1/28/2026, 5:23 PM
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It had finally happened — of course not the way the rebellion had wanted it; clean cut from the festering ties of gods. But bloody, like they had always expected it to be. For the proclaimed peaceful and benevolent gods, the image of ivy vines prying their way into maws and sequestering lungs, squeezing tightly, fracturing land that opened up pits of fire; exposing what they had truly always meant to do the wolves that congregated there — for if you can't compromise nor bend them to your will, then slay them, and start again, right?
The smattering of cosmos saved those left from the rapture, mixing what was left of the stardust, souls, and matter. Yet, it does not allow rest, at least, not for all.
Rebel awoke in a fit of coughing; lungs seizing for something that was not dust or slithering green vines. A headache hammered its way through his head — his whole body throbbing with phantom pains. Everything seemed hazy; his memories, the feeling of... realness. His entire body felt sore, as if he'd slumbered for a thousand years and was finally shaking the growing ivy and rocks that had overcome him in the meantime. Upon finally realizing there was a light behind his eyelids, does he think to open them, squinting back as if to prepare himself for the blinding light of a dragon's flames, and the blaring heat to follow. But he is met with none of his fears. Instead, there is a land of peace around him. Pure of destruction from an immortal's touch.
Finally, the man found a way to his paws, believing it to be more painful than it was; more just an ache than what would have been the cataclysm of being pulled apart and put back together again. Though without dull pain, Rebel felt like he was hungover, his legs unsteady, wobbling like a young fawn. Ironic, due to the male's muscular build. Unsure, he scanned his surroundings, feeling as if he was in this new world alone. Was he?
The chirping of the birds was foreign, like a sound he hadn't heard in decades — it almost seemed fake, like a ruse. Rebel's ears flicked at the noise, but it proved his previous thought wrong. He was not alone. He shivered, finding his shortcut fur, made for the desert ridges and reddened mountain valleys, too thin to provide warmth.
Betraying the instincts within him, Rebel called out,
Ronan
It had finally happened — of course not the way the rebellion had wanted it; clean cut from the festering ties of gods. But bloody, like they had always expected it to be. For the proclaimed peaceful and benevolent gods, the image of ivy vines prying their way into maws and sequestering lungs, squeezing tightly, fracturing land that opened up pits of fire; exposing what they had truly always meant to do the wolves that congregated there — for if you can't compromise nor bend them to your will, then slay them, and start again, right?
The smattering of cosmos saved those left from the rapture, mixing what was left of the stardust, souls, and matter. Yet, it does not allow rest, at least, not for all.
Rebel awoke in a fit of coughing; lungs seizing for something that was not dust or slithering green vines. A headache hammered its way through his head — his whole body throbbing with phantom pains. Everything seemed hazy; his memories, the feeling of... realness. His entire body felt sore, as if he'd slumbered for a thousand years and was finally shaking the growing ivy and rocks that had overcome him in the meantime. Upon finally realizing there was a light behind his eyelids, does he think to open them, squinting back as if to prepare himself for the blinding light of a dragon's flames, and the blaring heat to follow. But he is met with none of his fears. Instead, there is a land of peace around him. Pure of destruction from an immortal's touch.
Finally, the man found a way to his paws, believing it to be more painful than it was; more just an ache than what would have been the cataclysm of being pulled apart and put back together again. Though without dull pain, Rebel felt like he was hungover, his legs unsteady, wobbling like a young fawn. Ironic, due to the male's muscular build. Unsure, he scanned his surroundings, feeling as if he was in this new world alone. Was he?
The chirping of the birds was foreign, like a sound he hadn't heard in decades — it almost seemed fake, like a ruse. Rebel's ears flicked at the noise, but it proved his previous thought wrong. He was not alone. He shivered, finding his shortcut fur, made for the desert ridges and reddened mountain valleys, too thin to provide warmth.
Betraying the instincts within him, Rebel called out,
C-Co-orbin?It comes out rusted, quieter than he would have liked, and for someone who may not even exist here. And so, he clears his throat and tries again,
Hello?A simpler question, to anyone who may find him. But in speaking, realizing that the first thing he may need is water.
Ronan