Royal Origin Calypso stepped forward, the radiance of her form diffusing across the battlefield like a balm over open wounds.
Where her bare feet touched the twisted foldscape, the strands of reality shimmered, weaving themselves back together in gentle pulses of violet-gold light.
With a single flick of her finger, the decaying Origin of Vorellion was stilled. His unraveling ceased. The rhythm of his ancient purpose resumed, however feebly.
Her eyes swept across the field. Altheon. Shaynara. And Bob.
She lingered on the latter with the faintest spark of interest, then turned her gaze outward.
The battlefield was ruin. But not in the traditional sense of ash and flame. No, the deaths of Living Origins birthed a different kind of aftermath.
In their place stood crystallized echo-groves of trees with translucent leaves humming with fractured memory, roots that tangled through the fold beneath them, feeding on the echoes of unfinished beginnings.
