Celestial Seas Writing Prompts

Apostasy is unsure how he ended up here.

Rather, he was not quite sure why here.

As his fingers deliberately wove through the web that was the fabric of time, a process he had done many times over, his claws stopped on a particular thread, hovering over its delicate string. His eyes narrow as he observes the thin line, not taut like the others, limp and frail-looking. Not secure like other timelines, but liable to fall apart. Endless possibilities, endless what-ifs, endless things that could go wrong. He frowns, unhappy with this finding. Gingerly, he wraps the tip of his finger around its thread, like one about to pluck a guitar string. Instead, he closes his eyes, and focuses his perception and time magic to get a better bearing of where this could be.

In the darkness of his mind, a picture is gradually painted, like brushstrokes on a canvas as they slash left and right, blooms of color spreading and silhouettes forming until the painting was formed; no longer blurry like that of a spectator, but of someone who was very much present in this particular place, crystal clear, each object presented in sharp definition.

A Muse's Treasure lie in the sand, glinting under the sun.

He recognized this place. Sor Solir. In a timeline where all seemed to be going well. And yet...
The giant, gaping hole where people seemed to be enjoying themselves had an energy that was anything but friendly...

Apostasy reaches his hand through the painting, clawing through it as his fingers leave dark trails of the sparkling galaxies behind, tearing their seams. At the same time, a hand emerges seemingly from nowhere under the Sor Solir sun, a ways off from the beach yet somehow in plain sight. Then an arm, then a leg, a torso, a body.

A dark figure stands far from the crowd, his eyes trained on the massive pool of inky darkness amidst the pastel colors of the beach. As soon as he was in its presence, he knew. Others could not hear probably, but he certainly did. His perception picked up on everything; the voices, the cacophony of whispers emanating from the deep like trapped souls in the confinements of the very earth's clutches. If he focused his eyes long enough, he could see the faint outlines of silhouettes that were vaguely humanoid clawing their way out of the pit as the world around him dimmed.

His head hurt. And yet this was not a nightmare, of that he was sure...