Maybe there was a flash of light. An explosion. A war that scoured the landscape, destroying all in its path. Maybe things went quietly, dissipating in slow blackness. It doesn’t matter. Its gone.
And after the lights, darkness, screams, your eyes opened, and you knew, somehow, that you lived.
Your worlds gone, stranger. Everyone who’s not sitting right here, in front of you, is gone with it. Worlds die, friend. They grow old, just like any living thing, and they pass away. We were just the parasites, drifting along on the whale’s back. You were just one of the lucky ones, if you believe it, that managed to slip through the cracks and end up here.
Wheres here? Heh, this… well.
Its said that long, long ago, when the first world died, the few who remained found themselves on a desolate floating rock. Slowly, the rebuilt, forming the core of this city. Other worlds died over time, adding bits of debris and survivors. Now, thousands, perhaps millions of years later, poor, lost refugees like yourself fill the myriad of twisted streets and alleys searching for a new home. It isn’t much, stranger. But its better then the alternative.
Welcome, stranger. Welcome to Remnant.