the same end, again and again
The slightest impression registered at the edge of the Watcher's awareness, as the presence of some small silent familiar can be felt when it lands upon the bed. Someone newly arrived through the aetheryte, he presumed, Hydaelyn's chosen or one of their compatriots, and he waited patiently in case they arrived seeking knowledge. It had been some few weeks since their victory over Meteion, he believed. Such measurements held little meaning to him, but the Loporrits were quite enamored of schedules and deadlines, and the chatter on their occasional visits (less occasional, now that they were seemingly permanently awake) had done much to bring him back into Etheirys's time.
The moments passed, and more followed, until they flowed around and over him, dreamlike, as they often had in the last twelve thousand years. He was moved from his reverie after some uncertain time by an awareness of patterns in movement, eddies on the tide. Nearby lunar beings had left a great lacuna in the local aether, their usual wanderings distorted as they gave a wide berth to—ah—the sundered visitor, whoever they were. Though his curiosity could no longer be piqued, it could at least be roused from its slumber, and he made his way up the stairs to the balcony outside to survey the pale dust below.
In the middle of the lunar plain, Hydaelyn's chosen slumped, doubled-over, clinging to Her old familiar.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
One of the great advantages of being the savior of Etheirys is that when you need to have a breakdown and grapple with your guilt, you can do so alone on the moon, if you like.
(one-shot, 1716 words, post-endwalker, intentionally vague and undefined wol, guilt and grief under time loop conditions)