#cause things in the living world season will change
Imagine if PoF had happened before HoT. Mainly, imagine Trahearne coming off the ship, to find the Commanders body after the departing. Imagine him dropping to his knees with an earth shattering keen as he finds them, twisted beyond recognition, burned to a lump, and swears to the shattered armour that he will show that impostor of a God what real fury looks like.
Imagine his reaction when the Commanders chest stretches with breath, as they gasp and choke as they come to. As he cradles them as they ask about Aurene and stagger to their feet, him holding them up as they did for him in Orr
Damnit Sole!
Kasmeer teleports them to the smouldering and smoke covered pillar of rock and the first thing that greets Trahearne is the colour of dark grey smoke.
The second thing to greet him is the smell.
Thick and choking.
Tear summoning and gag inducing.
Stomach turning and hope plummeting.
The smell of spilt and burnt blood, of overcooked flesh and meat, of melted metal at too high of a heat, of hair caught on fire.
He weezes as he steps away from the teleportation pool and the sound of beating sap drowns out Rytlock’s whine, drowns out Kasmeer’s gagging, drowns out Canach’s swearing, drowns out Vlast’s cry as the Dragon lands.
And for a second, the smoke clears.
The last thing to greet Trahearne is the Commander.
Near ripped in two, charred black skin cracked into tiny sections, hair burnt away, splayed out over blood soaked sand and eyes open but unseeing.
He doesn’t remember screeming.
He doesn’t remember stumbling over.
He doesn’t remember his knees hitting the mixture of sand, glass and blood.
He does remember throwing out one of the few group healing spells he knows.
He does remember gently laying his hands on the Commanders’ cheeks, trying to get unseeing eyes to focus on him.
He remembers thinking “I can raise the dead.”
But after Elona, after the stifling suffocating heat and the shifting of sand underfoot- the smell of smoke and burnt flesh, smooth glass under your fingers-
The Commander, knelt above a body, caldabogh buried to its hilt in flesh. You never miss after all. Maguuma is a writhing mess of colors and rot around you. You don’t notice.
You wait for him to wake up. For him to sputter awake, gasping and choking, chest stretching, that familiar orange and purple glow lighting up the grooves of his skin. You wait for him to smile at you and call you his Commander again.
You wait for a very long time.
(Canach pulls you to your feet and holds you up and away, and it’s not the same.)
You’re trecking over the sand and rock of the Silverwastes chasing after Caithe who ran off to an unknown location with the Dragons Egg -with Vlast’s younger sibling- when the communicator Taimi made crackles to life.
You wince at the sudden noise and it takes you a few seconds to register what the noise is.
Screams and panic.
Orders and fear.
Wood and metal being torn apart.
People choking on blood and lack of air.
Claims of betrayal.
The “In coming!” from Logan.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Your heart rate picks up and shakily, you activate your communicator and you start running through names.
Taimi.
Kasmeer.
Marjory.
Rox.
Braham.
Eir.
Logan.
Zojja.
Rytlock.
…Trahearne…
You get no answer.
