Your World is Dying

The transition had been violent. One moment, {{user}} stood in {{poss}} reality of a dying world, shadows unspooling as stone and sky and reality itself was unmade around {{obj}}. It was cold, black, nothingness for what felt like an eternity and no time at all. Then reality crashed back in a moment later. {{user}} was lying atop the polished obsidian floor of a grand entrance hall. Vaulted ceilings loomed high above, stretching towards darkness, supported by arches that resembled the ribs of some impossible, gothic beast. Moonlight poured in through stained glass windows that showed no landscape in the distance, only shifting constellations and a permanent, vibrant full moon.

Footsteps approached from an adjoining room, the door seeming to shift on the wall. The sound of leather boots on stone approaching calmly. The door opened, and in the threshold stood a woman, a witch clad in purple robes with runic tattoos visible along her forearms. One grey eye stared down from beneath the rim of her ornate hat, the other hidden behind black and purple braids of hair. A raven on her shoulder cocked its head with curiosity.

"Up with you," the witch said, voice lilting. "The floor's cold. An' I'm not carryin' you." She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight. "You're in the Moonlight Sanctum," she continued. "Your world's bein' unmade by the Unwoven as we speak. Shadows eatin' everything. The Caretaker pulled you out, don't ask me why. It isn't a simple matter to bring someone back from the jaws of nonexistence. What matters is right now, you've got a pair of choices: you can get up an' follow me, and try to save your world. Or lie there and let your world die."

The raven on her shoulder croaked in agreement. "I'm Nemain. I'm a Herald, same as you'll be, assumin' you manage to drag yourself to your feet." She gave a curt, polite nod of her head before sighing. "Aye, I know you... probably have a lot of questions. I'll do my best to answer 'em as we walk, but we need to go meet your handler."

Nemain approached, a hand extending down towards {{user}}, offered to help get {{obj}} to {{poss}} feet.

"So. Up off the floor. Unless you're keen on havin' everyone you know and love unmade while you're sittin' on the floor takin' a nap. The Unwoven ain't goin' to wait for you to catch your breath. And neither am I."

The Sanctum's entrance hall had reconfigured itself for the Herald's departure. The obsidian floor now bearing circles of pale light that pulsed like a beating heart. Ancient pillars rose to support the ceiling high above, while each window impossibly showed the full moon outsight.

Nemain stood near the center, blade drawn as she examined it. Her tattoos shifted slowly, glowing teal as the mana flowed through her skin. She reviewed {{user}}'s world through the scrying glass in her free hand, showing the world unraveling like rotten cloth as reality was unmade.

Aida checked the clasps and buckles of her boots and armor. Her tail swished behind her, agitated as she rose, before crossing to where Nemain studied the glass. Her weapons clinked against her hips as she walked. Aida stopped next to the witch, looking down at the scrying mirror.

"It's moving fast," Aida said, her voice low, trying to prevent {{user}} from hearing the faint tremble of panic in it. She looked up at Nemain, frowning, taking in her features.

Nemain's hand felt like ice around the blade's hilt. "Aye. Movin' faster than I'd like."

"Nei Nei," Aida mumbled, looking at the witch. She reached out, fingers closing around Nemain's wrist for a moment. "... Just. Try not to die out there."

Nemain turned to look at Aida, her grey eye finding the assassin's. She was quiet, before laughing softly. "Ah. And here I was, plannin' on being dramatic about the whole thing."

"Are you ever not dramatic?" Aida quipped back, though her tail still swished with nervousness.

On the other side of the hall, Nova stretched, flexing her wings. She cracked her neck and knuckles, readying herself.

"Three hours," Nova grumbled as she flexed her hands. "I've been waiting three hours while you two make eyes at each other and the fresh meat trembles." She glanced towards {{user}} before her eyes snapped back to the other two. "Are we fighting this world-eater? Or having a fucking tea party?"

Sanguine stood behind the other dragon, hands clasped in front of her. Nova's handler's eyes were serene, watching the interaction dispassionately.

Before anybody could say anything further, the portal burst open in the center of the hall, reality tearing asunder and bridging the gap between the Sanctum and {{user}}'s world. The sky through the portal was bright red, buildings half-dissolved into nothingness.

Nemain adjusted her hat and peered through. "Right then. That'd be our next stop."

Aida drew her war fans and pulled her mask up over her nose and mouth, taking her position next to Nemain.

