These may be the last words that I ever write in this plane of existence.

I can only hope that as the coil of life leaves me, the gods shall have mercy enough to design to rent my soul asunder, and bestow upon me the gift of true oblivion for which I have come to crave. For the sins that I have committed and for which I now admit, I ask that even the memory be erased from me. Let it be at least known that I, Lancel the Red Scribe, kept loyal unto my career and purpose even unto the end, and that in my scribing, to record an accurate chronicle of what I had witnessed even to its ultimate conclusion.

And so I consign these words into the outer void of space in this data capsule and tell my tale to any who may come across it.

For as long as I had remembered as for as long as it has been known, the monument of my continent, Scythlla, has been the Amber. A crystalline growth of a strange golden hue, its polished surface was unmarred and unmarkable by any device of our imagination, though often one perceived as if the lines of cracks were within the formation. By night, it would glow in an eerie incandescence from its own power, a gibbous and wan illumination of which colour it gained its name from. For as long as we had remembered, it was a benevolent and almost miraculous influence upon the terrain around it: the crops grew lush and green, the creatures waxed heartily and even those bearing deformities would find slow healing by its nightly light. I myself witnessed a blind man who, living close to it, had opened his eyes truly for the first time and came to see, however dimly, an world that he never percieved before.

The Amber was said to have come from from the goddess, a gift and proof of Her benevolence and love forus. And so we all knew this, and so as long as we were content to bask in it serene glory, my people had benefited from it. Like the other Red Scribes before me, I came to pay my respect and worship the Amber. It was a gift from our goddess, the only true goddess, Seraphina. But unlike the others, I was foolish, and thirsty to know what it was not for mortal to know, and it was not enough for me to pay reverence upon the Amber. The sin of pride had been put in me, and soon it would work its deadly poison.

Having chronicled the healing of the blind by its presence, I became enthralled with this strange formation that stabbed into the ground. Like others, I attempted to carve from it, to find it immutable to even the strongest edge stone. The lore of the sages gave me no relief, for they spoke only of its eternal presence of the Amber, but there was much that seemed impossible: for within the crystal was evidence of damage. Surely it was symbolic of Seraphina's bounty upon us, but what? What lesson would it impart upon us?

And so finally, in my despair, I prayed by its side. Upon my knees, away from searching eyes, I prayed for the love of Seraphina to grant me the wisdom of the Amber. I prayed for the Nine, eternal servants of Seraphina to grant us another of their visit, to answer my questions. I prayed that I would know.

But it was not Seraphina that answered.

In the horror of contact, I heard the dissonant cry of voices from the Amber itself and in a vision more real before my eyes than the world about me, I suddenly was aware that the Amber itself had spoken to me. Before the million worlds of the universe, I suddenly beheld, and a great and crushing sadness occupied my part. For I know now that the Amber was never that of Seraphina's gift to us, but in the cracked and molten core of the artifact of accumulated and trapped souls, souls of the worshippers of a father god that had created Seraphina, even as Seraphina had created us. It was never of this world, but a broken remanent of a world that once was called Crux, a world mightier and most powerful than any world beheld now. Once it was whole, but broken in its height, it thirsts to be united again to bring about an angry doom to the universe.

And all this I know, because when I prayed, it was the mind within the Amber that spoke to me.

The voice of Lord Oberon himself.

Nicely written you have a real talent.