Vision of Tomorrow
Branwen floated in a vast, weightless void. The world of the physical had dissolved away, leaving her suspended in an expanse of nothingness. There was no ground beneath her, no sky above, no direction to orient herself. She felt untethered, her mind drifting like a leaf in an endless ocean. For a moment, she wondered if this was death—if the price she had paid to heal the land had finally claimed her. But even as that thought crossed her mind, she realized something deeper was happening.
The void wasn’t empty. It pulsed, alive with a presence she couldn’t see but could feel all around her. It wasn’t oppressive, but vast—so ancient, so expansive, that Branwen’s own existence felt like a speck of dust in comparison. She tried to speak, to call out, but no sound left her lips. There was no air here, no breath to push her words. Yet, despite the silence, she sensed the presence was aware of her. It was watching, observing her every thought, her every fear, and it was waiting.
Branwen’s heart quickened, though her body remained still. Was this the land speaking to her, or something else entirely? She had tapped into the deepest, oldest magics to heal the forest, but the force she now sensed was far beyond even the primal energies she had summoned. This was not the voice of nature—this was something older, more profound, like the consciousness of the world itself. A voice without words, conveying emotion and understanding through sensation rather than sound.
You have done well, child of the earth.
The message washed over Branwen like a warm tide, not spoken aloud but impressed into her very soul. It was a feeling of deep acknowledgment, of ancient gratitude. The presence recognized her sacrifice, her dedication, and her pain, but it also carried with it a sense of inevitability. This wasn’t the end. The work she had begun was far from over.
Branwen struggled to understand, to comprehend what was happening. She tried to focus, to ground herself in the nothingness, but the sensation of floating persisted, leaving her mind reeling. The presence seemed to sense her confusion, and the void around her began to shift.
The weightless blackness gave way to a shifting landscape, one that felt both alien and familiar. Shadows flickered across her vision, shapes that refused to stay still or define themselves. The air here was thick with magic, humming with an energy that Branwen had never felt before. It was a place that existed outside of time, outside of reality as she understood it. Trees appeared and disappeared, mountains crumbled and reformed in the blink of an eye, as though the land itself couldn’t decide what it was supposed to be.
As she drifted through this dreamlike world, Branwen became aware of another figure in the distance. At first, it was just a silhouette, shrouded in mist and shadow, but as she drew closer, the form became clearer. She recognized him immediately: Galen, standing at the edge of a vast chasm, his back to her. His dark robes billowed in an unseen wind, his posture rigid and tense. He stared into the abyss before him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Branwen’s heart lurched. Galen, the man responsible for so much pain, so much destruction. The leader of the Shadowbound, the one who had unleashed the corruption that had nearly destroyed the land. She wanted to call out to him, to demand answers, but her voice was still gone, trapped in the strange silence of this place.
Galen remained motionless, staring into the chasm as if waiting for something. The shadows around him twisted and writhed, alive with dark energy that seemed to pulse in time with his own heartbeat. Branwen could feel it—an oppressive, suffocating power that radiated from him in waves. It was the same darkness that had poisoned the land, the same malevolent force that she had fought so hard to push back.
But there was something else, something beneath the surface. As Branwen watched, she began to see it: a flicker of desperation in Galen’s posture, a subtle tremor in his hands. He wasn’t in control—not fully. The shadows that surrounded him weren’t his to command. They were feeding off him, using him as much as he was using them. He was not the master of this darkness. He was its pawn.
Branwen’s mind raced as the realization struck her. Galen, for all his power and ambition, was not the true enemy. He was a puppet, manipulated by forces far beyond his comprehension. The shadows that clung to him, that swirled at his feet like hungry serpents, were not his creation. They were older, darker, and far more dangerous than anything Galen could hope to control.
In the distance, the chasm rumbled, the sound like the groaning of a great beast stirring from slumber. The air grew thick with tension, and Branwen felt the ground beneath her feet—if there even was ground—begin to tremble. Something was coming. Something vast, ancient, and malevolent.
