A fragment from a past not ours...
When the Malaclypse struck Aetheria, the people had only a handful of months to prepare. The best mages from all the competing courts drew together and pooled their energies, extending the time remaining enough to build generation ships--ships large enough, powerful enough, that some might survive long enough to settle a new homeland. One by one, the Radiomaster watched the ships blink out of range of the scanners, and knew it was finally time.
He'd elected to stay behind--someone strong enough had to, to hold the spells distorting the flow of time around the planet. But that time was drawing to a close, and he, along with the interwoven threads of all the spells, would be torn asunder when the planet's core exploded. Malathian, they had managed to slay, finally, but his destructive will yet moved through the very soil under the Radiomaster's feet.
He made final preparations, laying in his narrow bed in the highest tower. He had no idea how far the shreds of distorted reality would extend. He hoped, for all their sakes, it would be confined to their own star system, but--even that surety had been stripped from them with Malathian's curse.
He breathed out, slowing his heartbeat, his breathing, his skin chilling with his efforts. He had done all he could. And with one last flick of directed thought, he let go of the massed spells. A brief moment of searing pain, a sensation of shattering, and the oddest feeling of being watched, by a--cat? In the guise of a man?
Then even that was gone, and the fragments of Aetheria raced through the time stream, to land where they would.
And the fragments of destroyed Aetheria raced through the timestreams, some ending up on a place known as Tanis...
