Voidborne:The Soul sea chronicles

Eliot Carter didn't know how long he had been in the void. Time had lost its meaning the moment he arrived. It could have been minutes or centuries. All he knew was the suffocating darkness stretching infinitely around him. He had no body to call his own, only the faint awareness of his soul drifting aimlessly through the void.

He had tried to move, to navigate, but how could one move in a place where space itself didn't exist? There were no points of reference, no way to gauge progress. His soul floated, detached, like a lone leaf caught in an eternal, still wind.

Eliot's sense of self began to shift as time passed or what he thought of as time. Memories of his old life blurred into indistinct impressions. He couldn't remember the warmth of sunlight or the sound of another voice. There was only the silence of the void, unbroken and eternal.

At some point, he realized he wasn't the same. His soul, once fragile and human, now felt different. There was a density to it, a strange resilience. He couldn't see himself, not in this darkness, but he could feel the change. His soul no longer felt like the bright, pure essence he imagined souls to be. Instead, it felt colorless, invisible, as if it had merged with the void itself.

But he didn't understand what this meant. The void had transformed him in ways he couldn't grasp, and there was no one to explain it to him.

Eliot continued to drift. He stopped trying to measure time or distance. There was only the endless void and the faint pull of something in the distance, a pull he couldn't fully sense but couldn't ignore either.

After what felt like an eternity, Eliot saw or felt something. It was faint at first, a disturbance in the void's perfect stillness. As he floated closer, the disturbance became a presence, vast and incomprehensible. It wasn't light or sound, but something different, something alien. The void was no longer empty; there was something here, something enormous.

When Eliot finally reached it, he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing or feeling. The constructstretched endlessly in all directions, a colossal shape that defied logic. It had no defined edges, no texture, no color, yet it was undeniably there. From his perspective, it was infinite, a presence that dwarfed even the vastness of the void itself.

Eliot hesitated. The construct exuded a quiet, oppressive energy, like it didn't belong even in this place. He wasn't sure if it was safe or if anything in this void could be considered safe. But after drifting aimlessly for so long, he couldn't turn away. Whatever this was, it was his only chance at finding meaning in the nothingness.

Eliot moved closer, or perhaps the construct pulled him in. He couldn't tell. As he reached its surface, if it could even be called a surface, he felt a faint resistance, like touching water. Then, without warning, he sank.

It was not a slow descent, but an immediate plunge. He sank deeper and deeper, as if the construct were an ocean, dragging him into its depths. For a brief moment, panic overtook him. He tried to resist, to pull himself back, but there was nothing to grab onto, no way to stop the descent. He was helpless, a stone falling into the unknown.

The sensation of falling didn't end. It was as if the construct had no bottom, no end to its depths. But then, suddenly, the pull stopped.

Eliot opened what he thought were his eyes. For the first time since entering the void, there was light. Dim, gray, and lifeless, but light nonetheless. He wasn't floating anymore. His soul was heavier, bound to something physical.

He realized he was lying on the ground. A strange, metallic taste filled the air, and a cold wind brushed against him. Eliot tried to move, and for the first time in what felt like eons, he succeeded. He lifted a hand or what he thought was a hand and saw that he was in a body.

The body wasn't his own. It was taller, broader, and covered in blood and scars. He felt the stiff fabric of armor clinging to his skin and the weight of a broken sword in his hand. The ground beneath him was stained with blood and littered with shattered weapons.

He was in a field. Around him, the dead lay scattered like broken dolls. The smell of death hung heavy in the air, and the faint cries of battle echoed in the distance.

Eliot didn't panic. He felt the instinct to, but it never came. Perhaps it was his time in the void, or perhaps it was this new body. Either way, he remained calm, taking in his surroundings with a sharp, calculating gaze.

The field stretched endlessly, much like the void he had left behind, but this place was different. It was alive, chaotic. Fires burned in the distance, and figures clashed in brutal combat. The screams of dying men and beasts filled the air, mingling with the clash of steel and the roar of something inhuman.

Eliot looked down at the body he now inhabited. It was strong but lifeless, the body of a warrior who had fallen in this battle. He could still feel faint traces of its previous owner, memories of rage, pain, and a desperate fight for survival. But those memories were fading, replaced by his own thoughts and feelings.

Unbeknownst to Eliot, his arrival in this universe had not gone unnoticed. Far away, in places ofunimaginable power, beings stirred.

The river of fate itself trembled, its currents disrupted by something it couldn't comprehend. These beings, ancient and powerful, felt the disturbance like a ripple in their minds. They gathered in hidden sanctuaries, speaking in hushed tones of the anomaly that had shaken the river of fate.

Some tried to deduce the cause, using ancient artifacts and forbidden spells to peer into the source of the disruption. But they found nothing, literally nothing. It was as if they were searching for an absence, a void that defied even their vast understanding.

The lack of answers unsettled them. Some theorized that the disturbance was caused by something far beyond their comprehension, a power so great that even the river of fate bowed to it. Others dismissed it as an error, a natural phenomenon they simply didn't understand.

But one conclusion united them all: whatever this anomaly was, it was beyond their control. Slowly, reluctantly, they dispersed, returning to their dwellings to watch and wait.

Eliot stood, gripping the broken sword in his hand. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the carnagearound him. The bodies of men and beasts lay sprawled across the field, their lifeless eyes staring into the gray sky. He felt no pity, only a strange detachment.

The memories of the void still lingered, shaping his thoughts. The chaos of this battlefield was a stark contrast to the silent nothingness he had known for so long. But instead of overwhelming him, it sharpened his focus.

Eliot crouched beside one of the fallen warriors, examining the man's armor and weapon. The design was unfamiliar, ornate but functional. The sword was shattered, its edge dulled by countless strikes. Whatever war this was, it had been fought with brutal determination.

In the distance, he could see figures moving through the smoke and ash. Some were human, others monstrous, their twisted shapes barely visible through the haze. Eliot didn't know who they were or why they were fighting, but he knew one thing: he was in the middle of something far dangerous than the dark void.

Eliot clenched the hilt of the broken sword and straightened. His journey in the void had brought him here, to this place of death and chaos. He didn't know why or how, but he was delighted to be alive again.