The last thing he could remember was staring into the girl’s blue eyes. Next he knew, he was on a familiar, cracked tiled floor- staring up at the never-ending, black, glistening abyss above. He knew this place like the back of his hand, but could only remember having been there once before... when he had died. The Satyr had met him there. He had stood where Asrael now sat on his knees. It had been bound by thick, heavy chains holding it in its place between the four, dilapidated, vine-tainted pillars. The atmosphere was thick with magic- his own magic seeping from the walls and the abyss alike.

The memories dawned upon him like strikes of lightning from the darkness- “Accept me, Mortal... and I shall give you what you seek.” He shook his head in hopes he could dispel the fog clouding his mind, only to finally lay his eyes on the mark inscribed into the cracked floor. The mysterious rune- the last piece of the puzzle... the Satyr had given it to him, but for what? His end of the deal seemed a memory stricken from his consciousness, no matter how hard he attempted to focus on it.

“I-it is... glorious...” He heard a feminine voice whisper behind him. He turned over his shoulder to see the white-haired, white-robed girl stare at him from in between the cracked pillars.

An undeniable, unshakable thought seeped into him- a violent protest directed at her very presence. She was not supposed to be here- not at all. She was an alien- a foreign body lodged in his cornea- an arrow to his chest... an interloper. He struggled to get to his feet and turned to face her and demand; “What did you do to me!? Get me out of here!”

But the girl was still in her disbelief, glancing about the darkness with awe while muttering; “How can one person- one magus... this place... it should not be.” He staggered towards her and gripped her by the white robe to bring her close to his face and repeat his command;

“Get me out of here, you wretched beast! I will have you know I have no patience for unwelcomed psychomancy-” He fell silent as her hand touched his cheek. Few times in his life had he been taken aback by the beauty of women, but this... for a moment; he felt as if he were looking into the eyes of a tearful, benign deity- the exact opposite of the Satyr whose hooves usually tainted these halls.

She whispered; “You do not know what this place is... nor do you understand what power you hold.” He could taste a distinct fragrance of wisdom in her words, but this was not the time for it. Whatever spell she had cast, it needed to break before-

The distant sound of clattering chains grew louder. Heavy thuds echoed in the nothingness. He intensified his grip on her shoulders and furrowed his brow to shout at her; “Listen to me, harlot! Release your spell! We cannot-” Her lips parted in a joyous grin as she lay her eyes on something behind him... something tall... something clattering.

“It is... beautiful...” she whispered.