In the darkness that had enveloped the formal dining room, a voice rose, strong and steady despite the cacophony of the damned, cutting through the wails and whispers like an axe splitting wood.
"Fear not the darkness, for I will light the way,
Through the endless night where lost souls stray,
I am the torch that burns against the night,
I bear the flame of hope's sacred light."
It was Ignatious who spoke, his voice resonating with a power and conviction that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest, as though the words had been shaped and forged of iron conviction over countless years spent resisting the darkness.
