It was cold.
But it shouldn’t be. It should have gotten warmer because the Question had been asked and Answered, if only in part. Never mind that the Anointed One had come to them, or rather, a Dhaoine that lived and breathed and looked like their enslaver, had come to them. But for all that he had looked like the Anointed One, something had been off, wrong just enough to make them collectively doubt whom had come unto them.
And for all that they had been promised freedom when the Question had been asked, promised to know vengeance when the Anointed One came to them in tatters and needing aid, still they were trapped.
Still this cold unknown place held dominance over them all. Still they remained trapped here.
A loud statement, ricocheting off walls that didn’t exist and yet held them prisoner all the same. Demanding to know why time for all that it was no longer immemorial or immaterial here, still functioned irregularly and only worked to keep them enslaved.
In the distance a responding rumble could be heard, like the soft beginnings of a Storm; thunder building in intensity as the Storm it was part of marched across the skies.
As a collective they turned and faced that direction, ignoring the inconsistency of how there was a distance in a place that had walls but no walls, that had no light only unending darkness and cold.
It was cold, so cold.
But that rumbling brought with it a breeze that fought back the cold. That brought with it the warmth of hope and freedom.
And as one they laughed.