The world on the other side was a place of quiet, ticking melancholy. They stood on a vast, intricate plain of interconnected brass gears, all turning in a slow, silent, and impossibly complex rhythm. Above them, a massive, clockwork sun hung in a sky of tarnished silver, its own internal gears grinding with a slow, tired sound, its light a dim, coppery glow.
"Well, this is… depressing," Elisa commented, tapping one of the massive gears with her warhammer.
"The world's primary power source is failing," Vexia stated, already analyzing the faint, magical energy in the air. "The entire reality is in a state of slow, entropic decay."
They saw the people then. They were humanoid, their bodies a strange fusion of pale flesh and intricate, clockwork limbs. They moved with a slow, joyless purpose, their faces blank, their eyes empty. They were just cogs in a great, dying machine.
"They've forgotten how to dream," Serian whispered, her heart aching for them. "They've lost all hope."