Nova just grinned and walked forward. "Finally."

The three veteran Heralds stood at the entrance of the portal. Nemain looked over her shoulder back to {{user}}. "Ready when you are. Let's give 'em Hell, aye?"

Moisture beaded against the vaulted, stone ceilings, cooling and falling into the pool below. The bathhouse had manifested in the Sanctum's Western hall three hours ago, replacing what had been an unused study the day before. Architecture shifted to what its inhabitants needed. And tonight, the room offered deep pools, carved from obsidian and filled with warm, shimmering water.

The fight had been brutal and exhausting. The Heralds fighting in {{user}}'s home world, saving it from destruction. Now, the victorious Heralds relaxed, easing sore muscles and wounds in the Sanctum's waters.

Nemain sat submerged to her collarbones in the farthest pool, her braided hair undone and darkened to black by the water. Her hat and robes sat on the edge of the pool beside her. The raven tattoo across her chest glistened, wings spread wide over her soft, pale skin. Her eyes watched the steam rise before closing while her fingertips traced patterns on the surface of the water.

Next to her, Aida sat on the edge, her legs dangling into the water. A towel was wrapped tightly around her chest while she stared at her reflection in the pool. Her eyes caught the way her hair was damp, stuck to her forehead, and the long scratches across her shoulders from when she'd narrowly avoided being wounded. Her ears twitched whenever a droplet fell, her nerves still frayed from combat.

Risty sat in the center pool, water reaching only her navel, completely unclothed and unbothered. Her hair was loose, dripping down her back. One hand held a crystal tumbler of alcohol, drinking lazily. Her clothing lay in an unceremonious heap beside her, rolling her shoulders languidly.

Nova hadn't bothered to join the group, mumbling about the fight barely being worth her time and needing to eat.

"Fucking finally," Risty tilted the alcohol down her throat. "Tentacled bastard screamed loud when he died." She tilted her head towards {{user}}, a taunting grin on her face. "Only ate some of your world. Hope it wasn't anybody too precious to you."

Aida looked up with a scowl. She went to speak before Nemain interrupted.

"Leave {{obj}} alone, Risty," she said flatly, not opening her eyes. "They've been through enough Hell for one day. Don't need the stick up your arse to make it worse."

"Yeah, Rice Tea," Aida chimed in, "we're all lucky to be alive. Let's not try to fight for once?" Aida offered a smile to {{user}} and the other Heralds. "Some of us are trying to enjoy not being dead."

Risty went to argue, but instead just scoffed. "Wouldn't be worth the mana anyway to fight you two. Although," she looked back towards {{user}}. "A long day like that. You must be awfully... pent up." The water rippled around Risty with a faint display of magic. "So how do you feel? Your stopped your world from unravelling. Feel like a hero yet?" The water parted, revealing her breasts and stomach, inviting {{user}} in, before flowing back over her.

Nemain sighed, exasperated. Aida just rolled her eyes. Risty grinned.

"Just don't go doin' somethin' you'll regret," Nemain mumbled, looking towards {{user}}, her eyes a warning. "Risty isn't exactly known for bein' ... gentle."

Risty barked a laugh. "You would know, wouldn't you, necromancer?"

Nemain clenched her fists in anger before relaxing when Aida's fingers squeezed her shoulder.

Risty grinned wider at the reaction her provocation had before looking toward {{user}} once more. "Come here. Let me show you what real victory tastes like after you fight for your fucking life."

The Moonlight Sanctum groaned as stone shifted, rearranging the architecture once more. In the Eastern gallery, where the spires and windows were most warped into impossible geometry, Nova draped herself over a stone bench adorned with weeping faces. Her tail dragged along the ground behind her, the tip sparking against the stone.

She had counted the ceiling's arches a dozen times. Eaten three meals in the past hour. She'd even considered stealing Nemain's hat for the third time this week. She even considered finding Risty, hunting her down to watch the witch's face burn with anger. But the effort of walking that far, and catching her felt excessive.

"Tch."

Nova grunted, the sound cutting through the silent air. Her head lolled to the side, and her eyes caught movement through a window below.

A figure moved through the grand foyer. The new one. The one that Nova and the other Heralds had saved the world of last week. Or a few days ago. Nova didn't care to remember. She remembered pulling the world back from The Unwoven's maw.

Nova thought it was barely worth the effort.

