I was but a child when I first heard your name, Miles Prower.

I do not know how many worlds you touched before mine, nor do I know of all those that came after. Only the Guide knows how many.

But he is gone. They burned him.

I was but a child, and still I heard your name, Miles Prower, as one who would change the world, as one who would save us in our endless war against the Mi-go.

And you know well how this story ends. You'll have heard many like it among the tomes of the lost, after all. You came to our world chasing Ivo Robotnik, your Sonic the Hedgehog dead at his hand. And you left chaos in your wake.

And my people, facing extinction at the hands of the Mi-go, were saved by this chaos. Our war, long fought, found peace at last. Until he came. Iog-Sotôt, the Lurker at the Threshold, Opener of the Way. His hounds followed your scent, Miles Prower, and his presence changed everything.

The dead rose from ash and soil, the rotten descended from above. My people fought, but they knew nothing of this new threat, nor how to stop the endless spread of the Lurker's shadow. The struggles of our warriors brought only more chaos, attracted only more attention until Cthulhu, the Great Dreamer, awoke. His eyes fell upon the land and his children took the night. My father sacrificed himself for us that first day, and we wept for him in the dark. There was nothing left to bury.

When Cthulhu slept once more in the coming dawn, his victims legion, we few survivors thought ourselves spared, but in his place came Idh-yaa, the Eater of Worlds, her mighty coils carving deep, festering wounds into the earth, spreading his presence. Our great cities fell. Our people, already decimated by our war with the Mi-go, were all but extinguished.

My sister was lost to the dark that day, Miles Prower. I watched her fall. I heard her call my name.

And finally, when all hope was lost, Ahtu - the Caretaker, came before us, but we did not know, for he wore my father's skin. My father, who found your messages, Miles Prower, my father who wanted more than any to lead our people to victory against the Mi-go.

We few that remained followed him to the great castle he had prepared for us. To the place where we would be safe from the coming storm, where already the walls were thick with books. And we sheltered there in the dark.

And the black wind below changed us, warped us, until our last hours were filled with the scream of nightmares. My mother was with me at the end, Miles Prower. She did not cry out, but she did not last. I ran to my father when she died. To the one that wore his face. And I was bound, cast below into the dark.

I watched the end of my people that day, Miles Prower. Flesh fell from bone until only bone remained, still walking, still wandering, still screaming. And I wept, Miles Prower. I wept for all I had lost as the leaves fell from my head. I wept for my mother, as I watched her bones strangle a girl my age in the dark beside me. I wept for myself as I lay dying, my skin growing loose. And I cursed your name, Miles Prower, and begged you for mercy, for salvation.

And something answered.

Not all that lies beyond the curves is beyond reason, Miles Prower. There are those that can be… bargained with, persuaded. There are those with their own agenda, beyond our understanding.

And to her I was bound… Shupnikkurat, Lord of the Woods.

It was not for two hundred years that I learned why. The more a world resists, the greater the meal. I do not know if you saw her touch on your world, Miles Prower, but she and Iog-Sotôt are linked and opposed, allies at war. They both seek dominion, and both would enjoy the struggle to last as long as possible. My lady's touch may be more gentle, but it is all consuming just the same.

Where once he reigned with impunity, she would place her mark also, seeking control. They choose champions in their service until one or the other is dominated. And with her victory, the world would become one way, with her defeat another, but I am sent all the same in service of the chosen. When called, I grant the seeds that restore the forest and the sunflowers that preserve it, and when my lady wills I grant the seeds that taint this land all the same.

This is my fate, Miles Prower, and I can do no more. This is the fate of those that remain. To grant these boons to others, but never use them. We are bound to the chosen, as we are bound to our patrons, and without the chosen we may only writhe in non-existence until we are recalled.

I do not know how you survived, Miles Prower. I do not know how you remain whole in this place, only that you are a horror among horrors, that you are unguided, and this damns us all.

For the guide has come to the chosen for as long as I have known him. Perhaps as long as you have been guiding him, Miles Prower. With the guide the mysteries become unveiled, the ways of making, the way of offering lives to their patron. The offerings grant the chosen favour by which to gain our boons, favour you have never seen, favour you cannot recognise. If the pact is strong enough it can even whisk them from harm, or build a fresh body when they fall.

This world's chosen had a weak pact and a cunning mind. They slayed the great worm's vestige and ventured below. They burned the guide to free his patron onto this place. And then they died, laid low in the night by Ahtu, their deeds made worthless, the homes they made for us become ruins.

I do not even remember their name, Miles Prower, but without them, there is no hope for us. Even if you have somehow survived Ahtu, even if you slay almighty Hastur himself, we cannot grant you the tools to purify the corruption without the favour of a patron. You should leave. Return to your world and wait for the day it falls.

And when it falls?

Hope that you are among the chosen.

Or pray that you are allowed to die.