In Which I Doomed the World

I was a delver on the day I found the copper egg.

One thousand yards beneath the ground, that was where we found the cavern.

No, not cavern.

Throne room.

My business partner, Elora, and I descended into the ruins from above, riding upon floating platforms of the Ancients’ own design. The only light was that which we brought with us: glowing stones in our headbands. Inky darkness crept about, looking for a chance to catch us unawares. Being the rational man I was, I feared darklings, the beasts that lurked in the black outside the warmth of any Everburn. So, I kept in my hand a silver-edge, a weapon the Ancients had developed to fight the lurking terrors. I ignited the blade, causing white light to fill the fuller.

In the shadows around us, cast by broken pillars and crumbled walls, I was sure I saw faces watching me. The cruel and hungry grins of creatures more horrible than I could imagine. Some, I’m sure, were mere tricks of the light. Projections from my fear-oppressed brain. Others were surely even more fearsome than they appeared.

The ceiling from which we’d lowered arched like a distant sky, and the floor beneath our boots was steel. Something glimmered in the darkness, and I turned my face so that the stone in my headband would reveal it.

Upon a throne of bones it rested, as big as a drunkard’s belly, an egg made of copper. From the tip of the top to the base of the bottom, the copper egg held the runes of the Ancients, a language I knew, but had not yet mastered.

The moment Elora and I laid eyes on it we were sure we’d just made our fortune. A relic that size was sure to fetch a pretty penny with the masters at the Great Library. But only now do I know for sure that, like me, my business partner felt something other than mere greed upon beholding that egg. We both felt that humming in our chests, the ancient treasure’s call to embrace all it wanted to give us.

Elora and I approached the throne made of bones, some animal and some human. It was surprising that the darklings had not yet consumed these bones for the marrow.

Reading the inscription from the egg’s small side, I recognized but one word:

Zahac.

The Ancients’ name for the Dark Lord.