Setting: Ambrosia
Species
_-_Aetherisk.png)
The Aetherisk are a Condevi race created by the ancient Seraphnim within one of their many powerful Forge Worlds; Optralith. They were originally constructed to be guardians to high-ranking members of the Seraphnim Meritocracy, with each member of their race totally devoted to their given charge, lacking much of individualistic qualities beyond it, though still possessing the levels of Poly-Metastability which set them above mere androids into full Condevi status. Their bodies are made of polymorphic Seraphnim Hard-Light, and each wields a unique metallic blade known as an "Vastralyte Blade," which in Aetherisk insular-culture is an inherency to their very being(s).
Notably; the Aetherisk were used enmasse against the on-coming mass of endless Void known as the Thavmaphage. While they stood little chance against the amorphous blackened horde—they—alongside the Sanlagosa—would manage to stall the great galactic beast long enough to provide their Seraphnim masters time to deliver their solution. However, much of the species' members would fall to the Thavmaphage in the process; ultimately giving their lives so that their creators may yet see another day.
After the launching of the Seraphnim's "Finality," Aetherisk then unmade at the time would come into being once again, after the Optralith Forge World was reactivated by the Typhonian Order in 1,582 AGY/110 EE and used as powerful mechanical foot soldiers in their war against the Ring Majestic. They'd ultimately be liberated from their servitude following Syx Corsage and Seven Novum's defeat and dismantling of the Typhonian Order; and the Aetherisk themselves would join the growing Great Majestic Convergence led by the Ring Majestic.
| Homeworld - Optralith | Concatenation - Condevi | Form - Amanoid | Date of Origin - 99,000 TI (Time Immemorial) |
| Primary Era - Dyad Rule | Status - Extant (largely diminished) | Affiliation(s) - - Collective of the Golden Sovereign (originally)
- Typhonian Order (subsequently) - Great Majestic Convergence (currently) |
Predominantly Known For - Acting as foot soldiers for the Seraphnim's Collective of the Golden Sovereign. |
_-_Niquella_(SE).png)
Niquella is a significant ocean planet in the Syltphaan System within the Far-West Systems of the Realm of Resonance. It holds a pivotal role in galactic history., serving as the home of five native sapient species; including the Ophonoti; a founding race of the Ambrosia Alliance of United Systems (AAUS). Originally inhabited by the Inomeni Liquella, after whom the planet is named, Niquella’s historical significance soared when the Ophonoti began expanding beyond their waters. Their ability to harness Janus Gates and resist the powerful Sanlagosa Concordant led to alliances with other species and the eventual founding of the AAUS in 1 AGY, setting the standard galactic calendar in motion.
In the modern era, Niquella has transformed into a thriving hub of commerce and technology, attracting a vast population of around three trillion sapients, largely consisting of immigrants. While many of its native species, including the Ophonoti, Aoweesh, and Kessgora, chose to leave for other worlds, some like the Omhonoti remained, embracing their deep connection to their aquatic world. Despite being largely ceremonial in importance to the Ophonoti Demarchy, Niquella thrives as an essential technological center, with floating cities, orbital stations, and underwater colonies bustling with interspecies life and commerce.
Niquella’s strategic position and advanced infrastructure have drawn the attention of foreign powers, making it a target in past conflicts such as the First Alliance-Concordant War. The Ambrosia Alliance ensures its security through a strong military presence, recognizing its value in regional stability. Though often overshadowed by the Ophonoti’s industrial heart, Quantum City, Niquella remains a vital node in Alliance affairs, celebrated for its cultural and ecological diversity. Its enduring legacy is tied to its rich aquatic heritage, technological innovation, and the resilience of its native and immigrant populations.
| Type - Planet: Ocean World | System - Syltphaan | Region - Far West Systems - Realm of Resonance | Affiliation(s) - Ophonoti's Forever-Abound Technological Demarchy
Member of the Ambrosia Alliance of United Systems |
| Life - Sapient Races
Liquella (extinct), Ophonoti, Omhonoti, Kessgora, Aoweesh, Forberant Tunnelers |
Capital - Opalatus (subaquatic megalopolis) | Population - 3,200,000,000,000 | Most notable event - Syx Corsage's defeat of the ancient Liquella; "Leviathan" |
The following manuscript was unearthed from the revered archives of the Grand Scriptorium of Castle High Heaven, having been relocated from its prior sanctuary within the Church to His Magnificence; foremost temple devoted to the Divine Lyumayin of the Imperial Province of Captimia.
Authored by the hand of: Arthur A’ashura - Magnificent Crusader of His Great Faith; "The Black Candle"
14th of Silver Ash, 924th Year of the Mavimyst
Silverspire - Captimia - The Westland Empire of Bariquel
Judgement
To whomever may discover this letter, let it be known that it is but the final words of a wretch; equal in measure of cowardice and malice as even the worst of men — may he be justly placed hand-in-hand amongst them. Let he who holds the quill and writes upon this parchment know not the glory of His luminous Paradise, as he is undeserving of the Lord's love and light. Yet — if the reader shall permit him — this authored cur wishes to relay as to his reasoning for its cataloging.
The proceeding words of self-revile may seem to be his ploy to gain the sympathies of its reader; but if you may trust this liar's word on this final — forgotten plea, let it be that he wishes nothing but your utmost derisions and jeers. In the eyes of Gods and men; let this account stand, if only as proof that even the most wretched among men may still hold a quill steady. I have no illusions of grandeur, no vain hope that these words will be read with reverence or even less than due regard towards the good or otherwise. I write not as a scholar nor a poet, but as a fool, too stubborn to forget, and too weary to hold illusion otherwise.
There are wounds that time does not mend, sorrows that neither distance nor distraction most vain can dull. I have walked the roads of kings and beggars alike, held truth in my hands only to watch it wither, and whispered the names of the lost to an uncaring wind. Now, as the embers of my days smolder low, I turn to ink and memory — to preserve, to confess, or perhaps simply to be heard by a world that has long since ceased to listen.
What follows is not wisdom, nor is it revelation. It is merely the remnants of a man who has long since outlived his purpose, scrawled in the ink of regret and the dust which burned in the days of darkness. There was a time when I believed myself worthy of fate’s cruel attentions, when I mistook suffering for significance. But now, in the twilight of things, I see myself for what I am — no more than the very visage of evil; boundlessly cruel and malevolent.
Rightly judge him as the worst that man has to offer; for I shall accept my just damnantion, the last of my light spent as I watch the black candles alight in memory and solemn regret to that which I have done; shed the blood of the dragon-man.
Sin
Punishment
Damnation
Serendipity was led down a flight of stone steps, each slick with damp overgrowth, their edges softened by time and neglect. The air grew heavy as she descended, thick with the scent of damp earth and old rot. What began as carefully masoned steps soon gave way to a natural rock formation, the path turning into a sloping ramp that burrowed ever deeper into the subterranean dark.
At the bottom, a vast chamber stretched out before her, an expanse of makeshift prison cells carved clumsily from the rock. The crude hollows bore the unmistakable mark of inexperienced hands, their craftsmanship just enough to hold a living soul — no more. Flickering candlelight illuminated the gloom, the tiny flames barely enough to chase away the oppressive shadow. Within each cell, figures sat hunched, their gaunt faces bearing the look of men and women long resigned to misery. Most were clad in the humble garb of Northhaven, their coarse tunics and worn leathers marking them as common folk. No merchants, no nobles — only the forgotten.
