SOREN
The voice arrived without the warning of footsteps or the presence of a body. It was neither human nor inhuman, but something that existed in the uncomfortable space between the two.
It carried the resonance of something that had been many things over many eons and had finally settled into being nothing at all.
"What are you doing here, trespasser?" the voice asked again.
The word it used for me was ancienta sound that predated the languages of Nevareth. It carried a specific meaning: A Trespasser, someone who crossed the Uncrossable.
One who had reached a place where reaching should have been a mechanical impossibility. A being who had broken the script not out of malice, but by the sheer, stubborn nature of his own existence.
I turned toward the voice, my hand moving toward the hilt of a sword that wasn't there.
There was a long pause, as if the speaker were genuinely trying to solve a puzzle that shouldn't have been on the board.
