Aren mumbled somewhat sourly but without any underlying antipathy. Slowly, very deliberately, he raised a hand to firmly clutch his sword hilt before casting his eyes to his left. With methods all his own, he knew that enough was enough.
"I abhor the thought of failure, but I joke about it instead because when I cease to do that, the memory hits me, hits the horror of losing someone… feeling powerless."
By the time his whisper contaminated every particle of air in the containment of the room, there seemed a great deal of nothing in that moment.
And then the runes exploded in light, filled the room. From what was already crowded with the weeping and undeveloped silk of seemingly closed slits there all about, the grates within the walls started to shift.
He inhaled meliorated sweet-heartedly and exhaled uneasily. With the sword still untethered, Aren removed the tightness of his grip on its handle. Those next moments should have been sweeter, yet they ended with a real smile on his face.
A narrowing staircase hewn in one sheer side of rock appeared on the far side of the chamber directly in front of him.
"Guess that was enough honesty for today," he said softly, brushing some perspiration from his forehead and making eye contact with the staircase.
He did not waste a moment in walking down the stairs ahead of him. As he descended, the air grew chill, with a far-off drum beaten ominously.
With that, he tightened around the sword, his eyes sharp and clear-minded, for a new birth was already facing him down the depths below.
This was but a trial for which he was born long ago. He lowered his sword and answered, "Truth, huh?" He sounded much softer. "I'm terrified of failing, that's it. I joke around so that the feeling of hurt from remembering doesn't have time to sink in on me. If I stop laughing, I remember how it feels to lose someone. To be powerless."
A tomblike, dreadful tone filled the air, all waiting in anticipation of his coming forth. For a little while, the echoes rang through the labyrinth of the souls.
The runes, on fire with newly born light (which was tearing the roof apart) could not shackle the vibration of the wall gantries any longer. The trembling beneath him slowed down more and more until the earth was firm beneath his boots.
With garbage breath and then release, he bowed out of the situation. "Submission," Aren exclaimed quietly. By now the point hit where he could only laugh perversely with excitement.
"I think that was enough truth shown today," and with that, he found the memory of a cold wind wrapped forever in darkness.
Simply without hesitation, he stepped toward the staircase. A draft of cool air struck him as he walked downstairs, while a low, distant pounding began from below and echoed up from all sides. While holding hard to his swords, his grip seemed to grow tighter as he struggled to hold.
Whatever lay ahead, whatever would reveal itself out of the deep hallways, he would do, and he would raise his quick weapons.