NEVER BREAK THE CHAIN // p

High in the tall, harsh mountains of Savara stood a temple of weathered black stone, so ancient all but the spirits of the land had forgotten its existence. It was ancient, wild magic, and Auras hoped its latent power would bolster his own. He was about to face a demon in single combat with the fate of his world resting on his shoulders- what better place than this? He had resisted its mind-controlling magic for so long, but he was tired. He was fairly certain he was going to die tonight, but that didn't matter- one way or another, he was going to rid his world of this curse.

Auras, the mage, was a strange, gaunt creature. His face was worn and craggy, framed by silver-streaked brown hair, and his eyes were pale gold. He looked older than his true age of 22, but that was the nature of magic; the strain on the user tended to age them. He was tall, lean and wiry, and his cloak and robes were elegant blue and gold. He stood in the temple's half-ruined doorway and watched his enemy's approach. The demon came streaming down from the sky in the form of a churning, boiling storm cloud, streaks of lightning flashing in its wake. Beside him, his familiar- a ghostly hound with a mane of silvery light by the name of Irix- stood and watched with him. Finally, the inky smoke gathered in front of them, merging and coalescing into a shape- a vaguely human-shaped shadow, with eyes of glowing red and a long, thin ebony blade in one hand. It seemed to grin, and laughed a terrible laugh. "Draw your sword, pitiful mage, and we will settle this."

Of course, he had a sword- even with magic as powerful as his, this was still a world where a sharp blade was as valuable as a sharp wit. It was a long, fine blade inlaid with filigree of gold, and it glowed with a faint golden light that made the demon draw back in surprise. Then it growled in rage and sprang forward, and the battle began in earnest. The demon was relentless, giving Auras no chance to rest or think as he parried its slashes and blows. Irix kept to the edges of the fray, leaping in to harry the demon and give its master a moment's respite- long enough to cast a spell against the demon, blasting it with light or cleansing flame. It seemed not to bother the shadowy monster at all. Again and again the bright blade clashed against the dark, but neither could find an opening. It seemed that they were evenly matched.

But the demon had an advantage- it was a monster of shadow, and did not tire as a human would. For one split second- so briefly another human would never have noticed- Auras' guard wavered, and the demon pressed forward with ruthless glee. Ice-cold pain shot through his chest, and his sword fell from his hand as weakness gripped his body. This is it, he thought, and though he had been so certain before, the hot red blood already flowing from the slash across his chest made the knowledge of his impending death terrifyingly real. He fell to his knees with a short gasp, already gathering every scrap of magical power he had left, drawing them together with the last of his strength. The ghostly hound howled and the demon laughed. "Pathetic, just like all the rest. I thought you were going to give me a real challenge."

Then he released his spell, and everything went white.

The whiteness, the nothingness, seemed to go on for a long time. Then there was a sensation of falling, and he had just enough time to think this isn't right, we should have been destroyed, how can we be falling before he hit the ground hard.

Where was he? It was warm, and he was looking up at a blindingly blue sky. Beneath him was something soft, and around him he heard the whisper of wind through trees. His head was spinning and felt as though it was filled with cobwebs, but he closed his eyes and rolled over onto his side with a groan of pain. Where was he? What was happening? It was too much to process; just opening his eyes made him feel sick. But of course he had to open them, see where he had (accidentally) transported himself, figure out what to do. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and opened his eyes, blinking away the brightness. There was his sword, laying in the grass beside him- and standing in front of him was a person, a woman, but dressed so strangely he would scarcely have believed it. He scrambled back in surprise, instinctively drawing his cloak closed to hide his wound.

ooc: awesome, can't wait!

He could understand her words, despite her strange accent, but that did not reassure him; he was quite certain that this was some trick of the demon, to taunt him before it killed him. He grabbed his sword, still holding his cloak closed with one hand, and raised it, its point shaking. "Don't come any closer!" he hissed through clenched teeth, ignoring her questions and responding with some of his own. "Who are you? What is this place?"

A pocket knife? He had never heard the term before, but it seemed fairly self-explanatory. He was no longer certain that she was a trick- she certainly seemed fairly harmless- but he was not about to take any chances. He dropped the point of his sword slightly and let go of his cloak, holding out his hand while fixing her with an intense stare. "Yes. Give me the pocket knife," he said in a commanding tone as he tried to make sense of her other words. Mount Ester? He had never heard of such a place.