Some prisoners lifted their weary eyes at the sight of her, curiosity flickering within them. Others kept their gaze fixed on the cold stone beneath them, unwilling to acknowledge the world beyond their confinement. Those who met her eyes lingered, their expressions unreadable. Serendipity knew why. Her attire — noble and unmistakably foreign — stood in stark contrast to the rags around her. The flowing folds of her Bralisian regalia, deep blues and silvers woven in intricate embroidery, marked her as something out of place, something they had never seen before.
Her escort pushed her forward, guiding her through the seemingly endless warren of cells, past the desperate and the broken. She came to a stop before one such prison — little more than a hollow in the rock, fronted by a rusted iron door crusted with age and corrosion. The walls bore the scars of time, chipped and worn by generations of captives who had come before her.
Before Serendipity could collect her thoughts, a sharp, searing pain struck the back of her head. The blunt end of a spear drove her forward, sending her stumbling.
"Get in there, Centrallian!"
She barely had time to steady herself before the rough hands of her captors yanked at the ropes around her wrists. The fibers burned against her skin as they were torn away, leaving behind raw, aching welts. Then, with a final shove, she was thrown forward. She landed hard on her hands and knees, the damp stone biting into her skin.
Behind her, the iron gate groaned, a long and tortured wail of rusted metal, before slamming shut. A sharp click followed — the unmistakable sound of a key twisting into place, sealing her fate.
"Don't try anything now, girly," one of the guards sneered. "We'll want to verify just who you say you are before we decide how to... properly deal with you Centralian royal types."
His voice dripped with mockery, his grin cruel and knowing. "I'm sure even you Centralbornes think yourselves deserving of special treatment — even as hostages. Suppose we'll have to ask quadruple our usual ransom, just so we don't offend her ladyship!"
He chuckled darkly, then spat at her feet before turning on his heel and striding away, his laughter fading into the depths of the dungeon.
Serendipity sat still for a moment, her fingers curling into the cold stone beneath her, her pulse pounding in her ears. The cell reeked of damp and despair. The candlelight flickered, throwing long shadows against the jagged walls.
Serendipity pushed herself to her feet, her body aching from the rough treatment she had endured. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and her vision blurred, the edges of the dimly lit cell swimming in and out of focus. She lifted a hand to her face, the weight in her eyes unbearable — whether from exhaustion, the dampness that clung to the air, or something deeper, she could not say. It would have been understandable if she wept, given her circumstances, but it was not like her. No, this was something else.
She obeyed the instinctual urge, rubbing her eyes until the sensation faded. When she pulled her hands away, her sight returned — but something was different.
There, in the farthest corner of the cell, stood a shadowy figure. It was vague, indistinct, but unmistakably shaped in the rough approximation of a man. Yet when she had first entered, the cell had been empty. She was certain of it.
Her breath caught in her throat. A trick of the dim candlelight? The weariness pressing upon her mind?
She rubbed her eyes again, harder this time, willing the apparition to disappear.
It did not.
The figure remained.
It faced the cavern wall, its posture unmoving, its presence silent.
As Serendipity’s eyes adjusted further to the murky darkness, the apparition solidified before her, shedding its ghostly uncertainty and becoming unmistakably real. She narrowed her gaze, tracing the contours of the figure’s features, willing her mind to make sense of what stood before her.
At first, he bore the unmistakable characteristics of a Lecteria — a crimson-skinned Lizardman, a race she had encountered only rarely in her homeland of Bralisia, where the Lithreni peoples were scarce. Yet as the dim light flickered against his form, shifting shadows played tricks upon her perception. His features did not quite align with those of the Lecteria. No — the longer she looked, the more she realized he was something else entirely.
Dracoling.
The word struck her like a hammer, sending a tremor through her chest.
Serendipity had read of them in the grand tomes of her youth, those near-mythologized beings who bore the legacy of the First Dragons. They were real, she knew — her own homeland of Captimia had once been ruled by a Dracoling Empress in the distant millennia of a bygone age. Yet the idea that they were born of the First Dragons, that their blood still carried the embers of those ancient titans... those were merely legends. Weren’t they?
And yet, here he was.
As if the sheer impossibility of his presence was not shocking enough, another realization made her breath hitch. The man stood in utter starkness — naked. Every inch of him was laid bare to the cold, damp air, unshrouded by even the most meager scrap of cloth. It was as though he had been born from the stone itself, belonging to the cavern as much as the walls that enclosed them.
Serendipity’s pulse quickened, her mind fracturing into spiraling thoughts of dread.
Who was this man?
More importantly... what would he do when he noticed her?
The cell was small. There was nowhere to run, and no one would come to her aid should this towering figure — who stood at least twice her height — choose to impose his will upon her. Would he lash out? Would he speak? Would he —
She forced herself to halt the tide of panic before it consumed her.
If he meant her harm, she would soon find out. But she could not sit idly by, paralyzed by fear. She had to act.
Her magic was crippled, weakened by exhaustion and the lingering pain of her captivity, but if she needed to, she would fight.
Drawing in a slow, steady breath, she gathered what courage she could and spoke.
"Hello?"
The word came weaker than she intended, a whisper of uncertainty laced with the tension of the unknown.
At once, the figure stirred.
He turned with deliberate precision, shifting from his rigid stance, his form now fully visible in the dim glow of the cell’s candlelight. And then, she saw them — his eyes.
Burning embers, alight with an internal inferno.
A deep, smoldering orange, as though molten fire swirled within his very soul.
For a moment, all was silent.
Then, he spoke.
His voice was low, steady — commanding.
"Hello."
A lingering sense of unease coiled through the stagnant, damp air, an invisible pressure tightening around Serendipity’s throat. It was as if the very atmosphere sought to suffocate her, to press her down into the cold stone beneath her feet. She fought the overwhelming urge to summon what little remained of her mana, to unleash a desperate onslaught against the figure before her. But she held firm. Instead, she forced herself to speak.
"Are you alright?"
The words left her lips tinged with both fear and a glimmer of genuine concern.
The man’s burning gaze remained locked onto hers, unwavering.
"I feel fine. Thank you. How are you doing?"
Serendipity blinked. The unexpected civility — concern, even — sent a ripple through her guarded composure.
"Well... if I can be honest with you, I’m having a very bad day."
"I’m sorry to hear that," the man replied, his tone unchanged, steady as the stone walls around them.
Serendipity let out a small, breathy chuckle, the absurdity of the moment cutting through her tension. "Thanks. Though I suppose that’s a feeling that must go around in here." Her eyes flicked over his form once more before she added, "I imagine you must feel worse, being naked as you are."
The man tilted his head ever so slightly, as though the words puzzled him.
"I’m naked?"
Serendipity hesitated. "Yeah...?" she stammered. "How did you not notice? It’s colder than the Hells in here."
Without pause or hesitation, the man responded, his voice as even as before.
"I hadn't realized. Apologies."
Serendipity’s fear wavered, swiftly giving way to utter bewilderment.
"It’s... fine?"
