth some berries, revitalising herself somewhat as she kept moving. The creatures were everywhere, blocking passage down more and more passages, slowly eliminating her options. Another passageway was blocked by a pillar of crystal, glowing with power. She touched the crystal, finding it hard and strangely warm, something within it trying to snatch her will away, draw her essence into something else. She shook herself free, able to resist, running down another hallway towards the inner core of the palace, walls now tough, undecorated stone, narrow hallways with the walls punctuated by murderholes.

Her way was blocked by a brass doorway, the bright metal covered with runes of fire and warding. Parth turned back to see the creatures blocking her path, a thick mob blocking her retreat. She pushed against the door, heat searing against her hands. She wrestled it open even as her hands burnt, a bolt of fire dashing out around her ankles, rushing past her.

Then the floor beneath her burst into light, a blue circle flaring into life around her feet. As she leapt to the side, an invisible force pulled her back, unseen energies binding her into place, as everything went white...