Everything was dark. A formless sea swirled upon itself, unseen, but not unfelt. Pressures and currents disrupted its flow, redirecting it. But always the dark returned to its thoughtful quiet, the absolute silence that ruled it.
From deep within this sea, Vix felt something.
She had already become so used to the rhythm, the ebb and flow of the dark, that to feel anything at all was a shock. It was small, whatever the feeling was, like a tiny hand tugging at her arm, shyly beckoning her to follow.
Vix felt another shock run through her immediately after, like a bucket of ice water dunked over her. Her name was Vix. Yes, now she could recall it again. She had forgotten that, too, deep within the dark.
It felt like an enormous hand was scooping her up, hauling her up from that forge