A silence lingered between them before she exhaled sharply and moved to remove her outer robe, the rich blue fabric slipping from her shoulders in fluid motion. She held it out toward him, gesturing for him to fashion it into something — anything — to provide a semblance of modesty against the cold.
"Here, try this on."
The man accepted the garment without hesitation, wrapping it around his waist as she had indicated.
"I thank you, woman."
"Oh! Um, my name is Azri — "
She froze. The name — the truth — almost slipped from her lips, a reflex buried deep in her bones. She swallowed hard, forcing a correction.
"I mean, Serendipity."
"It is good to meet you, Serendipity."
His voice carried no change in tone, no shift in expression. It was the same calm, deliberate cadence as before, as if this entire exchange — this meeting of two lost souls in the depths of a forgotten prison — was nothing more than an expected inevitability.
"Do you have a name?" Serendipity asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied the strange man before her.
"Name?" he echoed, as if the concept itself was foreign to him.
She blinked at his response, unsure whether he was toying with her or if his confusion was genuine. "Um… yes? Your name? May I ask it?"
There was no hesitation, no sense of deception in the way he responded. It was as though the question had never once crossed his mind before.
"I don’t believe I have a name," he admitted. Then, after a pause, he continued, "Though I have been hearing this word in my mind… ‘Mystara.’ Perhaps that is my name."
Serendipity frowned. "Oh, well, that won’t do," she said with playful certainty. "That is a name meant for women. You’ll need something else."
The man blinked, then gave a small nod. "Oh, my apologies."
Serendipity let out a short laugh at his earnest response. "I’m only jesting, friend. Mystara is a fine name… though it feels wrong for you. I think we may do better with another."
Yet, as she spoke, the name Mystara clung to her thoughts, lingering like the weight of an unfathomable abyss. There was something vast about it, something that stirred an inexplicable reverence deep within her — an immensity that made her both awed and unsettled in equal measure.
The man, unaware of her internal disquiet, responded with childlike enthusiasm. "That sounds wonderful!"
Serendipity smiled, pushing aside the strange feeling that gnawed at the back of her mind. "For now, I’ll just call you ‘friend,’ if you’ll permit me."
The man’s burning eyes softened ever so slightly.
"I would be honored to be your friend, Serendipity."
The moment of levity shattered as reality crashed back upon Serendipity like a wave against jagged rock. The warmth of their exchange faded, replaced by the cold certainty of their predicament. Her gaze drifted to the rusted iron door — the barrier that sealed their fate.
"Well, friend, I’m sorry to know that our companionship may be short-lived," she mused, her tone laced with grim humor. "I doubt our captors intend to keep us comfortable in our new home."
The man’s posture stiffened, his expression sharpening into something unreadable. Then, in a voice that carried such quiet dominance that even the highest Empresses of the world might falter before it, he asked, "Are we in danger?"
Serendipity took an involuntary step back, her breath catching for just a moment.
"Unless this happens to be the etiquette of inns and taverns in Northhaven," she answered, recovering herself, "I’d wager our lives will last only slightly longer than a jug of milk."
No sooner had the words left her lips than the man moved.
Without hesitation, he stepped past her, his towering frame brushing the air like a force of nature, deliberate and absolute. He placed one hand upon the door’s rightmost bar, his fingers curling around the corroded metal with ease.
And then — he twisted.
The iron screamed.
With nothing more than the effortless motion of his wrist, the entire door tore free from its hinges as though it were made of parchment. The force of the movement sent a deep, resonant crack through the cavern walls, the surrounding stone groaning beneath the strain. The sound of tortured metal rending itself apart echoed through the chamber, an unnatural wail that sent shockwaves through the silent prison.
A ripple of murmurs spread from the surrounding cells — fear, confusion, disbelief. Prisoners stirred in their cages, their hushed voices rising like wind through dead trees, uncertain whether they were witnessing salvation or doom.
Serendipity stood frozen, her mind grappling with what she had just seen.
This wasn’t simply strength.
This was power.
Raw, effortless, unshackled power.
Her breath was shallow, her voice barely above a whisper as awe and unease tangled within her.
"Oh, Gods..."
Before she could fully process what had just happened, the man spoke, his voice carrying an urgency that cut through the ringing echoes of torn metal.
"Come on, Serendipity. We have our chance to escape!"
Without another word, he strode into the corridor, stretching his arms wide as if to embrace the very walls around him. Then, with an impossible burst of speed, he broke into a mad dash toward the stairway.
And with each stride, destruction followed.
His outstretched hands met iron, and iron crumbled. Cell doors, once unmovable barriers of rusted steel, were torn from their hinges as effortlessly as parchment ripped from a book. The tortured shrieks of rending metal filled the cavernous expanse, each deafening clang reverberating through the depths like the tolling of a doomsday bell.
With every door shattered, the prisoners inside flinched in terror. Some recoiled, shielding their heads as jagged fragments of their former cages crashed around them. Others remained frozen in their places, their minds unable to comprehend the chaos unraveling before them. A few simply collapsed, overcome by disbelief.
Serendipity forced herself to move, leaping over the debris that now littered the ground, struggling to keep pace with the impossible force that had become her companion. Her heart pounded, her breath came in ragged gasps, yet she pressed on, her body carried forward by sheer instinct.
At last, he reached the far end of the chamber and turned, waiting for her. As she stumbled to his side, she gasped out, “Gods, if you could do that this whole time, why were you in the cell to start with?”
The man regarded her with the same unwavering expression he had carried since their first exchange, his conviction unbroken.
"I don't remember anything beyond seeing the cavern’s wall," he said. Then, after the briefest pause, he added, "And then I saw you."
Serendipity’s breath caught. “…You only remember events from ten minutes ago?”
He nodded once, his glowing eyes already fixed upon the staircase — the path to salvation.
Confusion flooded her mind, pressing against the edges of her thoughts like an unbearable weight. None of this made sense. None of it should have been possible. She had been thrown into the depths of some cruel prison, and yet now, here she stood beside a force of nature — one that had no past, no memory, and seemingly no limit to his power.
Her thoughts were shattered by the sounds rising behind her.
She turned.
The prisoners — once lifeless husks resigned to their fate — were stirring.
Some struggled to stand, their limbs weak from neglect. Others wept openly, their newfound freedom too much to bear. A low murmur began to ripple through the chamber, growing into a chorus of quiet cheers as one by one, they turned toward the exit, their eyes wide with desperate hope.
And then Serendipity understood.
A stampede was about to begin.
Panic surged through her. “We need to move, now!” she shouted, her voice barely audible over the rising din. Without hesitation, she bolted forward, rushing toward the stairway.
The man followed.
And behind them, the flood of desperate souls gave chase, each prisoner scrambling toward the only path that led them away from the darkness that had held them captive for so long.
The two ran side by side, their hurried steps echoing through the cavern, each footfall met with the wet squelch of moss-covered stone. The slick dampness of the passage made every stride treacherous, but neither slowed, urgency pressing them forward.
Then, ahead, the sound of raised voices.
Serendipity’s heart pounded as they rounded a bend — and there stood the source of the commotion.
Two guards.
Clad in crude iron and worn leather, they stood at the ready, their shoddy iron spears fixed forward in a desperate stance of defense. Their faces twisted with a mixture of fear and resolve as they recognized the approaching fugitives.
Serendipity skidded to a halt, inhaling sharply as she steadied herself, preparing for the inevitable clash.
