The night was fully black, and the silence peerless. Magnus had been counting: sixty days had passed since the warden gave him one last glance and left, his footsteps echoing farther as he left the dungeon behind.

No one had since returned to see him. There had been no sound but wind and birdsong.

He was certain, as he clutched the rust-eaten bars within his fists, that the time had come to make his way out.

CLANG!

And so he did.

He vividly remembered the celestial city. It was majestic in its entirety, more so than the most luxurious of castles. For the short time he witnessed it, he felt the pillars would never fall. That the golden trims would shine forever. That the immortals would forever walk the streets...

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But it was all gone. He could still see some of the rubble. Some stones remained of what were once paths. The heavenly realm was now no more than a chunk of debris and dirt embedded upon a sea of clouds.

How much time could possibly have passed? He thought back to his life before he came here. He tried to piece together the memories of his past. His brothers of the White Fang. The tavern they'd always return to, and the sword he used to wield...

"It must all be gone, now." He whispered. "So, there's no point in remembering it."

Magnus came right up to the edge, staring down so many clouds, he could not see the ground below.

He one last deep breath. Even in ruins, the ethereal scent of this realm remained.

Then, he jumped.