Between Reality and Ruin

The light burned.

Not with fire, nor heat, nor anything so mundane as pain—it was the kind of brilliance that erased meaning, that stripped reality down to something raw and unfinished. I wasn't falling, nor was I floating. I simply existed within it, a moment stretched beyond comprehension.

Then, like a thread being tugged from a tapestry, the light thinned, unraveling around me. A breathless silence followed, and suddenly, I was somewhere else.

The world settled into a shifting haze. Colors bled into one another—violets and coppers, deep greens that dripped like ink before reshaping into something momentarily familiar. The air felt too dense, like it resisted my presence. I took a slow step forward, but the ground beneath me had no weight, no solidity. It was like walking on water, except the water wasn't liquid. It wasn't anything.

I was alone.

No Lorik. No Gravekeepers. No Council enforcers.