The guards lunged.
But before they could even take two steps, the man beside her moved.
With terrifying speed, he closed the distance between them. His hands shot forward, grasping both men by the face — his massive palms engulfing their entire heads as if they were mere trinkets. The guards’ weapons clattered to the ground, useless, their bodies thrashing in his unyielding grip.
Then, with a single, devastating motion, he drove them backward.
The cavernous walls shuddered from the impact as their skulls met solid stone with crushing force. A sickening, wet explosion filled the passage as their bodies — head to stomach — burst apart upon impact, reduced to nothing more than a grotesque smear of gore. Blood and viscera painted the walls, cascading in rivulets down the stone. What little remained of them slumped to the ground, their ruined forms slipping down the steps in a slow, lifeless descent, leaving a crimson trail in their wake.
Serendipity staggered backward, her stomach lurching violently. The sheer brutality of it — the ease with which he had ended them — sent a wave of nausea crashing over her. But before she could dwell on it, the rising murmurs of the freed prisoners echoed down the passage, growing closer.
There was no time to falter.
She swallowed down her unease, forced her legs to move, and broke into a sprint.
The man followed without a word.
Racing up the final steps, Serendipity felt the biting air of the Mirathma Mountains creeping toward them, the damp chill of the cavern replaced by the crisp, cutting wind of the open world.
Before them stood the exit — a set of twin wooden and rope-bound doors, the last barrier between captivity and the wild expanse beyond.
The man strode forward, his expression as unreadable as ever, his fist clenching with effortless certainty. Then, with a single, devastating strike, he drove his knuckles into the door.
The result was cataclysmic.
Both doors were torn from their hinges, flung outward as though struck by a catapult. They spiraled into the open air, disappearing into the vast, snow-laden landscape beyond.
The sudden burst of daylight burned against Serendipity’s vision, the stark contrast between the cavern’s gloom and the sun’s unforgiving reflection off the snow rendering her momentarily blind. At the same time, the cold returned with a cruel sharpness, the frozen breath of the mountains clawing at her skin.
Her vision adjusted just in time to see the guards at the entrance — two sentries who had been stationed there, now staring in open-mouthed shock. One was a Mythra man, his features tense with the sudden alarm, the other a Sylvian woman, her evergreen hair whipping in the icy wind. Both bore the same crude iron spears as their fallen comrades.
But their reaction came too late.
The man, his fist still clenched from the blow he had delivered to the doors, moved in perfect rhythm with their realization.
The Sylvian woman was struck first.
His knuckles collided with her skull in a single, brutal motion. The force of the impact twisted her head a full rotation, the sickening crack of shattered vertebrae ringing through the thin mountain air. Blood followed the motion, spiraling in a crimson arc before her lifeless body collapsed into the snow.
The Mythra barely had time to shift his grip on his weapon before the man turned on him.
The same hand, slick with the Sylvian’s blood, shot forward with terrifying speed. His fingers did not stop at the surface — instead, they pierced through the Mythra’s skull, carving cleanly from one side to the other. A sickening, wet squelch accompanied the moment as the man’s arm became sheathed in crimson up to his shoulder.
For a breath, he stood motionless, the Mythra’s weight hanging limply from his impaled skull. Then, with startling quickness, he flicked his arm downward, dislodging the corpse. The lifeless body slid free and fell unceremoniously into the snow.
The man followed the motion with a final swipe of his arm, flinging excess blood from his skin, splattering the pristine white beneath him with deep, wet red.
Serendipity stood frozen in terror, the horror of what had just transpired still locking her limbs in place. The world around her was chaos — freed prisoners scrambling desperately toward the open air, dashing toward what they believed to be freedom.
She barely had time to react before the surge of bodies overwhelmed her.
The rush of panicked figures struck her like a wave, the sheer force knocking her from her feet. She hit the snow-covered ground hard, her back sinking into the frozen earth beneath her. There was no pain — the cold swallowed the impact — but the shock of it all left her winded, as though she had been trampled beneath a galloping warhorse.
Dazed, she lay there, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, her mind still reeling.
Then, movement.
The man stepped forward, his towering frame blocking the light of the sun.
He moved with that same unrelenting certainty, his bloodied form unbothered by the carnage he had left in his wake. He stepped over the broken remains of the guards, his feet sinking into crimson-stained snow, and reached out a hand.
It was drenched in blood.
Dark droplets fell from his fingers, splattering in stark contrast against the white beneath her.
"Are you alright?"
His voice was the same. Unshaken. Steady. The exact same unyielding conviction as before.
Serendipity’s breath caught. Her eyes flickered between his outstretched, blood-soaked hand and the unnatural glow of his molten eyes. She hesitated. The fear in her chest curled tighter.
But she swallowed it down.
Steeling herself, she reached forward, her fingers wrapping around his. The warmth of his grip startled her — he was not cold like the mountain air. He was something else entirely.
As he pulled her to her feet, she muttered, "Yeah… I’m fine. Thank you."
They stood there for a brief moment, facing one another, before the chaos beyond them wrenched their attention back to reality.
The prisoners had reached the fortress gates.
But freedom was not waiting for them.
With a thunderous crash, the iron bars slammed into place, cutting off their path forward. The prisoners skidded to a halt, panic rising in frantic murmurs as they found themselves trapped once more.
From the watchtowers, shadows moved.
Soldiers.
The vagabond warriors who had taken Serendipity and the others captive emerged from their posts. Some perched themselves above, iron crossbows fixed on the caged masses. Others rushed down the stone steps of the fortress walls, brandishing an array of shoddy weapons — rusted swords, splintered shields, battered spears, and crude axes.
There were dozens of them.
Forty-nine in total.
Then, from the center of the formation, another figure emerged.
A Lunaling, her thick grey fur bristling against the cold. The same one who had mocked Serendipity during her capture.
Her expression was dark, soured with rage.
It was the kind of look that could wilt flowers.
And it was fixed directly on her.
"Well now, my countess," the Lunaling woman growl, her words dripping with mockery. "It seems you’ve made a friend. And here I thought all you Edians believed yourselves too good for the scale-skins."
She stepped forward, the dull glint of her cutlass reflecting in the cold mountain air. "I don’t know who you are, lizard, or what you think you’re doing, but I’m not letting you or that pompous bitch walk away with my meal tickets."
Her voice rose, sharp and commanding.
"Now, wretches, hear me well! My men will slaughter you all! Man and woman — youngest to oldest — every single one of you will be brutalized and sent screaming into the void. That is, of course, unless you listen to my orders."
She grinned, savoring the terror blooming in the crowd.
"Stand down. Return to your cages, and you may just see your families again… once they pay your bail."
A wave of panic rippled through the prisoners. Screams, cries, and desperate pleas merged into a single, chaotic wail of fear. The scent of despair was thick in the air, clinging to them all like smoke from a smoldering fire.
The Lunaling chuckled at the display, her fangs bared.
"The choice is yours as well, ladyship," she sneered, raising her cutlass in a mock salute toward Serendipity and her companion. "And whatever this barbarian next to you calls himself — frankly, I could care less what dragon-men name their own."
The terrified cries of the prisoners continued, a cacophony of misery against the bitter cold.
But Serendipity stood still. Her eyes remained locked on the Lunaling, her breath slow and measured.
