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Far away from that battlefield, on a different continent, in a pit that went down several hundred meters into the ground, a small crack had appeared.

This pit was riddled with bodies, some decayed to the bone, others partly turned to dust and ash. This pit was once a battlefield of its own, in a battle between forces much larger and stronger than the abnormals fighting in the Elven forests.

The surrounding land was as desolate as the sight of thousands of fossilized skeletons. The crack that had appeared at the bottom of this pit was leaking red miasma, and faint cries could be heard beyond it.

But no one was around to hear these or see the forming tear. The red miasma escaping from the crack soon reached the first nearby skeletons.

When the slithering smoke of red wrapped around the bones, it started vibrating. Soon after, the eyes glowed red, before the skeleton rose to its feet.

With its mouth clattering, it turned its head to the tear. Walking in a slow, unstable gait, it reached the edges of the crack to god knows where.

Reaching its boney hands inside it, it started pulling, the lack of muscle on it hindering its effort. But it wouldn\'t be alone for long.

Soon enough, another dusty skeleton joined it, pulling at the crack from the other side. As the number of skeletons grew, until all of them in the pit were pulling at the crack, or on their fellow skeletons, to exert pressure on it, it budged ever so slightly.

Miasma leaked out slightly faster, covering the first skeletons next to it even more. After an hour of being bathed in the miasma, the first few rows pulling on the crack suddenly cried out, with an eerie sound that shouldn\'t have existed in the first place, since they lacked vocal cords.

Some muscle seemed to grow on them, exuding the same red miasma they had been covered in. When they resumed their pulling, they were pulling with more vigour than before.

This cycle would repeat on and on for a long time. But no one would see the results of it until it was too late.

***

On a floating mountain somewhere over the lands of the elves, high in the clouds, an old hut was resting inside a large cave. This cave, dug out of the mountain by magical means, as belied the smooth walls, was filled with floating particles of white energy.

But instead of floating in a natural pattern, the particles seemed to fall like dust, before suddenly warping back up unnaturally. The whole cave seemed to repeat that same action.

The wind coming into the cave soon was sucked back outside. The waterfall next to the hut looked normal at first, until one looked closely at it, and noticed that it was flowing upward instead of down.

  Inside the small hut, an old man was reading a book, with its cover ever-changing between old and worn, to brand new and velvety. But a clap of energy, followed by a dull thump, distracted him.

Through his old wooden walls, he heard the voice of a young man.

"Ow… Where the hell am I now?"

The old man slowly closed his book, putting it on a table next to him.

\'A visitor? It\'s been so long… How did he get here?\'

Getting up, the man grabbed a large staff, with at its head a floating hourglass, that kept flipping from one side to the other.

He walked out of the hut, as the young man was staring at his waterfall.

Clearing his throat, to catch the youngster\'s attention, the young Fey man jumped up and fell into the waterfall. Getting up and pulling out a wand, the man tried putting on a brave face.

"Who are you, and why are you attacking me?"

The old man chuckled.

"Far from me the intention of startling you, young Fey. May I ask for your name?"

Seeing the defenceless-looking old man before him, the young man stowed away his wand.

"Good etiquette dictates you state your name when asking some for theirs."

"Ahh, yes. Excuse my manners. I haven\'t had a visitor in Eons, you see? There was a time when mortals called me Tyr. May I have your name now?"

"My name is Chronos. It is a pleasure meeting you, Tyr. Your name sounds familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Hmm, Chronos. What a nice name. The name of the titan of time. I knew him before he lost his mind and was imprisoned by his offspring. Strapping lad."

His rambling took aback Chronos.

\'Knew Chronos? What is he talking about?\'

"But I digress. What brings you here, young Fey?"

"I was wondering the same thing. I was exploring some old ruins, and I touched an odd-looking device. Next thing I knew, I was here, in this strange cavern…"

"Hmm, an odd device… Did I forget a warp device somewhere on the surface? I can\'t seem to remember. My memory isn\'t what it used to be, after all this time…"

Chronos was getting more and more confused. A draft of wind blasted into the cave, brushing over his wet clothes, and a shiver traversed his spine.

Seeing him shiver, the old man snapped out of his thoughts.

"Ahh, where are my manners? Let me fix that for you."

"My wet clothes? How are—"

The old man spun his staff in front of Chronos once, and the water in his clothes suddenly started pouring out in every direction, before following an odd path back to the bottom of the waterfall.

Observing closely, Chronos noticed the path the water was taking was exactly the one he had taken as he got up.

"Sir… What was that spell?"

The old man looked at him, his head slightly tilting to the side.

"Spell? I used no spell. Just my innate power."

Chronos didn\'t understand what he meant. But he was interested in learning.

"Can you teach me? I love learning new things."

Tyr looked at the young man for a bit, hesitating. But then he shrugged.

"Sure. That\'ll give me something to pass the time for a while. Join me inside the hut."

Fist-bumping the air, Chronos happily followed the old man into the wooden hut, unaware of who he was following behind.