Ver heard rapid footsteps behind him, and turned around. A human stumbled around confused there, his face searching around for answers.

“Where… am I?” His gaze fell on Ver, and the movement of his legs stilled as his eyes narrowed. He seemed… wary.  “Who are you?”

Ver outstretched a hand. “A traveler. A traitor, to some. To others, a savior.” The man eyed his void-flesh with distrust. Then he outstretched his own hand and gripped Ver’s, hesitating right before contact but making it nonetheless. “Evinir Cragborn. I don’t have good experience with travelers. Or traitors.”

Evinir shifted his head to look at something behind Ver, and the antivirus turned to follow his gaze. A third figure stumbled, dazed, a couple feet away. His bulky frame was covered in a white, red and black carapace, and he held two daggers in his hands. When he saw the pair, he tensed, crouching down into a defensive posture and brandishing his weapons. A guttural Rhythm emanated from within him, like a melody.

Evinir released Ver quickly, and took a step towards the newcomer. “Welcome, Fused. Are you, perchance, a traveler, a traitor, or a savior?”

The Fused cocked a suspicious head at Evinir. “My name is Ebonaryle, and who I am is none of your business.”

“Well, that’s somewhat aggressive. I believe we are all lost together-”

“Is Belias behind this? Cause if so-”

“There is no need for violence-”

“I don’t know who Belias is-”

“What sort of being is that-”

“Put down the dagger-”

“Do not tell me what to do-”

They all fell silent. Two new figures had arrived. They were children. Well, teenagers. Youth. The pale girl gripped the red-haired boy’s arm with force, and he subconsciously placed his body in between her and the others. He was so brave, still. He was not broken yet; not completely. He was so scared. She was scared, too. She was already broken, and she would soon be brave.

The other figures all looked at the boy and girl with an odd reverence. This pair was older than them, greater, in a way they could not quite name. Even Ebon’s rhythm changed. When he asked, it was not in accusation, but veneration.

“Who… are you?”

“I’m Aytun, and this is Bea. We-”

They were interrupted once more by another arrival. A bright light covered the ground, then vanished just as quickly, revealing the floating image of a man, skin replaced with white plates, a singular oval mask in place of a face, and a gold halo over his head. The others all looked at him, and knew that he was the Youngest of them. The freshness hung over him like a sheen, not yet painted over. His voice rang out, loud and clear.

“I am Leopold, and this is not Heaven.”

Ebon laughed. The others just stared at him blankly. Then Leopold looked past them all, looked down.

“Who is that?”

They all turned to face the storm. It was a lot closer now. Then they looked down. At the foot of the cliff, far, far beneath them all, a figure faced the storm. So far down, he looked young, younger even than Bea and Aytun. His brown hair curled on his head, his features obscured by the shadow of the storm.

“He is Us.”

The figures all turned to look at the voice, the final guest. An even younger child, his hair was longer and only curled at its ends; he was notably shorter, and he seemed… sadder. Yet, paradoxically, more innocent. His voice was high, not yet cracked by the burdens that would soon descend on him, hungering for his smile. Already they had begun to feed.

He was not like the others, not even the young pair, and Ver was the first to notice and bow. “Lord Hoid Slayer.” Ebon and Evinir both fell to their knees behind him, tilting their heads. Aytun, Bea, and Leopold all stood awkwardly to the sides. They were not his creations.

“What is that?” Bea’s voice sounded loud in the silence. Hoid Slayer turned to face the wall that neared by the second. It was so, so close now.

“A new chapter.”

They were all silent.

Aytun spoke. “I’m scared.”

Leopold spoke. “Fear is a purely human quality.”

Ebon spoke. “I am no human.”

Evinir spoke. “I have lived countless lives.”

Hoid Slayer spoke. “I have authored many.”

Bea spoke. “I’ve fought so hard.”

Ver spoke. “That is what it means to live.”

He stepped forward. He was the bravest of them all, in the end. But a hand stopped him. Ver looked down at Hoid Slayer, so small, so young beneath him. And, with the slightest inclination of a faceless head, nodded. Hoid stepped in front of Ver, put himself between the wall that approached by the second and the others behind him. He trembled. Six hands rested on his shoulders.

When the Storm hit, and enveloped the lone, shadowed, figure at the bottom of the cliff, Hoid Slayer was the first to go with him. And all the others, all parts of Him, followed.