This was the end.
She felt it in her bones, in the trembling weight of the air itself. There would be no negotiation. No mercy.
Her hands twitched, and subtle sparks began to dance between her fingertips. The last of her strength, the final embers of her magic, coiling and waiting to strike. She would not die kneeling. She would take as many of them as she could.
But before she could act —
Her companion moved.
He stepped forward with deliberate ease, his feet sinking deep into the fresh snow, his massive form cutting through the scene like a specter of death.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
He did not raise his fists, nor bare his claws. He simply stood at the center of the battlefield, his molten gaze locked onto the Lunaling, unreadable and vast.
Then, in a voice as calm as the grave, he spoke.
"I have a counteroffer."
His words carried over the howling wind, over the cries and rattling weapons, sinking into the bones of all who heard them.
He lifted one hand, gesturing towards the terrified mass of prisoners.
"You leave them. Totally unharmed."
A pause.
"And I will kill each of you... painlessly."
The prisoners went silent.
The sheer weight of the statement crushed the very air around them. Every single one of them turned, eyes wide, toward the group of armed vagabonds standing above them.
For a long moment, nothing moved.
Then the soldiers muttered amongst themselves, some exchanging glances, others letting out low, amused chuckles.
The Lunaling’s expression shifted — not quite to fear, but to something close to mild surprise.
Then, she scoffed.
"...Cute."
She lifted her cutlass with a smirk, pointing it toward him.
"Alright, use him as the example."
Serendipity’s breath hitched. The panic crashed into her all at once.
"NO!!"
Her cry tore from her throat, but before she could do anything —
The crossbows fired.
A dozen bolts tore through the air, their wicked points glinting in the cold light before they found their mark.
They struck the man with brutal precision.
One after another, the projectiles buried themselves into his flesh — his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his legs. Each impact sent a shudder through his frame, his knees dipping slightly beneath the force. Blood oozed from every wound, dark rivulets trickling down his body, pooling into a widening crimson stain upon the snow.
And yet — he did not fall.
Silence consumed the battlefield.
Every breath, every motion, ceased.
The fear in the air was suffocating. It came not just from the prisoners, but from the soldiers themselves.
All eyes remained fixed upon the man — on his impaled body, on the bolts protruding grotesquely from his skin.
Still, he stood.
Still, he did not waver.
Then, he exhaled a low, rumbling chuckle.
“Cute…”
His voice was mocking, a cruel echo of the Lunaling commander’s own taunt from moments before.
Serendipity barely had time to react before his chest expanded.
He inhaled sharply.
Then his eyes — already burning with unnatural fire — blazed into a searing, molten amber.
A roar erupted from his throat, monstrous and otherworldly.
And with it — flames.
A colossal jet of fire burst forth from his mouth, the heat so intense that the very air around it shimmered and twisted. The sound that followed was indescribable — it was something ancient, something primal, a shriek of pure destruction that reverberated through the mountains with earth-shaking force.
The force alone was enough to hurl everyone — Serendipity included — clear off their feet, flung backward into the snow.
The blaze struck the assembled soldiers with apocalyptic fury.
Most never had a chance to scream.
The flames engulfed them in an instant, swallowing them whole. A brilliant inferno of orange and gold consumed the ranks of vagabonds, their bodies twisting and writhing in agony as fire devoured flesh and bone alike.
The Lunaling commander managed to throw herself away from the core of the blast, but not unscathed.
The left side of her face caught the fire, her fur searing away as raw, blistering pain surged through her body. She let out a strangled, guttural cry, clutching at the charred remnants of her skin, her once-smug expression now twisted in agony.
Around her, the battlefield had become a hellscape of suffering.
Some of the Sylvian women among the soldiers, their bodies wreathed in flame, threw themselves from the walls in a desperate bid to extinguish the fire. Others — Edians of varying forms — collapsed where they stood, their bodies blackened and unrecognizable, their deaths silent but for the smoldering ruin they left behind.
The mountain air, once crisp and biting, now reeked of burning flesh.
And in the heart of the devastation, the man stood tall — his wounds still weeping, his breath still smoldering, his gaze fixed upon the carnage with the same unshaken certainty as before.
The moment was a living nightmare.
The stench of charred flesh clung thick to the air, mingling with the anguished screams of the burning and the terrified cries of the prisoners. It was overwhelming. The world spun in Serendipity’s head, her breath shallow, her pulse erratic.
She did not know what kind of avatar of death she had found and decided to call friend.
Her eyes remained locked onto the Dracoling as he began to tear the bolts from his flesh. One by one, he wrenched them free, each removal accompanied by a wet, sickening splatter of blood that painted the snow at his feet. He cast the broken shafts aside without hesitation, as if the wounds they had left meant nothing to him.
Then, without warning, he moved.
Serendipity barely had time to react before he rushed toward the crowd of prisoners.
For the briefest of moments, dread coiled around her heart like a vice.
Was he going to continue the massacre?
The prisoners, already trembling from the horror they had witnessed, shrank back in terror. Some fell to their knees, shielding themselves, expecting another wave of unrelenting carnage.
But their fear — her fear — was unfounded.
The Dracoling did not strike them.
He ran past them.
In a blur of motion, he reached the heavy iron gate barring their escape. Without hesitation, he tore it apart with the same unnatural ease as he had the prison doors, the metal bending and snapping beneath his grasp as if it were nothing more than brittle wood.
Then, stepping aside, he took his place against the wall, standing silently near the entrance.
His burning gaze remained fixed upon them. Waiting.
For a few long moments, no one moved.
Then, slowly, courage took root among the prisoners. One by one, they hesitantly stepped forward, eyes darting between the ruined gate and the still-smoldering battlefield behind them.
As they passed him, some offered hurried, whispered thanks before breaking into desperate sprints down the mountainside. Others dared not meet his eyes, too overwhelmed by fear to do anything but flee.
And then, silence.
The only sounds that remained were the quiet crackling of dying flames and the tortured groans of those still writhing in agony above.
The Dracoling turned and walked toward Serendipity, coming to stand beside her.
She did not move.
She simply watched him, her mind drowning in the impossible truth of what she had just witnessed.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. Only the smoldering embers above stirred, swirling in the cold wind like dying ghosts.
Then, at last, Serendipity broke the stillness.
“...I suppose we’re okay to leave, then.”
The Dracoling’s gaze remained fixed on the lingering fires, his expression unreadable.
“I suppose we are.”
Another pause.
Serendipity found herself uncertain of what came next.
“I’m not really sure what to do now...” she admitted, exhaling a slow breath. “Suppose we’ll go our own ways, then?”
The man did not answer.
He only watched the embers drift into the night, their glow swallowed by the frigid dark.
Serendipity hesitated, then offered a small, weary smile.
“Well... it was good to meet you, friend. Until next we — ”
A screech shattered the air.
Not a mortal cry, nor any beast she had ever heard — it was something wholly unnatural, something that rattled the very marrow of her bones.
Serendipity’s body reacted before her mind could catch up.
Twin orbs of crackling lightning erupted to life in her hands, her stance shifting into a practiced readiness. Her breath hitched, her heart hammering in her chest as she turned toward the source.
From the ruined walls of the fortress, a jagged burst of purple light tore through the darkness.
