"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
It does not take long for them to come; some with vitriol, some with resignation, others with a newly lit fire. It is this last group, those that see possibility in the flames, that she cares about. The rest...well, Straia has never been the sentimental type. Still, she will deal with the repercussions of her actions, for she has never been one to shy away from such things. The difference between her and many is that she is willing to pay the price for big, impossible dreams. It is a high price, and it is where most fail.
But she has barely opened her mouth to reply when she feels something. Something is wrong. Bits of the wrongness are obvious. The earth beneath their feet trembles and quakes, and you do not need to be a magician to feel it. But there is something twisted in the magic beneath her feet all of a sudden, magic that only moments ago felt fine.
The land quakes, the pine forest flickers in and out of life, the canyons appear and disappear, pieces of them crumbling and careening toward the waiting group. It is magic beyond her, and it is not the same magic she feels of the fairies. It is something so very other.
The land splits beneath Straia’s feet and something reaches out of the crevice and grabs for her, dragging her down. In the split second before she is gone, something that looks almost like fear crosses her face. The earth closes as soon as she is gone.
After a few moments, the ground begins to steady, the seam in the earth still visible but only as a flesh wound now. The pine forest is gone, and though Straia’s tree remains, its fire no longer burns. The canyons have returned, though many have crumbled with the earthquake, and though it is not total destruction, there is still devastation. There is something more though, something wrong and corrupted that hangs in the air now, a magic that does not belong in Beqanna.
Somewhere, in the distance perhaps, or from the beach, or beneath your hooves, something screams.
Tl;dr Straia and the Chamber are gone, there was an earthquake and some damage was done, the magical entity still works but it’s just a lone burned looking tree right now as a reminder that something dark and ~not good~ is happening. The position of leader is up for grabs. Have fun!
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
Others arrive that he does not recognize. They say little, quietly joining the group, and then the earth begins to tremble with its own sort of rage. His first thoughts are, as always, of his family. Yadigar gives a flap of his wings and sinks his talons into Virgil’s shoulder to snatch him away from the forming crevice in the earth. His brother shrieks with pain and thrashes as his panic settles in, but there is little time for delicacy here. The draconic creature drops his sibling once the ravine stops growing.
Sepulcher and Yadigar land alongside Virgil, their wings poised and ready for things to change again as the trees all fade. None of them see the terrible thing that snatches Straia down into the depths that swallow her whole. They only realize she is gone as the split comes to a close and her screams are heard far beneath them.
Slowly, the red dust clears and the cliffs loom over them as they did before, though some are smashed to rubble. The air is thick with something electric, something furious and older than themselves. The eldest brother turns to the others, his chest rising and falling as he tries to steady himself.
“Was anyone hurt? Who is missing, other than.. Straia?” he asks, and there is a thread of worry in his voice.
He tells himself they will find a way to help her. Regardless of their anger toward her, she was a Pangean, and he would not leave one of their own behind.
I'd bare you my heart, if I knew that it still was there I'm too nervous to look, too afraid to close the book
She had not planned on coming.
She had no need to oversee everything that happened in the territories beneath her and she had watched the initial flames from the sky, questions in her eyes but no direct curiosity to seek out the source of the fire. But then things had changed. The world around them had warped. The ground rumbled and something motherly spilled into the air in a way that left her shaken and cold and uncertain.
Breach cast a quick glance to the corner of Hyaline where her mother’s body lay buried before turning her head toward Pangea. Shifting back into a hawk, she spears through the fog and the smoke, crossing the distance as quickly as possible until she sees the small crowd of horses that had gathered.
She shifts as she lands, rising as the young mare, her clear eyes looking around.
It’s obvious something has happened, the dust barely settling, the canyons crumbling, the ground groaning with the effort. She looks to Atrox, his sharp eyes inscrutable before he turns to leave, and then looks toward the others who have gathered. “What happened?” she asks and there’s weight to her voice—an expectation that she would be answered, a steely edge that comes from being Alpha.
She would not have once asked—would not have once dared—but the years have changed Breach. The responsibility thrust upon her. The loss. The expectations. The weight of her mother’s dreams settled squarely on her shoulders paired with a crown handed to her from Ghaul. The deaths.
It leaves her colder than before. More assured.
And, in this moment, more assertive as she lifts her chin.
so take all the wind from my lungs if you're out of air just deliver me truth, deliver me you
don't mind me completely screwing up my own timelines. don't ask questions.
Beyza does not respond to the child’s naive questions, unable to explain that memories can be tied to more than just bodies. How there was a joy to walk past a spot tied to a particularly joyful or important day and reminisce. Yadigar steps forward to answer, doing a better job that Beyza might have been able to herself in that moment with her fury surrounding her like an electric storm.
