Quintin stood before his Master's meditation chamber. On both sides, the braziers lifted a smoky divide that cleft around the double doors. Thick smoke made all but the doorway unclear as he pulled outward on the ring handles. A creaky peel of sound stuck to the smoke that spiraled above from the updraft—the joy of sound and motion escape on wings of this olden entrance.

His stride only carried him a few feet inside before he bent over, down to his knees, in ritual greeting.

"Greetings Master."

A fractional nod in return being the all too typical response. Bilal Abassi spoke, "Today I wish to speak of unending burden, and corruption borne thereof."

He waited as Quintin made himself more comfortable a few feet away, then continued. "When one thinks of burdens as light, then they must feel light. And heavy as heavy. Both are weighed by the proof of time, namely: corruption—Time is one form of corruption to all things."

Bilal took up a cinder block sitting off to the side and placed it on top of his head so that it remained entirely still there.

"If I sit here long enough, wouldn't I be tempted to lift this cinder block off my head and get on with my day? However, what could be more important than to stand by the things I set out to do? It might seem unimportant, it may seem small, but this is corruption on the infinitesimal scale. It affects nothing else but the mindset."

There was a momentary pause while Bilal stroked his beard in thought.

"What if I decided Oltoi had become too much of a burden and forsook him? Would that not corrupt tradition—duty? Because Time has a handle on each of us, we do not pause to consider more the point—our desire to be rid of those burdens we once considered light..."

Within the dreamy memory-state, the dim candlelight flickered. Bilal's final words became a spectacle of silver-white scales as his wingspan unfolded with majesty in that room which always felt overlarge. And just as quickly the candlelight was vibrant once more. The man sat there in placid contemplation. An unmoved cinder block still resting atop his head.

Quintin couldn't be sure if he had seen what he saw, or if his childhood imagination was getting the best of him. One thing he knew for certain though; his Master was larger then. Bilal's mouth moved, but no words came out. His lips moved, repeating the same phrase over and over. A much younger Quintin struggled to understand what was being said in that hypnotic movement.

"Awaken.

...

Wake up.

...

Wake up, Quintin?"

[Wake up, Quintin!

...

Wake up.

...

Awaken.]

"Master..?"

"Where are you- am I?"

[Shh, it's alright now. I'm here. These ruins have been claimed by Corruption.]

"H-How are you here? You-." Quintin felt tears well up, "I wish to see you... It's so dark, I cannot-"

[I have traveled far to reach you, my dear disciple. We don't have much time to talk—my Soul Energy has waned considerably in the process.]

"Soul Energy? What are you-"

Bilal cut his voice off with a conceptual mental vision; a fast-moving panorama of ideas. Swirls of images played out; memories from a moment before the condensation of his Dragon Soul. A peaceful slumber in the Opaline Gem—Quintin's left eye. Rudely being kicked across some hilltop, and a voyage on the Blinking Sea with only a faint thread of connection between them to guide him. Then finally, to a wordless exchange with Vissitri, culminating in the emerald creature letting go of the gem down a fissure deep in the mountains.

[It seems my burdens will soon come to a long rest. It pains me that I can only give one last thing to you now—the power to bear this burden.]

Before Quintin could process everything, a pure white light flooded out from his left eye. It continuously bathed the surroundings in holy radiance. With him as the nexus, becoming an illuminating beacon on the drastic changes here in Sozzelrift. The Underhome was completely blanketed in a syrupy black liquid from top to bottom, whichever way he looked.

[Purity... and Corruption... Quintin, you must listen to me. This Corruption will never cease, not truly, unless you destroy that Glyph. It is an unimaginable Calamity, one I can only slow in its progress. Two years- that is all the time I can buy you. After that the flow will continue until the whole world is tainted and nothing else remains.]

"Master!? What are you- Please don't go! I still have so much I wish to say!"

[Fear not, for I will always be...

right beside...

you.]

"No!!"

The soundtrack to his scream, and subsequent sobbing, was with fists slapping down against the Corruption goop. A color not unlike unburnt charcoal surrounded his tiny speck of white-hot brilliance. He lashed out ineffectually with tears running ditches down his face—the harsh realization that his Master was gone once again held sway.

System:

ping

ping

ping.

The emotionless pings shot through his skull as he tore at his hair. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

As if to mock his shouting, the [Bone Glyph of Corruption] belched out a bit of its tainting influence. There, far up above now, it slowly spun. A barely discernable presence in the somewhat remote distance. His breath came out in ragged huffs when he caught sight of it, but there was no way to reach it. So, doing the next best thing, he continuously fired projectiles at it in a rage until all of the [PP] was spent.

In the end, it had no effect with most not even coming close. Quintin entered a state of despondent meditation while leaning against some eldritch block-like shapes. He stared through the whirring [Glyph] in air, up at nothing—a son of Corruption in a place where the sun never shone.