Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20181211225019/@comment-30014014-20181225151346

Was he to truly walk over the distance, then he'd be place in sight of a rift rippling in a state of illusinary constitution, perpetually swirling into itself.

He'd see the gauntlet floating in stasis, its own imprint continuously seeping to a tiny shard hover in a encircling manner to it as a moon would to a planet. The latter, the source of the yellow-like liquid that seems to spill into the gate of history, a real and illusinary phenomenon eroded upon contact with the floor, further attaching its existence to the illusion of reality.

He'd witness the fabric of history yielding to the gauntlet's time of conception and lifespan leading to its entombed state, those that wore it and their lives.

He'd be in sight of all of these yielding to the boy Prad hosting a different aura holding one of his hands midair, bathed in a dim purple shade.