Galen took a step closer to the edge, his hands raising slowly as dark tendrils of magic coiled around him. His lips moved in a silent incantation, the words lost in the void, but Branwen could feel the power he was invoking. It was raw, brutal, and uncontrollable. She wanted to shout at him to stop, to warn him of the danger he was courting, but her voice remained trapped in her throat.
The presence that had guided her here pressed against her mind once more, filling her with a sense of foreboding. This is what he seeks, the presence seemed to say. This is the path he has chosen.
Branwen felt a surge of panic as she realized the full extent of Galen’s intentions. He wasn’t just trying to harness the shadows for power—he was trying to awaken something far worse, something that had been slumbering beneath the surface of the world for centuries, perhaps even millennia. The shadows were merely a means to an end, a tool to pry open the door to a much greater darkness.
As the chasm before Galen trembled, Branwen felt a shift in the very air around her. The shadows that coiled around him seemed to thicken, growing denser, darker, as though something beneath the surface was stirring—something far more terrifying than she had imagined. The vast presence that had accompanied her into this vision remained silent for a moment, watching, waiting, as though it, too, was holding its breath.
Branwen could feel the weight of it pressing down on her, a suffocating sense of dread that threatened to crush her under its weight. This wasn’t just about Galen’s ambition for power. He was trying to awaken something—something that should never be brought into the world. She felt a deep, instinctual fear well up within her, a primal urge to run, to escape, to get as far away from this place as possible. But she was rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze away from the scene unfolding before her.
The shadows around Galen swirled faster, coiling and twisting like serpents preparing to strike. His hands moved in precise, deliberate motions, his fingers tracing arcane symbols in the air as the dark magic surged through him. Branwen could see the strain on his face, the sweat beading on his brow as he fought to maintain control. He was barely holding on, the magic tearing through him like a wild beast, and yet, he pressed forward, driven by a hunger that Branwen could not fully comprehend.
The presence whispered again, its voice a low hum in the back of her mind. He does not understand, it conveyed, the emotion heavy with sorrow. He believes he can control it, but he is blind to the truth.
Branwen’s heart pounded in her chest as the pieces began to fall into place. Galen wasn’t just seeking power for himself—he was trying to open a door to something far darker, far older than even the Shadowbound. He was a pawn, driven by desperation and ambition, but the force he was trying to unleash was beyond his understanding. It would consume him, and then it would consume the world.
Before her, the chasm opened wider, a great maw yawning beneath Galen’s feet. The shadows that had once clung to him began to detach, slithering down into the darkness below. They moved with purpose, as though called by something deep within the earth, something ancient and unspeakably powerful. Galen raised his hands higher, his voice rising in a wordless chant as the magic flowed through him with greater intensity.
Branwen wanted to scream, to shout at him to stop, but still, no sound came from her lips. Her body remained frozen, held captive by the vision as the scene played out before her. She could only watch as Galen drew closer and closer to the edge, oblivious to the danger he was summoning.
The ground rumbled again, louder this time, and a cold wind swept through the chasm, carrying with it the scent of decay and death. Branwen’s skin prickled as the air grew colder, her breath fogging in front of her as the temperature plummeted. Whatever was lurking beneath the surface was coming closer, and Branwen knew with a sickening certainty that if it emerged, there would be no stopping it.
The presence in her mind shifted again, and Branwen felt a wave of dread wash over her. She was not supposed to see this—not yet. The vision had taken her too far, shown her too much. The power she sensed beneath the chasm was not meant for mortal eyes, not meant for anyone to comprehend. And yet, here she was, standing on the precipice of a revelation that could unravel everything.
Branwen squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the swirling shadows, the growing chasm, the dark energy that crackled in the air around Galen. But even with her eyes closed, she could feel it—the pull of the ancient force, calling to her, beckoning her to look, to understand, to see the truth of what lay beneath the surface of the world.
It would destroy everything. That was the only certainty in Branwen’s mind. Whatever Galen was summoning, whatever ancient force he sought to unleash, it would bring ruin not just to Valandor but to the entire world. The land, the people, the very fabric of reality itself—none of it would survive.
