The air of Vormir was biting, cold, and arid.

With every breath, the scent of the earth, hardened like a ruin, and the weight of unknowable time pierced through to the marrow. Between the bizarrely soaring, lightning-scarred rocky peaks, a heavy silver mist flowed silently like a ghost's tail, and with every step on the coarse gravel underfoot, a dry echo fell distantly down the precipice. Not a trace of life's warmth could be found here. Only a silence that felt abandoned at the end of the world and the sound of a chilly wind lingered around the temple altar.

Finally, the footsteps of the two who had arrived came to a halt. As they caught their breath and scanned the surroundings with wary eyes, a bizarre figure draped in a dark red robe glided out from the darkness in the center of the altar. A face of a red skull, and a sunken voice whose weathering by time could not even be gauged, seeped low into the air.

In that voice, which echoed as if gouging directly into the mind, there was an unpleasantness that dug up the deepest parts of the lives the two had lived—records of the past they wanted to hide and the indelible guilt they carried.

The sound of the wind stopped.