THEY slept around the fire, its heat warming them. Tūmbṃār woke in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. He felt the smooth surface unaged and seemingly unworn with the passage of time. The falls of magma seemed farther than they originally were. The light of the rocks was absent, leaving a pitch-black darkness all about.

He stared into the fire for sometime, peering deeply into the flames and aware of the motion of the embers, but he could not hold his concentration for long, with his mind wandering to other things. The dreams, the shadows, and strange occurrences and happenings across their journey. While he would not discuss it with any in the group, he long thought of such things, unsure what to make of it. He was sure that his friends could not help him in this matter, unable, as they were, to behold the things he saw.

He stood and silently walked away from the others, and journeyed deeper into the hall. The forest of pillars stretched far. If not for the light of the fire held in his palm, little would he be able to see. Making his way to the edge of the hall, he could see just how tall the waterfalls of magma stood. Their tops stretched far past the ceiling and their bottoms were shadowed by a great haze of orange, yellow, and red hues. It was strange, for he thought the heat would be more intense, but he could feel no change in temperature or humidity, and the air that flowed felt calm and cool. The sound of the magma’s fall and sputtering echoed where he stood, as its sound brought a soothing sensation to him in that silent and dead space. The fire emanating from the pit was now just a dot in his view. Hardly could its sounds be heard from where he stood.

Staying along the edge, he continued farther down. The edge curved inward and, for just a part of the path, he could see far into the distance the same haze, and, along the sides, a continuous stream of the magma falling from on high. It seemed, for just that moment, life had sprung once more within the ruins.

When he had reached the front wall, he walked down toward the center and eventually came before a great metal door that was set ajar enough for the snake to pass through. Entering, he saw lit lamps on either side of the passage with their great flames lifting to the ceiling.

As he walked, he could feel the smoothness of the surface slowly wear away, and the stones jutting from their holes. The pillars that had lined the surface seemed to crumble as he progressed farther. It was not long before he could see parts of the pillars crashed into the floor, with piles of broken stone blocking the path forward. He climbed up the rubble and hopped onto the other side where the lamps stood still, unaffected by the happenings begotten of the passage of time. When he had come to the other side, he could see ramps ascending and descending all about in a cylindrical space. But upon both sides there laid only a darkness black as the streams of aether, and this brought a sense of foreboding. Feeling disoriented, he stumbled backward at the entrance.

Now he was inclined to return, feeling no more want to venture further, but looking behind, he could see the lights extinguishing and, within the shadows, the cloaked specter suddenly emerged! It made close to him and its voice hissed. Its eyes of white, that looked gentle, juxtaposed against its hideous form. Tūmbṃār ran without further thought, descending the ramps as fast as he could. Bursting pockets of air about his feet, he flung himself forward and did so to grow the distance between them. But it kept following. It gave no sign of slowing, with no apparent increase in distance.

As if pushed, Tūmbṃār slipped on the ramps, and though they were rather wide, he tumbled toward the edge. Losing his grip, he fell into the darkness, and panicking, he covered his body in as thick a layer of earth as he could before crashing to the bottom. It did little to cushion his fall. His muscles and bones shook upon the impact. Dissolving the earth, he could barely move.

When he put his hands on the ground, he could see countless skeletons, their bones shattered from the fall. He suddenly leaped from his position. The cracking of the bones under his feet frightened him. No matter where he turned, all he saw were the skeletons.

Then he could see the space warp at seven points around the edge. Seven specters of similar likeness issued forth, and they made their way slowly toward him, creeping bit by bit. He once more stumbled to the floor and tried backing away as far as he could, but the specters closed in from all directions, giving no room for escape. They moved their hands to grab him.

Tūmbṃār, covering his head, took flight, sailing through the space between them as a massive burst of air launched him forward. He made to the ramp and attempting the action that Feyūnhaḥ had showed him: he combined air, water, and earth on his fingertips and pushing against the rough wall, he propelled himself upward fast. He made up the ramp as fast as he could, keeping his feet encased in air. But he could not keep it up for long, for, once again, he lost control, and the air ruptured, sending him in flight. No more could he run, his legs trembling, and he looked on as the specters moved closer with their army of reanimated skeletons.

Just as they were to grab him and pull him to his doom, a form gentle and hollow grabbed onto Tūmbṃār and pulled him forward. Its appearance was boyish, looking no older than him, but by his eyes, he could tell it was a Gazhigam. They hastened in their escape as the specters slowed in their chase and as the distance grew, the specters and their army receded into the darkness and no more could they be seen. A luster of white and gold then enveloped their sight, one that slowly dimmed in its radiance. As they ascended, the light grew ever more faint until it was vanished.

Long did they run, ascending the ramp toward the entrance Tūmbṃār took, not once looking back. And when they had reached the entrance, they continued onward in the dark. Tūmbṃār could tell the space was different, for his feet remembered the touch of the stones from the passage he walked through. They were somewhere different.

They kept to running, jumping, and traversing through this newfound area, unable to see. Soon, they happened upon a section that seemed to have numerous broken pillars. A voice came from the dark. It was unintelligible and muttered like a lull. They gave it no heed, passing by as the hall shook. Taking many twists and turns, and after what felt like an age, he could once more see a familiar area. The same passage with the lit lamps. They ran through, not stopping in their flight.

The boy had an odd feeling, sensing a familiarity with this person who saved him, but as much as he tried to recall, he could not remember. The tight grip and soft skin of the Gazhigam’s hand pulling him gave ease to his tension. Tūmbṃār smiled after having felt afraid for so long. The Gazhigam’s braided black hair flowed in the rush of the wind, and the glow of his body was indeed heavenly. A serene light waxed in the darkness. All about him looked bright. An ecstasy that he did not want to end, just like the warmth that he ever felt in the stillness of meditation.

Through the doors they went and long did they run in the dark, their footsteps light, barely resounding in the hall and all else quiet, even the fall of the magma. The speck of the fire burning in the pit grew larger and larger, until it fully came into view, the crackling of the embers once more audible. When they had at last reached it, they came to a halt.

The Gazhigam looked to Tūmbṃār and smiled. He patted him on the head and rubbed it with a wide grin. He then looked into Tūmbṃār’s eyes, and Tūmbṃār beheld the yellow iris and the ovular pupil radiating inside as if it were the Sun. Tūmbṃār wanted to speak, but the Gazhigam pointed behind him. Tūmbṃār without a thought, looked behind and saw the gentle light of the rocks, pillars, and stone. He could feel the warmth of the light and hear the fall of the magma in the distance and the soft breathing of his friends, asleep by the fire. And when he turned, the Gazhigam was gone.

The hold of the darkness had lifted, and his body felt lighter than it was before.

Sitting, he looked over himself. He opened his hands and lined his fingers against his scar. The lightness of his body dissipated and he felt once more normal, with all the uncertainty that came with it. The gentle breeze in the hall calmed his nerves and, as before, he felt unable to sleep.

He sighed, sad over not having been able to speak with the Gazhigam. Yet he looked up and saw the image of Yharekarazt and Nananghsā, and his eyes grew wide, for underneath the Fiyukthi was an image of a child smiling, whose eyes seemed turned to Tūmbṃār. He knew then who had come for him. Closing his eyes and putting his hands in prayer, he gave his gratitude and hoped that a day would come when he could see him again.