Shattered

Shattered

“What will it mean?” A warm, worried voice asks into the darkness. “It will be broken..” She pauses, “It has been broken.” “Our last desire was to fix this.” “The treaty is strong, if flawed.”
The dark sky rips open, blood red light flooding into the divine realm. Iris, her legs up on her throne, naturally contorted, one leg below her, the other up on the arm of the throne. “That's not good.” a wooden toy appears at her feet. “Well, fuck.”
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. A clock on the wall stops. Then the one next to it does. Then the one next to that. A hundred clocks on a wall, and they all stop, one second after each other. A cacophony of gears seizing. Sinclair's eyes turn purple.
The fingers of a water genasi and a white herengon touch.
A quill spreads ink on a page.
A child is born.
A promise is made.
A high elf stands at an ornate table, a council of the gods. “We can not allow uncontrolled access to chronomancy!”Venari saw the destruction of time magic. They all did. Laban was no more. Sinclair shakes his head, “Restricting our power, my power, would mean should anyone learn this forbidden magic, we can not fight back. We must be proactive.” “Maybe thats why we should have more than a council?” Zortgelia asks, still angling to be placed at the head of the table. “Why don't we police it?” Cosmos says flatly. “We can stop those who abuse it, and make sure it stays fair, the way it should be.” Jiao adds. The congress of the New Gods was tense, and chronomancy was the sticking point.
Water whips around the long ears of a young boy.
An old child, lost in time, strong from struggle, burys an old woman, lost in time, strong from struggle, in a dry wasteland. The correction, of a correction.
Vines grow through flesh, ripping and tearing, sweet and sticky, slow and focused. Cells break down, the flower is them, they are the plant.
Sinclair stares at a pond, its pink water reflecting his face, his chin, his cheeks, his hair but not his eyes.
Iris says “I wish we were in a happier time together.”