by Michael Bard The corridors were dark, and the room they led to was dark. Unlit, naked wraithbone. Empty but for one. “Shakarandras…?” The harsh rustle of wraithbone stretching and contracting echoed from throughout the room, and two dim reddish sparks appeared looking at him. “What do you see?” The words sounded unnatural, melodious yet sourceless. “What do you mean?” “What do you see?” “See? Well, I see darkness, and your eyes--" “They’re not my eyes!” He bowed. “Yes Seer Phoenix-Lord.” “If I am to lead, I… I want, no I need… I need to know why.” “Because I order you.” “How?” “Phoenix-Lord--" “Seer--"