The energy of the crew bustled. Koraxis opened his eyes, revealing the vastness of space beyond the nearby porthole and a dozen or so Eliksni partaking in various activities. The air was heavy with tension, hushed tones, and cautious movements as they maneuvered around the decks.

Koraxis was quiet, as he had been the first time, the weight and power of the item he'd liberated heavy in his palm. It pulsed.

The world had changed. Another familiar moment.

"Things aren't looking well, Captain," a Dreg whispered to Koraxis. He remembered this conversation but did not recognize the Dreg's deep tone. It sounded out of place. The Dreg leaned a bit closer, eyes darting between his shipmates. "Our food is low, the ship needs repairs, and the crew is… worried it might be cursed."

"Then they can leave," Koraxis snapped. It was automatic, much like his trek through the Pyramid. The Dreg hesitated in surprise.

Koraxis blinked, no longer surrounded by his crew or their voices of discontent. He suddenly found himself in his quarters.

It was dark, the type of darkness that felt as if it would devour him.

Koraxis sat at the table by his hammock. Just him and the eye. He stared at it, and it stared back.

A book of magic lay beside it. A frantic solution to an unexpected problem. The ritual was simple—or so he thought. He was barely able to translate the text on his own but was too stubborn, too scared to ask for help. He grasped a pointed crystal in his hands. Words left his mouth, but he couldn't hear them over the incessant whispers.

The crystal glowed, and Koraxis was met with an energy blast that propelled him backwards. This time, he felt the impact.