He brings up the idea of migrating to Hyaline and Beyza thinks of Ryatah, how pleasant it might be to live there if her first home no longer exists. Others join - lending their own thoughts one way or another. She is grateful for those that stand with her, to see Aela and Draco and familiar faces.
When their leader goes to respond to the crowd gathered before her, the world crumbles.
Beyza’s magic pulses out of her and she does her best to create a shield around as many of those gathered as she can - the instinct to protect snuffing out her anger in an instant. She watches with wild eyes as the land around them changes, as the earth opens and robs them of Straia. Not that Beyza was a particular fan of the mare, but she certainly felt her heart drop at such an end.
And then, close on the heels of that feeling is the thrill of excitement at the scent of corrupt magic in the air. Is this the world they visited with the dark god’s guidance coming through? Will Pangea be the birthplace of Jamie’s true home? She thinks she feels the demon-creature that had come back with her twist in her body at the simple chance.
Although Beyza has not met the mare that addresses them, demanding to know what happens, she thinks this is the queen from Hyaline. “Pangea needs a new leader. Who should it be?” She does not just ask this of Breach but of everyone gathered. Anyone who is to call Pangea home should have a say in who leads them, and anyone who wants the job a chance to speak up.
Nothing, thought Yanhua, could distract him from the precipice of that very moment where Straia was left lingering in silence, ready in a second to answer them all. Nothing except Aela, his sister who has no idea they’re blood relation, and her arrival. Yanhua’s attention is ripped away from anything but her, Straia’s response be damned. He feels that familiar ache rising in his throat - a lump of so many words left unspoken - but he swallows it down. This is not the place, nor the time. To her question he only nods; Yes, it was time they take more action in the quiet northern territory. Time they made something of the land, and not the other way around. To her companion, the small colt with shifting skin that joins her moments later, Yanhua gives nothing but the briefest of glances. His sister keeps odd company, but then again she’s been raised by spirit and spite alone.
To the rest he gives nothing.
Not until he’s forced to by a change in the earth. A slow rumble, building to a quaking tremble that staggers Yanhua’s long legs. The ground will split - he feels it coming, more premonition than actual knowledge - and he dances atop the freshly strewn layer of needles that shake free from their branches.
A thunderous crack is all the warning he gets before Straia is swallowed whole, and though Yanhua cast one final, longing look toward @[Aela] in desperation, he knew he couldn’t stay. I shouldn’t have come, the horned stallion knew it, and he escaped the chaos with a leaping bound toward the west, eagerly weaving through the pines that disappear and fall in his path. He had to get home, or to Hyaline at the very least, and this thought drives his innate ability to be entirely untouched, to be completely unharmed, so that his body wavers in-and-out of sight like bad reception. With his intangibility, Yan escapes - lucky enough to live another day and bring the news back north where loved ones were waiting for him.
While Straia is getting ready to address those assembled, while most of her attention is on the painted woman and not the horned stallion or new apostle Skandar, her world trembles.
It grows angry and shakes with a rage that Aela has never felt, even with all her echoes. Pangea quakes below their hooves and demands its ascension. With its revival, it demands Straia and so she goes. Though Aela has been mute most of her life, she stands frozen in silent horror now as she watches the Dominus fall beneath the crumbling ground. Fall beneath... where? There is no time to consider anything more and the golden girl finds herself leaning into the shield that Beyza creates.
It's only after - when the dust has settled, when Pangea is freed, when that bright scent of Magic taints the air - that Aela glances around for the pale mare. She had fallen but she manages to rise from a tangle of limbs and come closer towards her. The nearly-palomino girl looks for Skandar but her mind (for the first in... how long?) focuses on keeping the emotions of others out, on forcing the echoes of what has just happened away from her. It was draining enough to witness it; she didn't want to relive it over and over again through the (weaker) eyes of others.
By the time she thinks about the Taigan, he is gone.
Closing her eyes, she listens to the others. They ask where Straia has gone. (Aela will miss her but her mind is already reeling towards what took her. What possibilities are down there? Could they unleash it?) Those that arrive after ask what happened and ask after loved ones.
Are you... alright? Aela thinks, reaching through the Magic in the air for Beyza from their previous encounters. She opens her eyes and looks for Skandar again - what a shame it would be if the star-colt was turned to stardust before he even had a chance to shine here - before turning her blue-eyed gaze to the Magician. So long as Beyza stands and Sandar isn't smashed, that's all that matters to her.
Until her friend speaks of leaders and who will be the next to raise Pangea. Aela turns her lovely head and waits, hoping that the cracked-and-canyoned land has satiated itself enough with one leader. If it desires a second, well-