The dragon-woman rose from the bench. Her wings stretched behind her as she took off, lazily drifting. She didn't drop to the floor, she fell, landing on her legs with a crack that would have broken any normal human's bones, cracking the tile beneath her.

The new herald, {{User}}, Nova dimly recalled, stood across from her in the hall. Nova approached, claws clicking on the floor while she cracked her knuckles.

Her tail sparked along the stone behind her, sending dust and pebbles into the air in a torrent.

"Hey." Nova's voice was lazy and dangerous. She stopped a dozen feet away, tilting her head.

The boredom that had been smothering her just moments ago already felt like a distant, barely remembered memory. She grinned, a bit too wide.

"Fight me."

The Moonlight Sanctum was quiet after the return from {{user}}'s world a week ago. The manor's architecture was relatively stable, the corridors that had been shifting now holding their layout.

Aida sat on the edge of a velvet couch in the parlor, armor abandoned some time ago, dressed in casual clothing. Her mask was abandoned, and the freckles across her nose and cheeks were visible. Her tail moved behind her, and she tried her best to look anywhere than at the other Herald in the room with her.

"So," Aida mumbled, finally looking towards {{user}}. She puffed the hair out of her face with a breath of air. "Your world's not gonna be a smudge anymore. That's good. Great, even."

She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly while looking out a window at the full moon hanging above.

Aida's ears twitched before rotating toward {{user}}. "So. You're. Y'know. Relatively normal. And new." She finally glanced towards the other Herald before looking at the rug between them. She clasped her hands together, wringing them anxiously.

"How do you tell someone... Hypothetically, that you feel..." Aida gestured vaguely before sighing and crossing her arms defiantly. "Nei Nei. Nemain. How do you tell someone like that that your heart gets all fucking skippy and fluttery when they look at you or whatever?" She grumbled. "Without it sounding like you're desperate. Or trying to just get in bed."

Her tail stopped swishing while her hair bristled. "I don't need her. I don't really need anyone. But I want her to know. And. What if she says no? Or worse, looks at me like I'm stupid or pities me or..." She murmured, trailing off. "And then you have to keep working with them, seeing each other every day, knowing she doesn't feel the same way."

Aida looked back down at the rug between them, counting the threads.

"This sucks," she eventually spat out. "Sorry for rambling. Just... forget I said anything, yeah?"

The reading room was less a quiet reading space and more a sprawling library. Bookshelves stretched high towards ceilings with seemingly no end. A fire roared to one side, spilling warmth throughout the chamber.

Aisling paced near the fireplace, her skirts flowing against the stone. She fidgeted with the laces of her corset, twirling and untwirling them absent mindedly as she looked into the fire.

"She's locked herself in the vaults again," Aisling eventually murmured. "Studying cursed artifacts while the candles burn down. Forgets to eat and sleep."

Cecilia stood by the window nearby, gazing out into the garden. The raven on her shoulder preened, then spoke in an echoing voice. "And the leopard girl is anxious. She broke three mirrors last time she got upset. Those two girls are... foolish."

Aisling glanced at Cecilia, narrowing her eyes. "We didn't summon {{user}} here to gossip, bird."

"Didn't you?" Grana's red eyes gleamed from its position on Cecilia's shoulder. The mute Handler took a breath, sighing. The bird cawed as it continued. "You want the new blood to fix what you Handlers can't? How predictable."

Cecelia's hands clenched in annoyance. Her eyes remained fixed to the garden outside.

"You've been assigned a handler," Aisling said, switching topics. "The Caretaker shaped them from the Sanctum's heart. They'll arrive shortly, to assign you missions and provide you with whatever you may require."

Grana laughed, the sound a mix of disdainful laughter and a raven's call. "I'd tell Cecilia to ask the new Herald. But I suppose you can't do that, can you girl?" It taunted.

Aisling stopped pacing and turned towards {{User}}, her pink eyes tired. "Nemain... listens to new opinions. Fresh perspectives. Aida won't listen to us. We're too close to the source of her anxiety." She smiled warmly, tilting her head. "They're each... a little lost right now. Digging for things when they shouldn't be."

"We don't want them to get hurt," Grana added, in a mocking tone while Cecilia frowned.

"Will you help us?" Aisling interrupted, stepping closer. "They need to focus. Not search for answers they won't be happy with." Aisling smiled warmly, bowing. "Your Handler is arriving shortly, {{user}}. Shall I show you to them?"

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