Auras took the knife and stared at it in wonder. A knife that folded up like a piece of parchment- it was a clever little mechanism, to be sure. He was still considering what he might do with it when her words hit him like a thunderbolt. The ruins of the temples- he looked to where she was pointing and was stunned to see the same crumbling temple archway he had stood under. But if it had been ancient before, it looked doubly ancient now; its runes had been worn down almost to nonexistence, and the trees and vines tangled around it.

But it couldn't be- it couldn't be the same place! He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling suddenly dizzy. Could this green, soft place be the wild, harsh mountains he had known? What had happened- what had he done? A feeling of terrible cold and dread gripped his heart. He almost didn't dare to say it, but he looked up at the woman and asked in a faint voice,

"Am I... still in the lands of the Savarine Empire?"

Forgotten for eons. The words echoed like a death knell. Could it really be true? Could the Empire he had fought for, the Empire he had been prepared to sacrifice his life for, be gone- lost to the mists of time, as dead as the crumbling remains of the black temples? All of his efforts, all the struggle and the pain- for nothing? Again came the thought- what have I done? Was this somehow his fault? It was madness- he had lost his mind, or else he was dead and this was the torture he had been condemned to for failing to stop the demon. It couldn't be real.

"It can't be," he whispered. His body suddenly felt unbearably heavy; his vision went gray as he slumped to his knees, making no effort to catch himself. It can't be... but that terrible cold feeling, that feeling of being completely alone, told him the truth that his mind could not accept.

He had failed.

His muscles tensed at her touch, but his mind was elsewhere, trying to make sense of everything he had just learned. Faded away... lost to the times... there was only one explanation that made sense, although it terrified him. That massive release of magical energy- intended to destroy both Auras and the demon- had instead catapulted him forward through time, to this strange and alien world. How far had he gone? That was the question. He had a sinking feeling that his people were as ancient to this woman as those who built the black temples had been to him.

He shook off his daze and blinked, suddenly becoming aware that she was still speaking, and that she had taken advantage of his lapse in consciousness to move closer, so close she was almost holding him as she held some sort of white thing against the wound on his chest. It was uncomfortable, but he couldn't muster the will to protest. Instead, in a soft faint voice, he answered her questions.

"I... am Auras. I am a mage, and I am here because... I was trying to kill a demon who was threatening to plunge the Empire into chaos. I..." he wanted to say I failed, I am here because I failed and now I am lost, but he felt suddenly out of breath, and horribly cold. He hunched his shoulders and gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the grass, and wondered for a split second if he was dying.

Then the feeling relented, and he looked up, meeting the woman's concerned eyes. He was shivering now, but he could not stop it. "'Twas a demon's sword that cut me, and... demon's magic that sent me here," he finished. It was only half true, but it was easier than explaining the full truth, for now.

She didn't believe him. Of course she didn't- to her he was just a story, ancient history (although it was nice to know that he was remembered). But that didn't seem important- far more important was the encouraging knowledge that in this time, there seemed to be no such thing as demons. Perhaps the one he had fought had been the last, and the strongest, or perhaps they had faded away with the magic of the world. He knew she was wrong on one count- magic was not dead. He could still feel it, all around him, but it seemed distant, weak and dormant; certainly far from the wild force he and his fellow mages had tamed for their own use, so long ago. But in a strange way, it did make sense. Perhaps the world was not wild anymore- perhaps...

Perhaps he really was going mad.

He did not know what a "hospital" was, but it was clear that they had to get off this mountain, and the prospect of walking down was highly unpleasant. But he didn't have to walk- he was a mage, no matter the strange world he was trapped in. And this would be a good way to convince her he was telling the truth.

