[ when the last of his vision fades to dark, so too does the world around him fade to nothing, leaving only the ache of his battered, broken body — an ache that gradually descends into cold, colder still, leaving no comfort in its wake save that of oblivion.

but this oblivion does not lead unto eternity. though his senses remain dulled, blunted by what should have been a sure death, gabranth yet sees a light before him, and a path he cannot help but follow.

home, says the feeling newly burgeoning within his breast. home is here, it cries in desperation. only one place has ever been home to gabranth — to the man once known as noah fon ronsenburg — and it burned so, so long ago. but the scent carried on a sudden breeze is unmistakeable, as is the rustle of unseen leaves; if he stretches out his hand, he feels as though he might grasp something of his homeland. ]

Where... [ but is that the question he truly wants to ask? ] Why?

[ why, he asks of no one and nothing in particular. nothing save the light before him, or perhaps another at his side. ]

[ though gabranth's body is slow to wake, all at once does the sensation come crashing down upon him: the overwhelming crush of his surroundings, blinding and overwhelming him in turn. this cannot be the embrace of death, he realizes; it would not cling so tightly.

he fights, and he struggles, and he perseveres — and ultimately he wins free, punching through the outer shell and tearing it apart until he has enough purchase to pull himself from the chrysalis. he gasps for air, his lungs burning from the effort, and stumbles forward to collapse upon the cavern floor. his limbs shake from an exertion he hasn't known in many long years; he can scarcely catch his breath before he lifts his head to better look at his surroundings.

crystal, in such multitudes that he cannot help but wonder if he hasn't ended up in the afterlife after all; crystals of all shapes and sizes, some broken and glistening, others with shadowy shapes moving inside them. after a moment of stunned, gawping silence, he looks down at himself, to check for any evidence of vayne's assault — to check for the evidence that he had been killed — and while he does find a number of scars that were most certainly not there before, he also finds something rather more surprising than that.

gabranth raises a still-trembling hand to the crystal now embedded in the dead center of his chest — just where he'd been struck by one of vayne's many magicked blades. had it left something of itself behind in his flesh? had the blow been so strong as to send him elsewhere, far from the sky fortress' reach? what is happening? why is any of this happening?

though his legs still shake, gabranth slowly, steadily pushes himself up to his feet, leaning on another crystal formation for support as he goes. a cold draft suddenly bites at his damp flesh, and only then does he realize his nakedness — but he can't let himself be preoccupied by such a thing, not when there are too many questions burning inside him. he needs to find someone who knows what's going on, and he needs to do so as quickly as possible. ]

[ it hasn't been easy, biding his time for so long as a prisoner in captivity, and that difficulty is evident in the purple bloom of healing bruises up the side of gabranth's face and along his jaw. still, all the better if his guards are lulled into thinking he's learned his lesson...for now.

he's careful in his exploration of the ruins, never straying suspiciously far out of sight as he gradually commits the space to memory; he marks well each pillar, each crumbling structure and the lines of sight they block, to what little he can glean of the woods surrounding them, to which path might afford the least obstruction on a blind run. he's careful — but he can't afford to be too careful, as he learns when he hears of a ritual space and can only wonder what might follow after.

so he bides his time, and keeps a keen eye and ear out for any potential allies. he waits by one of the ruin walls, leaning back against the weathered stone, eyes closed as though he might be napping, and waits for one of his fellow captives to draw near. ]

We haven't much time remaining, it would seem.

( got an idea for something else? feel free to hit me up at futuristics so we can chat about it! )