The tide draws in on a beach at dusk. In the rust coloured cliff face. An opening appears lined with jagged pink crystals. tabaxi stumbles through this opening, falling to her knees, staining the sand red with blood. In the rambling city of Avondale, a locks it on plays chess, she has yet to find a worthy opponent so plays against herself as she is about to knock the king down. A tremor shakes the earth and the pieces are strewn across the floor. A creature that is not quite a Dryad wakes in a sleepy desert town. They find it deserted, and almost tripped over the remains of two bodies. Their faces scarred beyond recognition, a pale shard of quartz grasped in both hands. Nestled between ancient dormitories and shiny new builds a tiefling researches by candlelight, the object of her focus, a wilted Larkspur effortfully the flowers revive not reborn, but reversed the blooms pulling life back from the hands of time.