12-07-2025, 04:24 AM
T U M U L T
It unsettles him sometimes, when he thinks about how many other worlds there are.
There is Beqanna, of course, which sometimes felt like several worlds within a world—a place so ever-changing that it was difficult to fathom the full scope of its history, especially as an outsider.
And that, too, is what he has noticed most about this place. That Beqanna is like some kind of magnet for the wandering or the lost, that no matter what world they originated from, no matter which door they walk through, it always leads them here. Somehow, through the infinite universes and timelines, their paths converge to lead them to this singular place, yet rarely does anyone share the same homeland.
It feels like fate, in a way, that of all the possible threads to be followed every single one of them has ended up here, tangled into the same knot.
He listens to her voice, certain her origin will differ from every story he has heard already, based on what he knows.. Once, he had hoped to meet someone who knew his own home and could help him find a way back. As she speaks, he wonders if she feels a similar pull. Even though she had come here on purpose, it seems (perhaps not here, specifically, but she had left her home knowingly), he wonders if she, even briefly, longed for what she had left behind the way he once did.
Her nickname brings an almost-real smile to his lips, his gray eyes lightening with a flicker of amusement before answering her question. “I come from a place similar to Beqanna, but without quite so much magic.” There had been magic there, of course—his storm-cloud wings are something he had been born with, and it was on these very wings that he accidentally ended up here — but it was not destructive the way it could be in Beqanna. The magic in his birthplace had felt more like a natural phenomenon, while the magic here was like a living, breathing entity. It could be generous, yes, but it could also be vengeful.
“I lived in a forest not too far from the mountains, where it, perhaps unsurprisingly, seemed to rain often.” His wings lift at this, sending a sudden rush of rain to the ground. “I didn’t mean to end up here. In fact, I could not tell you how I found this place if I tried, and I have never been able to find a way back.” And he had tried, again, and again, and again. The harder he tried the less he remembered about the way he had come, as if the land itself was purposely disorienting him, until he had been forced to give up.
His gaze, having taken on a thoughtful, distant look, refocuses onto her lovely face and her watchful eyes, and his expression softens just a bit. There was not much that kept him here, and he did not expect her to bear that responsibility, but he could not deny that the spark trying to kindle in his chest is the most he has felt in years. “But I am glad that you found your way here, Tipsy.”
There is Beqanna, of course, which sometimes felt like several worlds within a world—a place so ever-changing that it was difficult to fathom the full scope of its history, especially as an outsider.
And that, too, is what he has noticed most about this place. That Beqanna is like some kind of magnet for the wandering or the lost, that no matter what world they originated from, no matter which door they walk through, it always leads them here. Somehow, through the infinite universes and timelines, their paths converge to lead them to this singular place, yet rarely does anyone share the same homeland.
It feels like fate, in a way, that of all the possible threads to be followed every single one of them has ended up here, tangled into the same knot.
He listens to her voice, certain her origin will differ from every story he has heard already, based on what he knows.. Once, he had hoped to meet someone who knew his own home and could help him find a way back. As she speaks, he wonders if she feels a similar pull. Even though she had come here on purpose, it seems (perhaps not here, specifically, but she had left her home knowingly), he wonders if she, even briefly, longed for what she had left behind the way he once did.
Her nickname brings an almost-real smile to his lips, his gray eyes lightening with a flicker of amusement before answering her question. “I come from a place similar to Beqanna, but without quite so much magic.” There had been magic there, of course—his storm-cloud wings are something he had been born with, and it was on these very wings that he accidentally ended up here — but it was not destructive the way it could be in Beqanna. The magic in his birthplace had felt more like a natural phenomenon, while the magic here was like a living, breathing entity. It could be generous, yes, but it could also be vengeful.
“I lived in a forest not too far from the mountains, where it, perhaps unsurprisingly, seemed to rain often.” His wings lift at this, sending a sudden rush of rain to the ground. “I didn’t mean to end up here. In fact, I could not tell you how I found this place if I tried, and I have never been able to find a way back.” And he had tried, again, and again, and again. The harder he tried the less he remembered about the way he had come, as if the land itself was purposely disorienting him, until he had been forced to give up.
His gaze, having taken on a thoughtful, distant look, refocuses onto her lovely face and her watchful eyes, and his expression softens just a bit. There was not much that kept him here, and he did not expect her to bear that responsibility, but he could not deny that the spark trying to kindle in his chest is the most he has felt in years. “But I am glad that you found your way here, Tipsy.”
CAN YOU TELL ME, WILL I BREAK OR WILL I BEND?
@Tipitina