Cradle AU

Nameless

Consciousness was a funny thing for the construct who laid in the Dream Well. He was alive, that much was clear, and he had five years worth of memories. Except all of the memories were the same, he sat here in the Dream Well for all of his existence. There were memories from before he became self-aware but those were different. They weren't as substantial as the ones from after he'd realized he could think. Although, at least those memories included other people. The other people weren't that nice, but they were better than nothing. Without those half-memories he would never know people even existed!

People were the one thing that kept him company during the lonely years he spent rusting at the bottom of the Dream Well. He imagined the first person he'd meet, the conversation he'd have with them. His fantasies usually included some scholar finding him, having a very intellectually stimulating conversation with them, and the wise visitor would realize his worth and take him away from here. Unfortunately those were only fantasies.

That led to another problem, he had no idea what the outside world was like. Things like the sun and summer skies were foreign to him. He only knew of such things because they were mentioned by others who had entered his room. A lot of his knowledge on this topic was imagined. He had honestly no idea what a horse looked like, but he'd imagined it many times.

He thought about these things as he awaited the slow-coming, yet inevitable death that was creeping upon him. He first became aware of his own mortality when the first spatial cracks began to form on the doorway. Ghostwater was collapsing and after a few weeks he had given up on anyone coming for him. So he sat in the Dream Well, the place he was born and, evidently, the place he would die. Recently the cracks had begun to grow faster and faster. By his estimates, the world was minutes from destruction.

It was an interesting feeling, knowing you only had minutes to live. Add on top of that watching death slowly move towards you, and it makes a very complex emotion. He felt grief and sadness (emotions he did not enjoy) over the lost life he could have had, but also a feeling of peace knowing there was nothing left to do.

Hold

The voice echoed throughout the pocket world. Immediately the cracks froze and the world began to knit itself back together. He knew that voice, it was the only person who could save him now.

"Master Northstrider!" he desperately called out, "Please, help me!"

The Monarch either didn't notice or didn't care, and left the world after a few moments. The cracks came back full force. The Well began to break, torn apart by the collapsing space. The vibrant purple water that had been stockpiling for over 50 years rushed out onto the floor, some falling into the cracks. Fractures kept growing, tearing into his physical construct. He flew out of the construct in one last, futile attempt to escape death. Through the terror, his last thought was of how sad it was that he was going to die nameless.

In another timeline, another world, he was Dross, prototype Abidan presence and the culmination of Northstrider's greatest work. He bonded with a human, growing with the human and saving him from death on multiple occasions. He was able to craft illusions strong enough to influence a Dreadgod.

But without his human, the friend he had come to cherish, he would never escape Ghostwater. He would be torn apart by collapsing space, worthless, discarded, and alone at the bottom of a well.