Chronologie ï Dhy-Rhüne XX:17

I began when HE ended; I flew this place when the sun burned down to asphalt, and the sky bled crimson. There are being that move in the fog, monsters that prey in the dark... on Them, while I pray. But I still hold the key. Memories stalk these halls like phantoms in the storm. Grief is gangrenous, and flesh does naught but rot here. The memories accost me, and I'm walking down the Hall, no, drifting.
I don't feel like moving.
I don't even feel like breathing...
I'm not sure I need to anymore.
There are images in Silvers on each side of me, every few feet, showing me horrific images I cannot stomache, but am forced to observe. A woman watches as her insides are lain on display for her, decomposing in fast forward time while she breathes without lungs and is unable to stop it. A man is sewn to a chair while his world fractures into black and white chaos and a high pitched wirring deafens him. Eyes melt from the ceiling and the Darkness severs him limb by limb. The demon Sloth hangs from the ceiling while his kin, Moloch, fixates on the Innnocent...
But this place is not Hell, for there are dreams here too. Little windows to the soul... and I see them all. All the dreamers come here, and I watch it all unfold, all of it strange only to the untrained eye.
The memories that stalk this Hall cry out now and deal me a crushing blow. They are dead and I can't die. I am brought to my knees...
This is the Hall of Mirrors, and at it's end, The Door Without a Key. The symbols brand the entryway and the Names tether them down. Only three... but I have the fourth. But one name remains, and it is mine to keep. I am the roots... It is my secret, and I will not say the words. I am the name.
I lost it in Gloucester, I regained it in Äria, and I died in Sephoullër, and they all became me...
The Wastelands.