Return

The gate splits the world before him, and without hesitation, he passes through.

Shortly behind him, his assistant in this endeavor; a strange woman with a shady gaze and a mischievous smile. She drifts behind him, not even deigning to walk as he does, bright orange eyes scanning the sight before them.

A massive courtyard, walled in at all sides by perfectly smooth, pale stone, populated by off facsimiles of plants. A twisted, gnarled tree bears plasticky orange leaves and a deathly pallor, and within its bowers a sprawl of unnaturally colorful and bright flowers which seem to flourish in spite of the eternal starlight that squirms against the glass.

It all sits at the bottom of a staircase that almost seems to stretch on eternally, the castle to which it would lead nought but a distant, jagged speck beyond the featureless steps, swathed in empty blue sky. Branching off from the courtyard are several other exits, all descending away from it.

“This is where you would like to be, yes?” The woman drifts past him, offering him a warm and proud smile. He nods solemnly, looking around at his home. “You say it has been vacant for years? Nary a cobweb…” She drifts further into the courtyard, wondering at the uncanny sights.

“There is no dust to mar the stone,” he merely mutters in response, hand on his weapon. He begins to head towards one of the exits, and she turns, clearly disappointed.

“You don’t even want to explore a little?”

“The staircase leads nowhere. You will walk it for eternity, and the castle only becomes more distant.”

“You underestimate my power!”

“I do not want to be here longer than I must,” he responds rather curtly. Before she can reply, he’s already descending down one of the staircases, and with a fake-weary sigh she follows him.

“What, exactly, are you here to do? Is there something you left behind?”

“There are few things to have left behind. It’s more… that I have to return something.”

The staircase winds down a tight, twisting hall which the two of them struggle to navigate in their new forms. He has to be hunched over just a bit, and although he sees perfectly in the dark, she must rely on a magical light.

“You say you lived here? Why are these tunnels so tiny…?”

“They are not meant for people like us.”

“Hmm…” She shrugs, accepting the answer with no further prying as they finally arrive at a straight hallway, a window doming its top and allowing in the dancing light of the faux-firmament. The hallway seems to stretch far beyond either of their sight, lined with countless branches…

“What a terrible place to navigate… if not pretty. Why was it built so strangely? It is not meant for people like us… what did you used to be, then?”

“Do not worry about it. I know where we’re going. Just follow me.”

He confidently strides down another path not far down the hall, this one much broader. The doorway passes straight into what looks to be the office of a priest, a small stained glass window appearing to let in… sunlight. It illuminates a staid room, with an unusually large and completely empty desk, no seats, and walls filled with unmarked books and pieces of art none of which seem to resemble anything at all.

She begins to speak, as if to ask another question, but before she can she’s drowned out by the sound of him forcing open two immense wooden gates, which consume an entire wall of the room.

She slips behind him again, into a room… that resembles a church. The doors slam shut behind them with a loud rattle. The room again appears bathed in warm sunlight through elaborate stained-glass, whose colorful designs evoke tenuous half-understanding. They depict things which resemble things, people which resemble people, and worlds which resemble worlds.

The scene they reveal is much less beautiful. Shattered pews splotched with depthless shadow dominate the bulk of the room, thin sword-marks dug deep into the stone walls beneath the windows as if something sharp simply spun through.

He is silent, and does not take long to evaluate the room, much to her concern. She thinks better than to bother him now, though, merely staying close and laying a gentle and comforting hand on his shoulder.

As they reach the cleaved podium, he offers her a look of gratitude. Then, suddenly, his body slips her grasp as it falls to a kneeling position, as his soul too slips its grasp. It emerges with little fanfare, as though it simply took another step forward without him, as a shaky shadow-thing in the shape of a person, hand still clutching the needle.

She does not question him. She knows it’s not the time. He rounds the podium with graceful steps in his new, weightless form, and she’s close behind, watching him kneel over some sort of… hole in the ground, overlooked by the most elaborate of the windows.

The Well.

She gazes long into it beside him, roiling as it is with a thousand night skies. The purest, most powerful form of Ichor, the Being of Chaos. She knows it intimately, unlike most.

The windows suddenly rumble audibly, as the circles at each of their centers are suddenly replaced by wide, black-and-white eyes. They all turn, gazing down on the pair; Its champion, and an intruder.

She looks up, but he does not. He dares not acknowledge it in his quiet shame, instead reaching out…

and letting the Needle slip from his palm, into the Well below.

Almost immediately, as it disappears into the toil, the room shudders and groans. The eyes take on an enraged shape, as the windows completely shatter, liquid starlight beginning to gush into the room. She recoils, looking up at the face of Chaos itself, just as he finally does as well… clearly surprised.

“My Lord…?” he speaks, his voice quelled into a hush by terror. The roof begins to collapse in heavy chunks that clatter into the already ruined church, as the Well’s tendrils crush it to pieces. An impossible howl wracks the room, and finally Sunder begins to react, scurrying to his feet and retreating toward his body, which he reclaims!

“We must go!” he shouts, but she is already ahead of him. She cracks open a gate with ease, this one to Beacon Grove. The Grove’s warm sunlight floods into the room, prompting the Well’s encroachment to suddenly rebound with an enraged screech, just as the last of the room sinks into the writhing Ichor.

He leaps through the portal, and she is right behind, the gate slamming shut behind them.

“Ghh… hh…”

“Did you… expect… that?” she asks, panic still clearly in her wavering voice.

“No… no… I did not…” He covers his face, sucking in a deep and burdened breath through his teeth.

“It is okay… it is okay,” she says, kneeling down beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. She rests with him there, in the Architect’s countenance, as he mourns.