He took a deep breath, and cleared his head. The voice would return soon, so it was imperative that he write quickly. His quill tore black streaks across the mouldering paper as he spilled his heart into his fingers.

Ambition is a great measure of a man. Those without ambition fade away and are forgotten. Only those with great ambition are remembered after their time.

The… thing in his head had left, looking for the relic once more. When it returned, empty-handed, it would vent its anger on his mind, and he would forget the necessity of his letter. He ploughed on, his neats scrawl becoming blotchy and distorted.

Dearest Aurora, I fear that, like the man I was named after, I have flown too close to the sun, and have begun my freefall. I know not where it will take me, but I promise that someday I shall return to you. Yours until the very end, Icarus.

His quill poised above his name, he pondered whether he might elaborate further. But alas, the voice had returned once more, before he had the chance to seal and post his letter, and it was bouncing around his head with a dangerous excitement.

The voice had found the relic. And now, it commanded him to dig.