Auras reached to his side and picked up his sword- besides being a keen weapon, it was also a magical channel, and he had a feeling he would be needing it. Then he shuffled backwards to create some distance between himself and the woman, and planted the point of the sword in the dirt between them. "Don't move," he said, once more in that commanding tone, and closed his eyes. The magic around him was weak, and so was he, but he exerted his will and drew it in, building up the reserve of power inside himself. The sharp pain in his chest did not manage to distract him- his mind overrode his body's protests. He heard a faint rumble, like a distant earthquake, and in the back of his mind a small voice asked, did I do that? but it was too late to stop the ritual; the magic was rushing all around them now, invisible and intangible, and all he could do was direct it.

Take us to Avilus, he commanded it (a gamble, but it wasn't too far, and it had been the biggest city in the world in his time- surely there must still be something there), and suddenly it was as though they were in the middle of a howling windstorm. Then they were flying through empty space, through nowhere- then suddenly they were somewhere again, surrounded by the biggest buildings Auras had ever seen, and people, and noise everywhere- but he had only a moment to take it all in. A piercing agony sank vicious fangs into his mind, and he fell with a choked cry, curling into a ball with both hands holding his head.

Above them, a bolt of lightning split the clear blue sky, and thunder came crashing after it.

He could feel her dragging him away but was in too much pain to protest. It was literally blinding; the world seemed to have gone white, and it was all he could do to keep from screaming. Then they stopped, and the place they were in seemed quieter. She was still holding him, her arms forcing him to stay upright. Then the pain began to fade.

He forced himself to open his eyes; the world swam with blurry colours, and she was still there, staring at him with intense concern. The pain had left a sense of absolute exhaustion in its wake, and the wound on his chest was still bleeding; darkness was closing in on the edges of his vision. But he still managed a weak smile at her shocked expression.

"What's... going on? I tried to tell you... and you wouldn't believe me anyway. I guess you were wrong... about magic being just a story... eh?" The last of these words were barely a whisper before everything went dark.

OOC: we can do a time skip after your post if you want!

Auras awoke slowly, confused, with the sort of headache he would normally have associated with the morning after a wine-drinking night. There were bright lights all around him, and as the room he was in came into focus he found it one of the strangest places he had ever seen. White, white everywhere; white walls, white ceiling, white tapestry draped on the walls... and he was laying in a strange white bed.

It was at this point that he noted, with great alarm, something thin and white coming out of his left arm, causing a sharp pinch whenever he moved it. That simply wouldn't do. He reached over and pulled it out, and a brief squirt of blood followed it. What had that been? He could only guess; this future world was so strange and foreign. He could only hope its intentions had not been evil. Leaving it dangling, he sat up and found a second surprise; he was dressed in flimsy white robes, though to his relief he saw his own, familiar clothing folded on a table next to the bed. He stood up, taking note of the binding around his chest as he removed the strange white robes; it had been skillfully done, which made him feel more confident that whatever the thin thing in his arm had been, it was not meant to cause harm.

He dressed quickly and efficiently, and he was just adjusting the clasp of his cloak when a door opened behind him and a woman entered the white room. She stared at him in surprise.

"Why- what are you doing?"

"I am leaving," he said simply, "but before I leave I would have my sword. Where is it?"

"I'm sorry I don't know, but-"

He sensed she would try to keep him from leaving- that she believed, as the other woman had, that he was mad. So he did not allow her any time to speak, instead taking advantage of his size advantage to simply brush past her, ignoring her protests as he opened the door and stepped out into a white hallway.

There was that residual headache, and a slight irritating itch in his wound, but as a whole he felt remarkably fine. This world may have forgotten magic, but at least their healers didn't seem to have much need for it. Now, the only problem was figuring out a way out of this white maze. He was puzzling over this when he heard a sound- like claws clicking on stone- and from a wall materialized his familiar, tail wagging, carrying his sword in his mouth.

Grinning at the unexpected boon, he knelt down and took the sword, then looked the ghostly silver dog in the eyes. "Irix, will you lead me out of here?" he asked it, and it nodded.

As it turned out, he was quite close to the exit; two doors and one flight of stairs brought him outside, but immediately he was paralyzed. He hadn't gotten a good look the day before, but now he was surrounded by people, by buildings the size of mountains, by more noise than he would have thought possible- and on the street, shiny multicoloured things, faster than a horse, and so loud-

He backed up against a wall, mind racing to take it all in. Irix whined and pressed itself against his legs protectively, ears flat against its head.