The throne room was entirely dark, and in the impenetrable darkness, a figure sat on the throne. Suddenly his mouth hung open, and a hoarse cry echoed through the throne room.
Quickly, he clapped his hands over his mouth and fell to his knees. His teary eyes were still and red with veins. His mind was a jumble of terror, his thoughts scattered like shattered glass on stone.
He took shaky gasps of air through his hairy fingers clamped over his mouth; he could feel the wet breath on his palms.
Amon tried to gather his thoughts. He had woken from a terrible dream. He tried to gather the little fragments of what it was, but his mind was blank.
He furrowed his brow and removed his hands from his mouth. For a moment he gazed at them, as if the answers were written on his palms. His mind couldn't remember the dream, but his body did.
The darkness that lingered in the throne room was thick, but it wasn't long before Amon saw that something was moving in the darkness.
Amon squinted, holding his breath without realizing it. He twisted his body and turned his head, searching as if the darkness were a thing he could catch from the corner of his eye.
Suddenly he caught it, barely. He couldn't quite see the exact shape, but Amon was sure that whatever was moving in the darkness was a snake or something similar. It didn't slither but hauled itself, leaving wet, gooey mucus on the floor.
It disappeared into the dark again, but then Amon shivered. The hairs on his arms stood like tiny needles prickling his skin. Amon felt as if his heart was climbing through his throat, thick and pushing up every time he swallowed.
Amon's entire body tensed. He tried to stand but couldn't; he was completely paralyzed.
His eyes had adjusted to the dark by now. He looked around but found nothing. Yet he felt it — it was still here, close, whatever it was.
Amon decided to look above, but his head refused. He closed his eyes and remained motionless. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, counting to four. It didn't help, but he tried again, slower. He was still shaking.
While his eyes were still closed something gooey and warm fell on his shoulder. Shivers ran down his back like cold needles pressed into his spine.
His entire body would have jerked away from it if he could still move.
He opened his eyes slowly. His breath was still shaky, but he could finally see what it was — not clearly, but he had an idea. It was a centipede.
What was above him was its tail; the head was approaching him from the staircase to the throne. Its size was simply unnatural.
When it reached Amon, it opened its mouth. It had no teeth, no tongue. Instead, a man crawled out of its mouth. In his hand he held a lantern with a tiny golden glow that illuminated both Amon and the creature, while the shadows it cast were still thick and moved with the flickering light.
When Amon saw the creature's body — or a portion of it — he wanted to vomit. He felt his stomach convulse and his organs twist, not in a funny way.
The creature had no tongue, but where its tongue would normally be was a man covered in mucus. He had long arms and hands, his fingers like those of an old hag, and his body was stretched.
His skin was pale, clammy, and almost gray, stretched tightly over visible ribs and a swollen belly. His entire lower body was connected to the bottom of the creature's mouth; no — he was the creature. Now that Amon could see it, he wasn't really sure what this creature was.
What disturbed him most was not the man, but the body. It had a long body, like a giant worm. Its hide was made of living faces pressed into its thin, wet membrane, mouths gaping with weird sounds when they saw the light, eyes that did not move at the same time.
Amon wanted to run but he couldn't. The man or the creature got close to Amon. It ran its wet gooey fingers down Amon's face. Amon let out sobs through clamped teeth.
The creature let go of the lamp in its hand, but it remained floating. Then it placed both its hands on Amon's face. It then dragged its tongue slowly up from Amon's neck to his ear. It licked, and the sound was soft with a little click when the tongue came off.
Amon almost vomited as his stomach tightened in disgust.
"I'm Slyrod, The Witness of Destiny," when Slyrod spoke the voice was breathless, every word was dragged out of his mouth.
Slyrod was an oracle, his Hollowed name 'The Witness of Destiny'. He was old and ancient. Older than mountains themselves. He came to see Amon so he could read him his Hollowed Name.
Every single person was born with a Hollowed Name. A Hollowed Name was sacred, it gave an individual his duty, and honor. It also served as a road map of how one could cultivate their power.
Those who were born without their Hollowed Names were simply useless. Amon was that individual. His father had died so he had to take the throne but the kingdom refused. Being led by someone who does not know who they are is being led by a blind man. He certainly will bring death to himself and his people.
No oracle could read his Hollowed Name so his family called the oldest oracle and the most ancient, Slyrod. He ran his hands all over Amon's face. It gave him shivers. Then Slyrod whispered in his ear.
"I see your hand buried in bones and blood. I see a man giving life to the flame. I see a name written on stone, washed away by rain. Let us in, let us in" as Slyrod spoke the faces on his hide chanted "let us in! let us in! let us in!" it sounded ethereal and old like thousand synchronized voices.
Their eyes moved violently with this soft sound like flesh ripping apart. Blood rushed out their mouths and with their final chant "let us see" their eyes all looked at Amon all together.
Before Amon could feel anything, blood washed out his ears and mouth. His eyes twisted violently in his eye sockets, twisting and turning like someone trying to look at their brain.
Amon was still paralyzed but the pain moved him. Every time Slyrod chanted it was as if his soul was burning from within, pain he had never felt before. The throne room was filled with wails of horror.
After what felt like an eternity, Amon was crying. Slyrod had been staring into his soul reading everything he saw. He suddenly stopped.
His mouth hung open. He cried without sound, his breath shaking, his eyes with tears and unblinking. He looked like someone who had forgotten how to breathe. Then suddenly he returned to the worm's mouth. Everything was silent. The darkness fell on the throne room again.
Amon fell to the ground. Something fell next to him, with a metallic sound. He was shaking on the ground, like someone who had been poisoned taking in their last breath.