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On the fourth night of the aurora, it changes from dancing lights to a strange, swirling maelstrom. A cold wind picks up, swirling wildly. Near midnight, the wind is strong enough to topple lighter bushes and knock branches from trees. No major damage has been done, but it is still a storm no one wants to be out in. Suddenly, the colors in the sky seem to explode. A distant echo, like thunder, rolls through the town. The aurora is gone, and so is its strange spell. The only thing that lingers are the small, colorful beads that fall from the sky like hail. They sparkle in all colors of the aurora and are never any larger than a marble. Most of them seem safe, but if you hold too many at one time you are met with the same sleepless affliction the town was suffering under the aurora.
He hated this sensation. Falling through the lights, the sounds in his ears haunting and bone chilling in their strange unearthy finality. Death was a primordial fear, and he was no stranger to fear. His own powers, the Abyss, often gave him a vast understanding of just how significant fear was in the human mind and the human heart. People fearsed the unknown. They feared that which they did not understand. Illusions, hallucinations, he was not afraid of those things on premise, but rather he fearsed what they might fortell. The visions they might unlock of show the victims of their power. Death was finality, it was the universal, the primordial and unescapable. So to fall through the illusion of a rainbow wave, to drown and sink into nothingness was not strange in a logical manner. It was a glimpse of death. It was an abyss, a loss, an end that he could command as Alum, the corrupt senshi who laughed in the face of danger and at threats of his own demise.
Dorian however was mortal, human, a rambling disjointed mind trying to make sense of his own dream as he woke with a cry, hands grasping sweat soaked bedsheets, the thunder of light and sound enchoing in his skull, the dream memory fresh and new and haunting him into his waking hours. It was a loss of control, an abyss of his own mind that he was lost in, breathing erractic and sharp. Loud gasps for air, for oxygen in an otherwise silent room.
Getting up, grimacing over his sweaty and heated skin and sheets, Dorian grunted as he stretched out, trying to rouse himself to full wakefulness, to chase away the memory of his dream not dream. The nightmare he didn’t want to name lest it have more of a hold on his mind and thoughts. Death should not control him so readily. He didn’t wish it to. It wasn’t midnight just yet but it was damn near close, and the howling winds and harsh cold outside made Dorian glad he’d invested in a space heater. Peering out his window, he watched the colors of the magic aurora borealis swirl and dance in the light, and yet- It was chaos in the sky. The colors mixing, jagged streaks of green and blue fighting against violet and pinks. His clock echoed a dull din, midnight, and Dorian;s eyes widened at he watched the scene before him. A crack of sound, of power, light flashbang in the night.
The haunting lights vanished, and beads of color scattered to the ground like raindrops. He watched them fall, heard them clatter on stone and soil and he felt a fear in his gut at the sight of it all. He was the senshi of abyss. Loss of control, unknown, darkness and nothing and everything. Yet looking at those beads of color he got the feeling he’d watched something they could not understand, could not control. It unnerved him, and with a flash of power, he changed and vanished to the comfort of the rift.