Branwen’s breath quickened as the weight of the vision pressed down on her. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t allow Galen to succeed. But how? How could she stop something that was already in motion, something that had been building for so long, hidden beneath the surface of the world, waiting for this very moment?
The presence within her stirred again, and Branwen felt a sliver of hope pierce through the fear that had gripped her. The future is not set, the presence conveyed, its tone calm and measured. The path is not yet fully walked. You can still fight.
Branwen opened her eyes, her gaze snapping back to Galen. He stood at the very edge of the chasm now, his hands raised high above his head, his voice rising in a triumphant shout as the shadows surged beneath him. The chasm pulsed with dark energy, and Branwen could feel the ground quaking beneath her feet, the very air trembling with the force of the magic.
But even as she watched, she saw it—Galen’s desperation, his fear. His hands trembled, his voice wavered, and for the first time, Branwen realized that he wasn’t fully in control. The power he had summoned was slipping away from him, spiraling out of his grasp. He was no longer the master of this magic—it had become the master of him.
And then, in a single, terrible moment, the truth became clear. Galen was no longer the threat. He was a vessel, a conduit for the greater power that lurked behind the shadows. The real enemy was the ancient force that had been waiting, biding its time, using Galen to break free from its prison beneath the earth.
Branwen’s heart raced as the realization struck her. Galen had never been the true danger—he had merely been the key to unlocking something far darker. And now that key was turning, the lock was opening, and the ancient power that had been trapped for so long was about to be unleashed.
The presence within her mind shifted again, and Branwen felt a deep sense of urgency. You must stop him, the presence urged, its tone more forceful now. The fate of the world depends on it.
Branwen’s mind reeled as she tried to process the enormity of what she was seeing, what she was being asked to do. How could she stop something like this? How could she, a single druid, stand against an ancient force that had been lying in wait for centuries, perhaps even longer?
But the presence was insistent. You are not alone, it conveyed, its tone both reassuring and firm. The future is not yet decided. The choices you make now will determine the path that lies ahead.
Branwen’s pulse quickened, her mind racing as the vision began to blur at the edges, the scene growing hazy and indistinct. She could feel herself being pulled back, her consciousness slowly returning to the physical world, but the weight of the vision lingered. The danger was real, and the stakes were higher than she had ever imagined.
As the void around her began to dissolve, Branwen’s final glimpse of Galen was one of despair. He stood at the edge of the chasm, his hands still raised, his face twisted in fear as the shadows swirled around him. He had thought he could control this power, but now it was controlling him.
As the vision continued to unravel, the last vestiges of clarity slipped away, leaving only a murky haze. Branwen’s heart pounded in her chest as the presence that had guided her through the vision faded into the distance. She was left alone, floating in a space where time and place seemed to have no meaning. The weight of what she had seen pressed down on her, and for a moment, she felt utterly helpless.
Galen was no longer the true enemy—he was merely a puppet, a pawn in a much larger game. The real threat, the ancient force lurking behind the shadows, was something far older and far more dangerous than anything they had faced before. And yet, Branwen knew that the vision had only given her a glimpse of what was to come. The full extent of the danger was still hidden from her, shrouded in mystery.
Branwen tried to focus, to grasp the meaning behind the cryptic images she had been shown, but the harder she tried, the more elusive the answers became. It was as if the vision itself was keeping certain details from her, as though there were things she wasn’t meant to know—not yet.
The presence had warned her that this was only the beginning, that Galen’s actions were just the first step toward awakening something far greater. But what was this ancient force? Where had it come from, and what did it want? Branwen could feel the weight of those unanswered questions pressing down on her, gnawing at the edges of her consciousness.
And then, without warning, the vision began to shift again. The void around her rippled, and she felt a sudden, violent pull, as though something was dragging her toward an unseen destination. Branwen’s pulse quickened as she tumbled through the darkness, her body weightless and unmoored. She had no control over where she was being taken, no way to stop the strange force that had seized her.
