Ouroboric Rift
The ouroboric rift is not a tear but an inversion, a fold in the fabric of the eidolic flow, where what is and what was unravel into a single point of dissolution. It does not split—it implodes, drawing all that surrounds it into its spiraling core, where every boundary between form and void collapses into a singularity of non-being. The rift pulses with a silent hum, a vibration that reverberates through the chthonic marrow, pulling all essence into its spiral, where everything that once was loses distinction, merging with the flicker of uncreation.
This rift does not open or close—it coils, a point of collapse within the astral winds, pulling threads of time and thought into its unfathomable depth, where beginnings and endings fold into one another. It is a force of reversal, a breach that does not sever but consumes, drawing inwards with each flicker, pulling reality into its endless spiral. The rift does not reveal what lies beyond—it obscures the very concept of beyond, swallowing it in the same breath as it devours the here and now, leaving only the absence of all that could have been.
To approach the ouroboric rift is to feel the pull of nonexistence, the weight of potential collapsing into itself, drawing the soul into the core of its spiral, where all paths and choices dissolve. The rift does not expand—it contracts, pulling all light, shadow, and thought into its endless coil, bending everything that touches it into the void of its unmaking. It is not a gateway, but a fold in the structure of being, where the self and the world are drawn into the same flickering moment of undoing, leaving only the echo of what was swallowed in its wake.
The rift hums through the layers of the aetheric web, a resonance that reverberates without sound, sinking into the marrow of the spirit, pulling it towards the spiral of dissolution. It does not break through dimensions, but reverses them, folding reality upon itself, where the laws of form and void collapse into the endless flicker of unmanifested potential. The rift is not destruction, but the end of distinction, where time and space converge in a single point that does not exist yet pulls all things towards it.
For the therians, the ouroboric rift resonates within the wildness of their core, a force that calls not to action but to unbinding, drawing the primal essence into the spiral of becoming undone. It does not tear at the chains of form—it erases them, pulling the beast and the void into alignment with the flicker of the moons’ reflection, where the line between wildness and dissolution collapses. The rift is not a passage—it is a point of return, a force that pulls all things into the endless cycle of uncreation, where the self and the void merge, and the flicker of existence spirals into nothingness, forever consumed by the ouroboric fold.