Eternity passes by differently when you’re dead.

Years pass with the blink of an eye, while some days never seem to end. He has watched the rise and fall of empires and kingdoms with disinterest, mostly keeping to himself and the small family of his that has been gathered in the afterlife. The Chamber is gone, and it was the one thing that kept his interest in the overworld; others have tried to replace it, tried to rise to the glory that was the Chamber of Evil, but none have succeeded, and he takes a dark pleasure in knowing it. Even the evils at the heart of Pangea interest him little, though the place has potential.

It surprises him when he feels the pull back towards the mortal plain – he has only returned once since his death, for the battle in the Chamber decades ago, and he had returned to his slumber not long after. He is certain that there is nothing left of the bones that Nocturnal had transported to the beach so many years ago, and yet he is pulled towards the shifting sands, his soul screaming as it passes through the gates of the Afterlife.

He awakens with a groan, yellow eyes snapping open. He is not on the beach as he had suspected – instead he is surrounded by unfamiliar trees, the gentle gurgle of a nearby stream setting him on edge almost immediately. This is not the Beqanna that he had grown in – these lands are as unfamiliar as the sight of his corporeal hooves as he pushes himself to his feet and looks around.

It’s time to see how the world has changed, and maybe decide just how he can be a part of the chaos.

Tatter.