The small company camped out in the old tower block until morning when, the sun bore into the centre of the sky with burning determination.
As each member of the group awoke, they found the stitcher alert and awake overlooking the city beyond their small dusky room.
The collection of rooms that they had made their base was an apartment, the carpet was damp and stained, and the walls displayed little paint behind the moss. Little furniture remained and what did had been torn apart to create their fire the night before. Despite being well ventilated by the gaping smashed out windows, the room was thick with the scent of stale smoke and burnt wood. The ember kissed fire sizzled slightly still in the centre of the room.
“Today we will meet with an old friend of mine, they will enlighten us as to what happened here all those years ago.” The stitcher spoke, not altering his gaze.
“I don’t understand. Why can’t you just travel to the period of time that the event occurred in to find out for yourself?” Grey asked
“There is a great deal to understand about time imprinting. There seems to be a lot of activity in the quantum time tectonics of that period of time until just recently. This is the first period of time since the event that I have been able to project myself into. Something caused such a disruption 224 years ago that I’ve not been able to come here before now.” The stitcher looked back into the room, where everyone begun to gather around. There were six of them. Grey, Wynd, an older girl with dark hair and three men that seemed to be the same species as Wynd, only the colours of their skin was distinctly duller.
“So something has prevented anything from coming here to help us for all that time?”
“It would seem that way.”
The group moved out and started to travel through the rustic streets of London. It seemed quieter during the day and the stifling heat made the silence stronger.
The sun rose quickly and the group said little as they headed down the deserted streets of an old London. They knew they weren’t the only survivors on earth, there were plenty. For the most part they stood their ground on old farmsteads, deep in the countryside away from the terrors of city night. Others like Grey’s group travelled and scavenged to survive.
“We need to travel to the riverside, Emily, an old place where two towers straddle the waters.” The stitcher spoke to the older girl with dark hair.
“I know where you mean, but there isn’t any water there.” Emily replied and begun to lead the group.
The pack travelled out west along what used to be the Thames. Black sands flowed slowly downstream, small grains tumbling over one another.
The city looked run down and forgotten, concrete buildings were flooding with overgrown weeds and exotic glowers, trees had burst out underneath old automobiles. One tree in particular had tooted through the base of an old Ford; the branches had slowly pushed the car into the air over a hundred years. Certain limbs crawled out of the car windows and seemed to explode out towards the light. Birds nested in the mossy exhaust pipe, a long since redundant car part.
The group approached Tower Bridge. It looked black and sullen over the dark river. On it stood a figure dressed entirely and perfectly in white. The character seemed completely unfitting to the setting.
“Inochi!” the stitcher approached his old friend and smiled.
“stitcher, I’ve been waiting some time.” The voice was soft, elegant and female.
“I apologise, but as I’m sure you’re aware there have been disturbances in the Texture.”
“I am aware. I gather that you seek to extract information of the event from me?”
“Yes. Wynd is skilled with a high level of reading lost and damaged memories.”
After brief introductions, the experiment was underway.
Wynd had the unique ability to imprint herself into thought and memory energy, giving her the potential to be present in someone’s memory, even if she wasn’t originally there.
“Please, relax, this won’t take a moment.”
Inochi seemed completely calm as Wynd closer her eyes.
Humans ran and screamed. London looked different here. Full and busy with life. Terrified life.
Black creatures climbed the walls of buildings, across the glowing plasma screens of Piccadilly, down the tiled tube station tunnels.
Wynd stood in a crowded street, humans ran past her. Something shook the buildings, they seemed to tremble, tremulously. In the sky something exploded, there was some kind of struggle, between two Godlikes she thought. Could it be the stitcher? She had never felt the Texture bend and contort so much before, even when the stitcher passed through time before her.
Wynd looked around. She wasn’t alone. Other non-humans were there, staring up at this colossal battle in the sky, and massacre in the streets. Other Godlikes stared up too. Amaterasu, Nyx, Horus. The kings and queens of all eternity had gathered to watch as two titans battled over this vast populace. The Texture rocked and twisted violently, tears formed, pockmarks in the very fabric of the universe. The splits revealed these dark monsters, black as night, familiar to Wynd.
They were the Nekura, night predators, Dream-eaters. They gushed forth from the searing black holes and fed on the darkest dreams of the humans, feeding their fear. By the hundred the humans perished.
Wynd stumbled backwards, her hands no longer clasped to Inochi’s head
“Wh- who were they?” Wynd stuttered, shaking.
“I don’t know.” Inochi replied calmly, though her forehead was laced with cold sweat in a spider web of concern.
“What did you see?” the stitcher asked.
“The birth of the Nekura, and something even more terrible, something undreamt.” Wynd collapsed to her knees, her body quivering “I think they were Godlikes and they were contorting light, dark, space and time to alter the Texture, in attempts to destroy each other. But they only succeeded in changing earth and destroying the human race.”
“So we still don’t know who is killing wing walkers?” Grey looked around.
“It would seem that way.” The stitcher sighed. There were so many elements to this puzzle missing, but he could piece together some of it. Two Godlikes fighting, that certainly explained the shift in quantum tectonics. But what of the wing-walker assassinations? Were they political? On part of some Godlike cold war?
“I think we must travel to see Ra.”