worlds die. civilizations fall. the cycles continue; the past iterations merely become the foundation for which the future to come may build itself upon, that it may one day become just the same.
all is a cycle. all are bound to their own. interlocking, looping, ever-changing cyclesーfrom the molecular individual, to the vast infinites of separate worlds.
what form these cycles take is variable. it is all the same at its most basal, however. an endlessly repeating +
a gentle, warm breeze carries with it specklings of sand and the faint scent of lotus.
there are faces about yet unknown and unfamiliar to the mountain dragon, an uncommon happening, but certainly welcomed.
reachーthough they do not doubt the black prince's swiftness on the air.
origin isle is an ancient landmass, thus he will likely find much intrigue from the rocks thereーthey are flattered he would wish to add some to his collection.
they are in no rushーthey have an infinite amount of time, after all, and equally infinite patience to spare. it is exceedingly rare the island sees visitors, or any activity other than themself, really; it it far removed from other landmasses, and often takes some time to +
not mind how far removed from all other landmasses it is. it is shara's preferred place in the mortal realmーone instance of them nearly always remains there.
though there is plenty of space in the hinterlands far enough from seliana and open enough to facilitate such sparring, such places are still cold, something which both they and the black prince do not care for.
origin isle would be much better suited for such, if he does +
physical, mental, and emotionalーin all regards, they have drastically altered him beyond return. no amount of premonition will heal nor fix the paranoia left in their wake.
there is a certain, perhaps bitter, irony to the reversal of roles in the black sun and old everwyrmーthey, who once insisted direct interaction or intervention would risk disruption of the natural balance and course of development of mortals, now finding themself oft +
shara is able to feel emotion.
many cycles repeat. many are perpetualーbut not all things are so, and such occurrence is not one such repeating cycle.
the black sun refuses to believe them, however. the scars left by the ancients encompass all aspects of his being, +
the yearly cycle is long past overdueーand the pretender appears in yet another timeline, causing little more harm than being a nuisance.
... i grow wary of his games. another strike is most likelyーbut when shall the bell chime?
it is only he who is a fool that taunts those who hold the black arrow to pierce his singular vulnerability. the fool does not know when to stop, until the arrow is notched and released, striking true to its target. then, the fool retreats; cowardly, like a wounded beast.