Umber

In the absence of the multiverse, new and mysterious players emerge from the power vacuum. (af)

As you step through the portal, you seem to lose all sensation in your body…time seems to fade away, your sight dims to nothingness, the feeling of life seems to drain from your limbs. You see, in your mind’s eye, a transparent sphere surrounded by an octahedron surrounded by a polyhedron of unknown immensity. This structure is bisected by nine planes stretching out into the trackless void that surrounds the confusing shape. There is a familiar outline, like that of a constellation or a child’s game of connected dots, on each of the planes…is that the outline of a bird or river or perhaps a snake you notice? You cannot be certain, as the shapes are indistinct…

A voice speaks inside your mind…a ghostly voice, one of great sorrow and great joy in equal parts, if such a thing can be.

“It is time for you to choose. It is required, even though you are not certain where the choice will take you.”

“Not making a choice is also a choice.” The voice gains timbre and depth, roughness and incisiveness.

“The World abhors a vacuum.” The voice is cajoling and capricious, like that of a needy child. “You must choose.”

“The mark of destiny is upon you, child.” It is the voice of your favorite grandfather.

Wind Blows, and reveals all things.
Fire Burns, and yet gives life.
Water Flows, and nurtures all things.
Earth Endures, and conceals.
Time Is, and Will Be.
Light Illuminates, and blinds.
The Void Exists, yet does Not Exist.
Chance happens.

The voice changes as it speaks this bit of doggerel to you…timbre and tone, pitch and volume…the howl of a wold of the sound of the sea wavers in the background.

“What is your choice?”