Planeswalking in Circlesby Tevish SzatStatus: Public
Morgan arrived on another plane, Larasa at his side, their hands linked. It was the same as before, just like it always had been
“Ar-Pharisid.” Larasa said. By the violet sky with its emerald sun, she was correct.
“No matter how many times,” Morgan said, “Taramir eludes us. Ar-Pharisid, Shang Rasoul, Idylmir, Xantaru, or Norshan – that’s where we always end up.”
He sighed, “We both felt it, the world falling away underneath us, the mountains tumbling down into… nothing. No Planeswalk since then has ever felt like that fall. Maybe it’s because it was our first… maybe there’s something in our way, that keeps shunting off to these neighboring worlds…”
Morgan’s mind raced. As much as he had learned on Taramir and in the planes in general, the mechanics of Dominia were not, in large part, among them. He had heard of the Shard of Twelve Worlds, whispers of something called the ‘planar ceiling’ on some far-off plane… but he wasn’t sure if either of those would feel like this. There was the literal conclusion, of course, the one that had been natural, had occurred almost immediately: the conclusion that their world had ended, and there was nothing left to go to.
But they had tried. And Morgan told himself for Larasa’s sake that they would keep trying. She hadn’t been alone in the darkness – she had had friends, and a family in the Grand Fortress, and he couldn’t tell her she’d never see any of them again.
“I don’t know.” Larasa said, “But whatever it is, whether Taramir is vanished or just lost to us, I think Dominia is telling us something.”
“What’s that?”
Larasa shifted her hand, and twined her fingers with his, holding on for the bond that gesture represented, not for dear life in the depths of the Blind Eternities.
“The two of us?” she said, “We’ve been shown these worlds, full of light and life. I think Dominia is telling us to live.”
Morgan turned, and held Larasa close. When dusk fell, they left Ar-Pharisid behind. They never tried to return to Taramir again.