The disorientation that came from teleportation through the fabric of space did not assault Merlin.
First, he was used to it. Second, and more importantly, the distance teleported wasn't that great.
The coppery-red-haired youth opened his eyes, his pale blue pupils scanning his surroundings.
His smile faltered ever so slightly before returning to normal.
Something's not right, Merlin thought to himself.
The sky was a perpetual slate-gray, never truly day or night. Light bled weakly through the clouds like it was struggling to exist.
No sun. No stars. Just an endless pale glow.
The air was cold and dry, but the ground was wet, warm, and soaked in… crimson.
Everywhere Merlin looked, all he could see was crimson stretched below and gray loomed above.
However, what caused Merlin to frown wasn't the appearance of the secret plane, but the unseen presence that permeated the air.
It was the presence of violence and murder.
His smile turned deeper.
