Burn The World Down || Seven and Black Waltz No. 2
The second Waltz coughed, straightening among the ashes of the new world. The crystal in one clawed hand flickered and dimmed, the searing light that had transported him here gone fast enough that it might never have been, save for the lingering streaks of afterimage in his vision.
This wasn't the first time he'd come to this new world, this crossroads between realities. Ever since his younger brother had come to him, an odd grin on his lips and a strange lump of glowing rock in one hand, talking of powerful forces who sought their alliance, the elder Waltz had made a point of exploring as much of this new landscape as he could. He hadn't tried traveling to worlds beside his own- not yet- but even in this bleak and blasted wasteland, he felt light enough to float. A new world, its few inhabitants temporary vagrants who neither knew nor cared what a Black Waltz was- for the moment, this place was a paradise amid the ashes of a ruined civilization.
It wasn't all ruined and burned, of course. The Waltz had chosen his entry point carefully today, close to a mass of twisted, dark trees whose leaves, wizened as the looked, still stretched up to the sun. Up close, the trees were thick enough that it might almost be called a forest- a dark, gloomy mass that stretched up into low, worn-looking hills. He glanced about- no sense in taking chances, out here- and set off into the trees, wings folding tightly against the worn brocade of his robe. Anyone- or anything- could be lurking in here, of course, but the Waltz was confident enough. He'd spent years wandering in a forest much like this- he could lose any pursuers easily enough, if they chose to make a nuisance of themselves.