From it, shadows emerged — dozens of them.
They descended like specters, facsimiles of Edian warriors draped in shimmering violet armor, their forms wreathed in ethereal energy. Each one landed without a sound, their conjured blades igniting in ghostly flames as they closed in.
Serendipity did not wait.
She thrust her hands forward, sending brilliant arcs of lightning hurtling through the air. A single, massive bolt tore through four of the conjured figures, the raw electricity searing through their chests.
For a brief moment, their outlines flickered, their bodies unraveling into tongues of purple flame before vanishing completely.
She clenched her fists, readying another volley —
But the Dracoling was already moving.
With terrifying speed, he surged forward, his hands reaching for the closest foe.
He caught one by the chest and, with effortless strength, tore it in half.
The conjured form let out no scream, no protest — only a whispering wail as it collapsed into flickering embers, fading into nothingness.
And still, more came.
The battle descended into chaos.
From the fractured fortress walls, the spectral warriors continued their relentless descent, pouring down like a violet tide of death. And at their center — she rose.
The Lunaling commander.
Her body bore the scars of fire and battle, her once-pristine fur now scorched and blackened, but it did nothing to dull the fury in her eyes.
Eyes that now glowed — a brilliant, seething purple.
A conjurer of terrifying power.
“I’LL CARVE YOU BOTH INTO PIECES FOR THAT!!!”
Her scream echoed across the mountains, vibrating in the marrow of all who heard it.
Serendipity reacted instantly, her fingers sparking with renewed power. With a snap of her wrist, she let loose a crackling bolt of lightning, aiming straight for the commander’s heart.
But the Lunaling barely flinched.
With a mere flick of her hand, one of her own conjured warriors leaped into the path of the strike, absorbing the full force of the attack. The blast tore clean through the spectral soldier, its head vaporized in an instant before the rest of its form dissolved into a cascade of dying embers.
Then the charge began.
The remaining soldiers — both flesh and phantom — rushed forward, their eyes alight with unbridled rage. Their movements were no longer disciplined, no longer calculated. They were wild, driven by fury, by pain, by vengeance.
Serendipity did not hesitate.
Another arc of lightning erupted from her palm, slicing through three of the conjured warriors in a single stroke, their bodies vanishing in violet flame. The bolt continued past them, striking a charging Mythran soldier — a flesh-and-blood warrior who had survived the initial massacre.
The energy struck his left side, and he detonated.
A visceral spray of blood and bone rained onto the snow, the sickening sound of ruptured flesh lost in the storm of battle.
But there was no time to revel in the victory.
An Oathreni woman, massive in stature, closed the distance in an instant. Before Serendipity could react, the warrior slammed into her, driving her into the frozen ground.
The impact rattled her skull, knocking the breath from her lungs.
From the corner of her eye, she saw her companion turn toward her, his molten gaze flaring with urgency.
“Serendipity!”
He moved to reach her —
But steel met flesh.
A conjured blade pierced clean through his back, emerging from his stomach in a slick, gleaming crimson.
Serendipity gritted her teeth, struggling against the Oathreni’s overwhelming strength. The woman’s hands pressed down against her shoulders, pinning her to the ice, her breath reeking of ash and blood. Her exposed skin still smoked from the Dracoling’s earlier fire, patches of burned flesh peeling at the edges.
Serendipity clenched her fist, summoning every last drop of energy she had left.
The air crackled.
With a final, desperate movement, she slammed her palm against the warrior’s arm.
Electricity surged.
The Oathreni woman convulsed violently as the raw power coursed through her, her massive frame spasming under the force of the current.
Blood and pus oozed from her eyes, her nostrils, her ears. A final, rattling gasp escaped her lips as her grip loosened.
Serendipity pushed her off just as the warrior collapsed into the snow, her massive body still twitching, the smell of seared flesh rising into the cold air. Even in death, her corpse shuddered, lingering jolts of electricity forcing the last remnants of life from her ruined form.
Serendipity scrambled back to her feet, her breath ragged.
The battlefield was chaos incarnate.
Serendipity watched in stunned awe as her companion, still impaled by the spectral blade, did not falter.
With a single, vicious motion, he ripped the weapon from his stomach, ignoring the blood that poured freely from the wound. Without hesitation, he hurled the blade through the air — its jagged edge impaling the face of a conjured warrior that had crept behind her.
She barely had time to turn before the figure crumbled into nothing, dissolving into violet embers.
Whipping her gaze back to him, she saw him move with the same brutal efficiency — his body still bleeding, yet refusing to yield.
The Dracoling wheeled around to face his attacker, his clawed hands lashing out.
With terrifying ease, he ripped the head from the conjured warrior’s body. The creature barely had time to react before vanishing into ethereal dust. Another lunged toward him, only for a single devastating kick to obliterate its form, its remnants dispersing into the wind.
But the wounds were taking their toll.
His once-unbreakable stance wavered. Blood gushed from his stomach, painting the snow in deep crimson, his unyielding expression finally beginning to crack.
Another spectral warrior lunged.
But he caught it.
With a guttural snarl, he tore off its arm — then drove the severed limb straight through its chest. The conjured being shuddered, then erupted into a swirl of ghostly fire before vanishing entirely.
Breathing heavily, the two fell into formation, standing side by side, ready to make their final stand.
Then — she moved.
The Lunaling commander leaped down from the walls, her movements fueled by seething rage.
Her violet eyes burned with raw power, her form outlined in the same arcane glow that had birthed her spectral army.
"I’LL CARVE YOU UP SLOW, GIRLY!" she snarled, her voice venomous. "AND AFTER THAT, I’LL TURN YOUR SCALEBACK FRIEND INTO A FUCKING COAT!"
She charged.
Behind her, the conjured warriors surged forward like an unstoppable tide, their ethereal blades igniting in preparation for the killing blow.
Serendipity and her companion gritted their teeth, summoning what little strength remained within them.
Then —
Fire rained from the sky.
The heavens erupted with brilliance, blinding bursts of golden flame tearing through the battlefield.
There was no time to react.
No time to run.
A deafening BOOM filled the air as massive explosions detonated all around them.
Waves of searing heat washed over them as entire swaths of spectral warriors were reduced to nothing. The conjured soldiers, once an unstoppable legion, were obliterated in mere moments, their bodies reduced to dust before they even hit the ground.
The force of the closest blast struck like a hammer, hurling both Serendipity and her companion to the ground.
She landed hard, her body sinking into the snow, her ears ringing from the sheer power of the attack.
When she opened her eyes, the world had changed.
What had once been a battlefield was now a hellscape.
The once-frozen earth was now scorched black, rivers of molten fire licking hungrily at what little remained of the fortress. Debris rained down from above, shattered stone and broken steel scattering across the ruins, sending plumes of ash spiraling into the sky.
The commander had not escaped unscathed.
She had fallen to one knee, her hands bracing against the ground as shock and terror twisted her once-defiant features.
For the first time, there was no confidence in her eyes.
Only fear.
Serendipity and the Dracoling staggered to their feet, their breath heavy, their bodies aching. The commander turned to them, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"WHAT THE HELL — "
She never finished.
A black blur descended from the sky with impossible speed.
Before she could react, before she could even scream —
The figure struck.
It made contact with the top of her skull.
Her entire form exploded on impact.
