The Era of Darkness has come. You stand before a precipice of fate, Sacred Warrior. All around you, darkness threatens the existence of your brethren – creeping in slowly and devouring all it finds. Yet the oracles of old say that champions will soon rise above the evils of this accurséd land and usher in a new era of peace, prosperity, and light… that is, if you pay credence to ancient tales told by dead prophets. For in truth, there is nothing here; nothing to deliver you from the destiny that is hurtling towards you – whether you accept it or not. For here, there is only darkness… and stillness.

— The Oracle at Gaelbhan, Book 2

Your vision is black, void. You spin in all directions, groping in the darkness for some stationary point with which to orient yourself. The black is suffocating, oppressive. Suddenly, the sound of scraping stone grates itself against your senses. A sliver of light appears before you. You turn away from the new light, shielding your eyes that have become accustomed to the darkness. Stumbling forward, you move towards the light that is growing progressively larger.

Entering into the light, you find yourself at the entrance to a sanctuary. Snow white pillars line a walkway carpeted in crimson plush and trimmed with gold. In rows before you are seated a multitude of congregants, clothes in simple white robes and seated in white marble pews. You attempt to call out to one of the supplicants, but they do not notice you. Each head in the room is bowed in silent contrition.

At the end of the expansive hall, there is a small set of crimson steps leading up to an immaculately white altar. You blink, and when you open your eyes, the altar is before you, clean and empty. Quickly, you turn around and find the entrance to the hall quite some distance behind you. The congregants have not moved; they remain in still worship. Turning back to the once-empty altar, there now lies a blank book atop it. In blood-red ink, an unfamiliar script appears on the pages of the book. You hear low chanting behind you; upon turning around, you find the congregation on their feet, singing softly in unison with their eyes trained on a spot behind you.

You whirl around searching for the object the crowd is fixed on. You find the altar to be completely gone, replaced instead with a throne. Seated on it is a male form dressed in shimmering, golden robes, his face veiled in a brilliant light. His hand extends towards you, palm up, in a gesture of beckoning. You reach out towards the man. As your fingertips touch, your vision blackens and the room disappears. The sharp sensation of falling lurches your stomach forward and you awaken from your slumber.