Morgan was pulled out of the memory with a physical jolt, a force akin to a shockwave striking his chest.
The air around him shifted violently. The warm, ash-choked wind of the past was replaced by the freezing, damp chill of subterranean stone.
Morgan's boots slid back across cold, shattered slate.
Dust, heavy and smelling of centuries-old damp rock, filled his nostrils.
He was back.
Back in the lightless, subterranean depths beneath the Zeregran Ranges, inside the ruined, half-buried temple where the expedition had faltered.
Except he was still trapped in this strange place, in the recesses of his mind, but it seemed the rush of memories had come to an end, at least.
A short distance away, before him, stood a man.
The same golden-eyed man from before.
He was unchanged from the moment Morgan had been dragged into the vision.
