Passage through Mobius - Tor

You're standing on a hill of yellow grass. It's autumn, but autumn in this part of the world doesn't mean colorful leaves and a chill in the air, but rather temperate weather and a less humidity. The hum of a Blight containment pylon drones in your ears. Your tattoo is screaming at you, warning you of the toxic landscape nearby, but you push it to the back of your consciousness.

You knew where you were the instant you arrived. You remember every detail of this day. The still air, overcast sky, dead grass. This was a sad day, but at least you know what to expect. You turn your back on the Mage Blight and sure enough, there you are, a slightly younger firbolg with a dying man in his arms. You watch him walk sullenly to the edge of the barrier and lay the man down gently.

Solas lies there, a shadow of the scholar he once was. Deep wrinkles line his face and his emaciated body is using what little strength it has just to breathe a few, raspy breaths. His eyes dart around but you doubt he sees the firbolg kneeling beside him.

"Runescrivener, are you there? I think I've figured it out, old friend. I can heal the Blight, if only I had my tools," Solas murmurs, inaudible from this distance, but you can hear the words in your mind as you watch his lips.

"I know you could, Solas, if only you had more time..." the firbolg manages to utter back.

The man on the grass opens and closes his mouth a few times before finding his voice again: "I must leave you now, to finish my task. I will never forget how you cared for me when I took ill, my friend. This is goodbye."

"So it is."

The firbolg kneels there for minutes that feel like hours, carefully watching the body that was once his friend. Solas had died on the journey to this place. Whatever echo had been left behind in his mortal shell is fading quickly to make way for something more sinister.

Suddenly Solas' eyes fly open and focus on the firbolg with razor sharp intensity. The corpse's hands raise to wrap around Tor's throat. Tor closes his eyes as a final tear rolls down his cheek. He stands up and with a decisive kick, he sends the body rolling down the hill and into the Blight, where it would be safely contained. He looks down at his feet for a few moments before turning to you.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that again. Tell me... did it hurt any less with distance?"

"We are as you are, a firbolg. We are similar but distinct. One day we will be one and the same, along with all other life on your plane, including our many old, lost friends. You will enjoy it. It's a peaceful existence. I enjoy it, anyway. And perhaps, one day when the Blight is healed, we can return here to give him a proper burial."

The sensation emitted by your tattoo ramps in severity and a whiteness leaks into your vision from the edges of your eyes, slowly blinding you.

You wake up.