One moment, she was there. The next, she was nothing.
A crimson eruption of blood, bone, and viscera painted the battlefield in a grotesque display of raw destruction.
What had once been a living being was now a pulped ruin, her remains staining the ground in a wide, dripping circle. The sheer force of the impact sent her blood spiraling into the air, coating everything in its path.
Serendipity did not escape the carnage.
The wet warmth of it splattered across her face, her robes, her skin — thick, hot, reeking of iron and death.
Beside her, her companion stood equally painted in red.
Both of them frozen.
The battlefield was still.
With the Lunaling's death, the last remnants of her army collapsed into ash, their spectral forms disintegrating where they stood. Embers drifted through the scorched air, carried away by the lingering smoke of destruction.
And where the commander had once stood — there was now something else.
A new figure emerged, stepping into the ruin with an unnatural grace.
She was tall — taller than both Serendipity and her companion by at least a head. Her entire form was clad in obsidian-black armor, the jagged plates glistening like polished glass, their edges lined with wicked spikes. No skin was visible. No features. Her face was entirely obscured by an imposing helmet, its design sharp and ancient.
But her presence alone was overwhelming.
The scales that adorned her armor did not remain fixed — they fell, shedding from her body like burning embers, each piece dissolving into bright crimson ash before ever touching the charred earth.
Her long, white hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast against the void-black of her armor. But it was the wings that truly instilled terror.
Massive. Draconic.
They burned with amber-orange flames, licking hungrily at the air, as if reality itself could barely contain their presence.
Serendipity’s heart pounded.
Panic.
Confusion.
Abject terror.
She dared to glance at her companion, desperate to see if he held any understanding of what they faced — but for the first time since she had met him, his unwavering certainty had been stripped away.
His expression, so often one of stoic resolve, was now one of wide-eyed fear.
Neither of them knew what this entity was.
Neither of them knew what it wanted.
But there was no denying the truth — the power it wielded was beyond anything they could comprehend.
The figure stood still, as if savoring the moment. The very air around her seemed to tremble, suffocated by the presence of burning scales and embers. The world held its breath.
Then, at last, she spoke.
"Child of Amaranth."
The voice was not what Serendipity expected.
It was deep. Masculine.
It was divine — as if the very world trembled at its utterance.
Serendipity opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the figure continued.
"…You."
She raised a gauntleted hand, a blade manifesting from the burning scales that fell from her armor. The weapon materialized in an instant, its blackened edge gleaming with smoldering embers as it was leveled toward Serendipity.
"You weren’t in my viewing. Impossible."
Serendipity blinked, uncomprehending.
"…I don’t understand what you’re saying."
The figure did not move. The blade remained fixed toward her, unwavering.
"You are an impossibility."
The words came with finality, as if they carried a weight beyond mortal understanding.
"I was meant to kill that one."
The blade shifted, turning toward the Dracoling.
He remained frozen, terror written across his face.
"Yet he was alone in the telling. Not with another. This is not possible."
The figure’s tone never wavered. There was no anger, no frustration — only a commanding certainty, an otherworldly presence speaking as if bound to an inescapable fate.
A long, terrible silence followed.
Then, she spoke again.
"I must find the cause. Regardless, you both face oblivion — now."
The words were barely finished before she lunged.
The blade arced toward them, a single, merciless strike meant to cut them both in two.
Serendipity felt nothing but dread.
This was it.
There was no escaping.
She would die here.
Alone. Forgotten. Unloved.
All of it — everything she had ever done, everything she had ever wanted — would mean nothing.
She had never seen the world beyond.
She had never made her mark.
She was nothing.
And now, she would die as nothing.
Time slowed.
The figure’s blade, moving with lethal precision, suddenly lagged, its momentum stretching into an unnatural crawl.
The air thickened.
The weight of her own thoughts became deafening.
And as they spiraled — faster and faster, crashing into one another like a maelstrom of despair — everything around her seemed to slow even further.
Until it stopped.
The burning warrior stood frozen, her weapon only feet away from cutting them down.
The flames had ceased their dance.
The falling debris hung in place, suspended in midair.
Her companion — his expression still twisted in horror — remained unmoving.
Everything was still.
Everything was silent.
Everything, except her.
Her breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling in the impossible void of frozen time.
She looked around — hesitant, disbelieving.
Somehow… somehow, she had stopped time itself.
Serendipity trembled, certain she had fallen into a terrible dream — one from which she could not wake. The weight of everything she had endured, the suffering, the fear, the helplessness, crashed down upon her like an unrelenting tide.
She fell to her knees.
And for the first time, she wept.
Her sobs were silent at first, then wracked her body, shaking her shoulders as grief and exhaustion overtook her. She had fought, endured, survived horrors she could not begin to comprehend — only to stand here now, frozen in time, facing something she could not hope to defeat.
Then —
A voice.
Soft. Familiar.
"Poor Azrian, even away from home, you still feel as if you are unable to control your fate."
Serendipity gasped sharply, her breath catching in her throat. The sobs ceased instantly.
Her mother’s voice.
She scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding, the last remnants of her magic sparking to life in her hands. Another enemy? Another trick? Another unknowable force waiting to break her further?
But from the empty air, a figure stepped forth.
Her mother.
Serendipity’s breath hitched. “...Mother?” she stammered, her voice thick with disbelief.
Tears still stained her bloodied, dirt-ridden face, but she did not dare blink. She could not.
The woman before her smiled, her expression gentle. "In a sense, I am your mother. I have taken her form and know everything she is."
As she spoke, she moved effortlessly, gliding toward Serendipity’s frozen companion. She placed a casual elbow against his shoulder — then, in an instant, her form shifted.
Gone was her mother’s kind face.
Now, her father stood before her.
"Perhaps I am also your father?" the figure mused. "I am able to become all that he is."
Serendipity reeled back, her hands shaking, but the entity was not done.
He stepped closer, his face mere inches from hers.
Then — another transformation.
Gone was her father.
Now, she stared at herself.
Her own face — her own reflection, staring back at her.
"Or, perhaps, I am you, Azrian."
The figure tilted its head, smirking.
"I can look like you, sound like you. I know all about you — "
Then, it stopped itself.
A flicker of hesitation crossed its face.
"Wait — no, that's not true."
It frowned, as if struggling to find the words.
"I can't be you if... you aren’t you."**
A pause.
Then, a softer musing.
"Or rather... you are not the you that you wish to be? Forgive me, these things can be horribly confusing."
Serendipity had been confused, terrified, exhausted.
But now — she was furious.
Her hands clenched into fists, her rage bubbling over into a blinding fury.
Nothing made sense.
Nothing had ever made sense!
Her entire world had collapsed into madness, and she was done playing these games.
“I’M DONE WITH THIS, APPARITION!” she roared, her voice cutting across the frozen air.
The figure blinked in mild surprise.
“It’s clear I’m dead. My fractured mind is just trying to tell me something before I sink into the Void. So get on with it! I’m sick of the riddles! I’m sick of the damn symbolism!"
Her rage burned through the stillness, her breath heaving.
Then —
The figure laughed.
A full, amused, genuine laugh.
“Oh, Azrian! You do not disappoint. It is so good not knowing what someone is going to do.”
It shook its head, still grinning.
Then, its voice softened.
