Have you heard them? The whispers?

Of course you have. Whispers are a familiar companion to those who engulf their minds in shadow. Others hear them too, though they lack the insight to understand. Doubt. Fear. Jealousy. Mistrust. Simple words for simple minds.

“You know better than that…” That one was familiar. But not these. No, these are… fainter. It’s impossible to be sure there’s anything to hear. Yet still, a certainty about them. A quiet power. A deafening power.

Time spent in shadow illuminates the truth about people, about intentions. It makes plain what has been concealed. Darkness slumbers within all.

Not quite sure how and much less sure why, you’ve found yourself here: a cave system deep beneath the scarred soil of Silithus. Despite wandering aimlessly for hours, there’s been a certainty to each step you’ve taken and continue to take. Your fingers run across wall carvings that are simple in the way that ancient things often are. These are the simplest you’ve seen. The most ancient.

Your path ends at a pitch black opening in the floor. You’re meant to jump, you’re sure of it. After pausing to consider, you throw your torch down with the hope of gauging how deep it is. You carefully peer over. No light visible. No sound heard.

Still, you jump; this action as sure as all those prior.

Time spent in shadow illuminates the truth about people, about consequences. It makes plain what has been concealed. There is always a cost.

How long were you falling? What direction did you fall? Were you falling at all? You look for an entrance–and more importantly, an exit–to the small, perfectly dome-shaped chamber you’re in. There is none. Despite no source of light, you clearly see the polished, smooth stone floor bulging upward in the center without a crack or crevice visible. An altar, perhaps one of the first. A thin black-purple mist slithers down the sides.

On it, a stone sphere. You approach. It’s etchings are that of an eye.

As you lock eyes with the stone, what a moment ago was a carving now quite obviously is alive. Moving. Peering. Blinking. You look down to see your hand moving towards it, driven by the same unseen force that guided your steps. Guided? Forced? You’re not sure when, but the meaning of those words lost their distinction. A hand length away, you hear an echo that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once: “Yeeeeeeeeessssssss…”

Will you pick it up? A question preceded by the answer. Deep longing bubbles, claws, rips up from your psyche. Your search is complete. Moving to pick up the stone, you find it already placed in your open palm. The stone-revealed-shell crumbles in your hand. Replacing it, a pulsing orb.

A slit of pale yellow light appears. It separates into two crescent moons connected at the top and bottom tips, a writhing darkness revealed between.

“You… are weak…”

Time spent in shadow illuminates the truth about people, about shortcomings. It makes plain what has been concealed. You’ve grown comfortable with failure.

“Open to me…” Consequences, cost now clear: your mind.

And so, you do.

Tendrils seep from the eye toward your mind. As you begin to open it, you find your action aided by tendrils from within.

The tendrils meet.

The eye flashes.

The darkness consumes you.

You wake up in your bed, feeling too well rested. Peeking outside, you realize the season has changed. How long have you been away? Have you even been away? Where were you, actually? So many questions.

In a different, deeper part of your mind, the opposite: certainty. Certainty that more than the season has changed.

The source of that certainty: clarity. Clarity of action, this as sure as all those prior.

The source of that clarity: a whisper. A whisper of power, quiet and deafening.

The source of that whisper: an eye. An eye not your own. Moving. Peering. Blinking.

Time spent in shadow illuminates the truth about people, about potential. It makes plain what has been concealed. You are the Eye of C’thun.

“You are but… an eye…”