Darkness had never frightened Rowan. He'd walked into war with it wrapped around his shoulders like a second skin. But this? This wasn’t darkness, it did look like darkness but felt even worse.

He felt like he was drowning in black gooey tar. He couldn't move or breathe. Every second stretched endlessly, like time itself had snapped and was taunting him with broken pieces.

His limbs floated in a space that didn’t exist. They heavy and useless. He heard voices, but not real ones. They were echoes of sounds he couldn't make sense of. Sometimes it was screams, then it became whispers.

Aurora's voice, sometimes, but distorted. Calling him, crying...