For a brief moment, she was plunged into total blackness—complete and utter nothingness. It was as if the world itself had disappeared, leaving her suspended in a void where even the concept of time ceased to exist.
But then, just as suddenly as the darkness had come, light began to creep in at the edges of her vision. It was faint at first, a soft, golden glow that flickered like a distant flame. But as the light grew stronger, the darkness began to recede, revealing a new landscape before her.
Branwen found herself standing in a place that was at once familiar and alien. The ground beneath her feet was solid, but it shimmered with an otherworldly glow, as though it were made of pure light. The sky above was a swirling mass of colors—deep purples, fiery reds, and vibrant golds—shifting and changing with every breath she took. It was beautiful, and yet there was something unsettling about it, something that made Branwen’s skin prickle with unease.
She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings, and her breath caught in her throat. Far in the distance, she could see towering structures rising from the horizon, their shapes twisting and turning in impossible ways. They seemed to defy the very laws of nature, their spires reaching toward the sky at impossible angles, their surfaces rippling as though they were alive.
This place—it wasn’t Valandor. It wasn’t even part of the world she knew. It was something else, something beyond the physical realm. And yet, as alien as it felt, there was a strange sense of familiarity to it, as though she had seen this place before, perhaps in a dream.
The presence stirred once more, though it was faint now, barely a whisper in the back of her mind. This is the heart of the ancient force, the presence conveyed. It lies beyond the world you know, but it seeks to break through, to reshape reality in its own image.
Branwen’s heart raced as the enormity of the revelation settled over her. This was the source of the power Galen had been trying to summon, the ancient force that had been waiting in the shadows for its moment to strike. It wasn’t just a corrupting influence—it was a force of creation, something that sought to remake the world in its own twisted vision.
The vision shifted again, and Branwen found herself moving, gliding across the shimmering landscape without taking a single step. The strange, twisting structures grew closer, looming over her like great sentinels guarding some forbidden secret. The closer she got, the more she could feel the power emanating from them, a raw, primal energy that made her skin tingle and her mind swim with dizziness.
She stopped at the base of the largest structure, its surface pulsing with a dark, malevolent energy. Branwen reached out, her hand trembling as she brushed her fingertips against the surface. The moment her skin made contact, she was hit with a wave of visions—fragmented images flashing through her mind in rapid succession.
She saw Valandor burning, its forests turned to ash, its rivers choked with blood. She saw great cities crumbling to dust, their people consumed by shadows. She saw the sky torn apart, a great rift opening in the heavens as dark tendrils of energy reached down to claim the land.
And through it all, she saw the shadows—those same twisting, coiling forms that had surrounded Galen in the vision. They were everywhere, spreading like a plague, infecting everything they touched. They were not just agents of destruction—they were agents of change, warping the very fabric of reality to fit the will of the ancient force that controlled them.
The visions left Branwen breathless, her mind reeling from the intensity of what she had seen. This was the future that awaited them if Galen succeeded, if the ancient force was allowed to break free from its prison. It would not stop at Valandor. It would not stop at the edges of their world. It would consume everything.
The presence stirred once more, its tone more urgent now. This is the future that awaits if you fail. The choice is yours to make, but the time is running out.
Branwen clenched her fists, her resolve hardening. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t let Galen’s madness bring about the end of everything she held dear. But how could she stop it? How could she fight against something so vast, so ancient, so far beyond her understanding?
The presence shifted again, and Branwen felt a flicker of hope. You are not alone, it conveyed, its tone softening. You are part of something greater, something older than even this force. The land, the world—it will stand with you. But you must make the choice to fight.
Branwen took a deep breath, steadying herself as the last remnants of the vision began to fade. The landscape around her shimmered, growing hazy and indistinct, and she could feel herself being pulled back, back toward the physical world, back toward her companions.
The vision had shown her what was at stake, but it had also shown her that there was still hope. The future was not set in stone, and as long as there was life, there was a chance to fight back.
As the void closed around her, Branwen made her choice. She would not let Galen’s madness bring about the end of the world. She would stand against the ancient force, no matter the cost.
