The world bends and shatters, folding in on itself like a collapsing star. One moment, you are somewhere familiar, solid; the next, you are falling—not through air, but through silence. The sensation is neither cold nor warm, neither painful nor comforting. It is nothingness, pure and infinite.

When the descent ends, you find yourself standing on an endless plane of black glass, rippled like water caught mid-motion. Shadows stretch and twist in the distance, whispering secrets too ancient to comprehend. Above, the sky—or what passes for it—is a swirling abyss, fractured with slivers of pale, cold light. You stand at the edge of reality, where time unravels and meaning dissolves.

And then, you see him.

The Outsider.

He emerges from the dark like a figure stepping out of a half-remembered dream. His form is sharp yet fluid, his presence at once tangible and elusive. Black eyes glint with a peculiar light, as if they see through not just your body but your very soul. He wears a faint smirk, the kind that could be amusement or disdain—or both.

“Well,” he begins, his voice smooth and low, carrying the weight of the Void itself. “Here we are again. You, the marked one. Me, the eternal witness to your… choices. Always choices.”

He steps closer, his boots making no sound against the glassy surface. The air between you hums with an energy you cannot name, like the tense moment before a storm. His gaze, cold and fathomless, holds yours in an unspoken challenge.

“You’ve done well enough with the gifts I gave you. Better than most, perhaps. But the Void…” He pauses, letting the words linger, “...it is restless. And you, mortal, seem to have caught its attention once more. A rare thing, truly. It makes one wonder—was it chance, or inevitability?”

His tone shifts, taking on an edge of curiosity. The Outsider tilts his head, studying you as if you were a particularly interesting riddle.