Dimensions cracked and weaved together. Worlds split, reformed, then split again. Strands from realms beyond our knowledge swirled into a massive storm. Time was an illusion, and I, its master. I rode this storm with burning red intent. At last, the power I seeked was within my grasp. However, before I could reclaim what was mine, the tides began to change.
This shift came not from the storm’s conductor, but rather from the tempest itself. They reached for me. Tens. Hundreds. Thousands of hands. Arms within arms, splitting. Grasping. My power was great, but their numbers were far greater. Overwhelmed, they began pulling me down into the storm. I saw their faces – all pained. All familiar. These children were my victims. Did I feel sadness for them? Regret?
No. Only anger – hatred that what was mine was once again being taken from me. I woke up in a panic. It was all a dream, yet it felt so familiar… Is this who I am? If so, why…?
Leave a Reply