Perhaps it is the dwarf within her, focusing on the stone at her feet. Perhaps it is her elven blood, determined to puzzle out this mystery. Perhaps it is the unique combination that is her, but Ida can suddenly see the floor all around her, out for dozens of feet. The tiles, faded and broken, seem to call to her, begging to tell their story.
And then she sees it, so simple in its answer. So dreadful in its implications.
The tiles form a mosaic. A map, to be precise, of dozens, hundreds of lands. Some are vast while others are small, but each one is like a... pocket... on a backdrop of endless night. Each realm is bound by this void, cut off from the rest. Contained. Sealed away. A prison.
Dieter... the boy came from one of these prisons.
"Outcast..."
"Unwelcome..."
"Call the Shroud...
"It knows not..."
"It is here... Call the Shroud!"
"The Shroud... will consume it... seal it away..."
"The Shroud!"
Ida's awareness of the mosaic-map shrinks as the void between lands rises up from the tiles like dark fog, blocking her sight, writhing with tendrils like a million severed worms. Hundreds, thousands of dead-gray eyes peer at her from the fog, beckoning for her to join them in oblivion.
A terrible dread threatens to take hold of Ida, accompanied by a sure knowledge that should this fog, these tendrils of black mist touch her, she will be drawn into a fate worse than death. Her mind and spirit will be bound, her body will go cold and wither. Worse, her desiccated corpse might become a conduit for this dark power, bringing the mists into the room where her friends wait.
The black tendrils draw closer, stretching and reaching, roiling all around her.
"It will be consumed!"