Scrawled by the trembling hand of the Last One, found in the ruins near the Temple of Void, under the shadow of the Black Forest, where words rot like flesh.
When the sun fell, the world screamed, but its cry drowned in silence. I saw the shadows of the Black Forest creep, alive, their roots digging into the earth like claws into the heart of a dying beast. The Temple of Void stands, but it is not empty it is filled with whispers. Its voice tears the soul, but I dare not answer. It calls, but its words are poison, its gifts a trap. I write to remember, but memory sinks into rot.