"Alright, alright. Your answers will come, I promise. But not now. Now — you must flee."
Serendipity scoffed, a dry, guttural sound of frustration.
“How!?” she snapped. “Explain to me how I can escape from here!”
The figure’s amusement faded.
For the first time, its expression was serious.
"You want it — "
A pause.
Then, "Therefore, it shall be."
Serendipity sneered. "Oh, right. All I need to do is want to flee, and suddenly I’ll be safe?"
The moment the words left her lips — her world exploded in red.
A flash. A blink. A breath.
And suddenly — the battlefield was gone.
The fort. The fire. The destruction. The figure. The death.
All of it — gone.
She stood amidst an endless pine forest.
The scent of smoke was gone, replaced by crisp mountain air. The sun hung high in the midday sky, filtering through the towering trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. The Mirathma Mountains, now far behind her, stood like distant sentinels in the horizon.
She spun around in shock, her heart hammering.
Then — her companion.
The Dracoling was beside her, just as shaken. His eyes darted wildly across the landscape, his breath short, his entire body tense with disbelief.
The two locked eyes.
Neither spoke.
Neither could.
Then —
A BOOM.
The earth shook.
From the distant mountains, explosions erupted, the force shaking the very land beneath them. The impact sent flocks of birds fleeing, their cries piercing the air as they took to the sky. The smaller beasts that had been hidden in the glade scattered, racing for the safety of the underbrush.
The force of the detonations rumbled through their bones, a reminder of whatever hell they had just left behind.
Serendipity did not know where she was.
She did not know how she had gotten here.
But something — or someone — had saved her.
And for now, at least —
She was safe.
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The Land of Ooo (Adventure Time)Conditional Categories
Context: Generally negative.
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Can Also Be Applied To: Ruined Verses can overlap with Ended, Defunct, Fractured, or Shifted Verses depending on narrative context.
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Context is provided individually in the respective categorized articles that comprise this category.
Can Also Be Applied To: Shifted Verses can overlap with Altered, Fractured, Ruined, or Defunct Verses based on context.
Prominent Examples in Media: Star Trek Kelvin Timeline (via Nero's incursion)
Loki's Timeline Fractures (MCU TVA collapse)Context: Generally positive.
Context is provided individually in the respective categorized articles that comprise this category.
Can Also Be Applied To: Ascended Verses can arise from Shifted, Fractured, Altered, or even Defunct Verses depending on the portrayal.
Prominent Examples in Media: Evangelion (End of Evangelion Instrumentality)
The Good Place Final Ascension to the BeyondContext: Generally neutral.
Context is provided individually in the respective categorized articles that comprise this category.
Can Also Be Applied To: Fluxive Verses may also overlap with Altered, Shifted, or Fractured Verses depending on the degree and nature of the flux at any given point.
Prominent Examples in Media: Doctor Who's Timeline (BBC)
The Wheel of Time Cosmology (Robert Jordan)Context: Generally neutral.
Context is provided individually in the respective articles that comprise this category.
Can Also Be Applied To: Successive Verses can arise from or overlap with Ended, Defunct, Altered, Fractured, Shifted, Ruined, or Ascended Verses depending on the nature of their transition.
Prominent Examples in Media:
The Shattered Realms of Magic: The Gathering's Post-Mending Multiverse
The Reborn Universe (DC Comics, after the events of Flashpoint and Rebirth)Context: Generally neutral.
Context is provided individually in the respective articles that comprise this category.
Can Also Be Applied To: Conditional Verses can overlap with Fractured, Shifted, Simulated, or Conceptual Realities depending on the stability and dependency of their conditions.
Prominent Examples in Media:
The Dark World (The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past)
The Mirror Universe (Star Trek, reliant on specific historical divergences)Major Categories
Sub Categories
Conditional Categories
Life
Major Categories
- Sapient Species - Any species capable of intelligent thought
- Subspecies - Any species divergent of another
- Flora - speaks for itself
- Fauna - speaks for itself
- Fungi - speaks for itself
- Microscopic Life - speaks for itself
- Esoteric Life - Life that takes a unique form within its respective Scope or Setting
- Crafted Species - Species/Race created by another
- Artificial Species - Species/Race that is defined to be "artifical" in some fashion within its respective setting
- Sub Categories
- Carbon-Based Life - *speaks for itself*
- Silicon-Based Life - *speaks for itself*
- Aberrant Life - Life that stands as an anomaly amongst others of its like within a Scope/Setting
- Amorphous Life - Life that lacks a clearly defined shape or form
- Incorporeal Life - Life having no material existence
- Immortal Life - Life/Species that are effectively immortal.
- Ancient Life - Life that has existed for long swaths of time
- Lithogenic Life - Life composed of inorganic materials.
- Elemental Life - Life composed solely of elemental structure, can be anything in respect to its Scope/Setting
- Energetic Life - Life composed solely from energy, can be anything in respect to its Scope/Setting
- Artificial Life - Life made by an individual, group, or species
- Cloned Life(?) - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Synthetic Life(?) - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Carnivorous Life - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Omnivorous Life - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Herbivorous Life - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Photosynthetic Life - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Mammalian Species - *speaks for itself*
- Avian Species - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Reptilian Species - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Invertebrate Species - (I don't like this one too much, lotta nuance, but it'll work for now)
- Anamniote spcies - (I don't like this one too much, Fish and Amphibians are different enough to warrant difference in category, but it'll work for now)
- Flowering Plants - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Non-Flowering Plants - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Bryophytes - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Algae - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Succulents - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Epiphytes - *speaks for itself* Maybe too specific, but I can see its need.
- Hivemind - A species or entity that exists as a hivemind of any-level
onditional Categories
- Terrestrial Life - Life that primarily exists on land
- Aquatic Life - Life that primarily exists in aquatic enviroments
- Aerial Life - Life that primarily exists in the air
- Glacial/Sub-Glacial Life - Life that primarily exists in glacial temps, or within ice
- Extremophile Life - Life that can exist in an environment most other life in their respective Scope/Setting wouldn't be able to
- Dominant Life - Species/Lifeforms that are the dominant species in their world or region
- Alien Life - Species/Lifeforms not originally native to a region or world
- Spaceborne Life - Life that primarily exists in space.
- Symbiotic Life - speaks for itself
- Elevated Life - A lifeform/species elevated to a higher status/state of being as result of any factor
- Extinct Species - Species tat has gone extinct
- Endangered Species - Species at risk of becoming extinct, or are nearly extinct as is
- Rare Species - Species that are not often seen in their Scope/Setting
- Resurrected Species - Species that has been brought back from extinction some how. Or, one that came about when members of an extant species, later to become one wholly their own.
- Mutated Species - speaks for itself
- Manipulated Species - Species that has been manipulated somehow, be it genetically, physically, mentally, or through deception/subterfuge
- Infectious Species - speaks for itself
- Parasitic Species - speaks for itself
- Traditionalist Species - Species that inherently follow cultural traditions and norms as an inherent facet of their being
- Subservient Species - Species that are enslaved, or put beneath another
- Invasive Species - Species that are invading a region, world, or macrocosm not originally their own in a negative context.
- Bipedal speaks for itself
- Quadrupedal speaks for itself
- Plurimorphic - Species that has any number of legs not 2 or 4