Twilight Entwined (A Maasverse Tri-Series Crossover)

Time's Rift

Notes:

It is said that the eight-pointed star is the mark of balance and harmony in the cosmos, throughout all twenty-six worlds, including time itself. The Prythian world has been without perfect balance for more than fifteen thousand years when the last starborn heir, Silene, had hidden the Dusk Court beneath deathly creatures. Now, the Court has risen again and needs a new Queen and Consort, a pair only the Mother herself could choose to birth the balance once again, this time without the destructive influence of the Asteri-or so they believe.

8 points of the star, each with an equal and opposite: male, female, life, death, flame, shadow, night, day. Twilight Entwined in perfect celestial symmetry.

The Mother has been pulling the strings of fate with near-perfect precision, even drawing two worlds together to do so. But even the best-laid plans of fate herself have a hitch or two, and it will take many admissions and heartaches to right all the wrongs of the past. Sometimes the puppet becomes the puppet-master, and things can quickly go dark without the balance of light.

For what is life without the promise of death? What is shadow without the flame to defy it? What is day without the inevitable night? What is male without his counterpart in a female? And what is fate without its inevitable conclusion?

                                                                                       * * * * * * * *

*18 months ago*

His gigantic orb of golden heat and rippling flames suddenly make way to a similar white light which seems to flow in waves around his body.

Body. Did he have a physical form? He can't feel anything to be able to move. Even the piercing pain is gone. He feels the sensation of floating, and wonders what is happening that he has a consciousness, but not a body.

It almost seems like he is trapped in a tunnel hovering through space, as if the guiding light is a track on which he glides effortlessly. Unfortunately that light and airy feeling gives way to being pulled harshly, then he was falling faster and faster and faster, the tugging in his chest—what would have been his chest?—is getting more insistent as he gracelessly tumbles without restraint, but this time sideways. Sideways? How odd.

He squeezes his eyes shut—at least he still has eyes?—and tries to remember what it was all for. Tries to recall all of the memories he had back home. The ones he made most recently, with no facades and genuine earnest. Friends. He has friends now. Rather, he had friends...until he died for them. Is he dead? Is he being teleported to the otherworld? He can only hope that his effort succeeded as a wash of sadness overtakes his form, his mind still thinking of them before time itself thrusts him upon the place he is needed the most—before everything he knows, everything he is, goes black.

.

.

.

Bright, blinding sunlight sears into his eyes as he squints and groans, his entire form throbbing. His body trembles and his shoulder burns as he hisses. The wind kicks up and chills him, as if he weren't trembling enough. Glancing down at his hands, his right one slick and covered with blood. His blood, he realizes when he presses it to his shoulder. Gods, he is still bleeding. And there is definitely a hole in his flesh—shit, he was shot.

Bleeding...why...why is he bleeding? He can't seem to remember much but pain and blinding light before it all went dark. He must have passed out. How long was he passed out? Is he dead? No...if he were dead he wouldn't still be bleeding, he would be a ghost. At least he assumes, he would be. He is...alive. Alive. How is he alive?