black hole sun ; won't you come [open]

It was the earliest hours of morning, though one could hardly discern such.

The dwindling vestiges of reddened light licked across the barren veinage of a sullen canopy, sprawling chill of curling darkness briefly interspersed only in jagged intervals of shuddering illuminous drabness as one made to march through the terrible silence of the addled lands. The shambling procession that ailed its way home across grime-riddled snow and sludge was that of a funeral in more ways than one; the death of the flesh and the death of the spirit, unified in one and intertwined in the unending embrace of knowingness. Jaystar had not spared a singular glance back throughout the duration of the frigid, adrenaline-waning journey, but instead kept his gaze fixed upon the familiarity of where he certainly knew the camp was to reside, enshrined within the wilting protection of a frost-laden island.

Leaving behind such ghosts, known and unknown alike, held little regard within the cavernous fathoms of his jaggedly pieced together heart, but it was wholly more preferable to the eye-rolling individuality complexes he'd undoubtedly be subjected to within moments of arrival. The dying currents of adrenaline swarming beneath his unkempt pelt still buzzed with an unrelenting fury, lending him the wherewithal to exhibit additional speed in the ever-quietening of the march. Uncaring for the ghostly pallors and gazes that lurked throughout the entirety of the venture home, Jaystar promptly descended upon the agitated silence of the habitual island with all the grace and serenity of a seasonal flood meant to uproot all that which unable to change. Those who had managed to accrue a certainly dismal amount of rest amidst the very blatant signs of misgivings and poor fortunes could easily awaken to a world tilted upon a secondary axis.

The liminal light of the late hour rendered Jaystar down to a singular, smoky outline against the hard cut of the ancient ceremonial seating held by so many of his kin. "Let all cats old enough to catch their own fish gather beneath the Willow Branch for a Clan meeting!"

Perchfall was almost surprised she had even made it to camp. It felt like her heart, pounding under the weight of all the many tumultuous emotions that had been forced upon it in the past hour or so, would give out under the stress at any moment. And yet, mostly by leaning on Ashflight and taking comfort from his presence, she had arrived. Somehow. Moving from one nightmare to another.... Even thinking about what had transpired made her feel near panicked enough to dash off like a mad cat into the forest and run far away enough to never return. The gray tom and Poppypaw were the only grounding presences. Light blue eyes, normally the only way to see her emotions, felt completely blank and glazed as she stared forward into nothingness, following the retresting, smoky form of Jaystar. Jaystar... how could he? Even following her thoughts down that path of shock and disgust led her to remember the other terrifying images of the Gathering. So she forced it all out of her head. Mindless, stumbling, breaths subdued but hyperventilating, the deputy finally made it to RiverClan camp.

Their fearless and inscrutable leader leapt immediately to the Willow Branch. Of course, he would have something to say. He had better have an explanation. He had better show us why he did this. He... These monsters... Has he always been one of them? Was it all a lie? Screwing her eyes shut for a moment to ward off the ever-present spiraling thoughts, Perchfall took in a deep breath-- smelling the night air, the river mud, home, mixed with the terrifying underlying stenches of blood, death, unimaginable horrors-- and finally stepped away from Ashflight and Poppypaw. Her eyes turned to her dear friend momentarily. "I have to see what will happen," she whispered, anxiety threatening to crack through her neutral, responsible voice. "I have to take my place beneath the Branch. For now. Will you-- look after Poppypaw? Please? Just for now. I hope we can make some sense of all this.... And you be good, too, Poppypaw. Stay with him." She was trying her best to remain calm. But oh, StarClan, her fear was threatening to jump out of her eyes and take her soul with it. Everything was dark. Not just external dimness by lack of moon and stars, barely touched with the faint threat of morning; inwardly, her mind kept falling into the deep and bottomless pit that seemed to be filled with all the absences of light that the world held. Yet she was deputy. Yet she had duties. "Please." And with that, and a final, furtive touch of her nose to Ashflight's, Perchfall went to sit by the base of the Willow Branch, looking as calm and collected as she had never, ever felt.

Beaverpaw.

That was the only name that echoed out in her head throughout the tread back to camp, and she allowed herself to grief as she blended in the crowd, eyes somber and dull. She'd promised to protect them— and yet, it was too late. With a flash of claws and teeth, Beaverpaw's life was taken in front of her eyes, by another apprentice. One that made her grit her teeth, and was known to her by the name Softpaw. Yet, despite their name, their actions were anything but. Both her apprentices were taken away by such forces she couldn't control. Though Mintpaw— now Mintpool  grew, something in her doubted the way ThunderClan has taught her previous apprentice.

Yet, for now, she remained dejected, fur bristling each time the horrid memory occurred in her head. Observing as cats began to gather underneath the Willow Branch, she too joined them, paws wistfully digging underneath the snow.

The recently-made warrior stood anxiously by the entrance of the camp. The stars being hidden behind a black blanket of night, the smell of death on the frosted breeze, it had all shaken him. Nightfall had felt the inklings of a nightmare, lurking at the edges of his sleeping mind like a lurking fox seeking a quick meal.

When this sense filled him, a tom who already had trouble sleeping at night, he swiftly ended ups staying awake, the urge to stand guard in the camp, specifically in front of the nursery, filling his muscles. He had sat there,s tiff as a soldier standing at attention until the sun began to peak over the smoky horizon, bathing everything in red.

Upon seeing the procession enter the camp, Greynose's claws had dug into the frost-infused soil below, but he didn't rush forward, watching everything, instead, from a distance. The smell of death, of blood, of fear was following the line of subdued cats, and without even noting the shadowy vestiges lurking in the corners of his vision, he knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

The warrior glanced briefly in the nursery, the memory of guarding it for his injured, fading mentor striking him and making a frown curl down his previous carefully-impassive vistage. He stood at the call, though cautiously stalking towards the willow branch and looking up towards the now faintly ominous silhouette of their leader. His usually lethargic gaze was sharpened with a creeping sense of paranoia that seemed to coil down his bones like a slithering serpent. He felt as he did when he awoke from his nightmares, afraid, defensive, and charged with the sense that he needed to fight something attacking him... or he'd die.

None of this showed on his soft face though, instead, the emotion lining his very posture. Something was wrong, and he had a feeling that he was about to regret being made a warrior in this time period.

Despite all of this, he stood firm, claws now sinking into the frozen mud below his white paws. He'd be fine... he just had to follow Jaystar's lead. After all, he was a warrior of Riverclan, and he knew that when he got that title, he may end up facing the true horrors that lie hidden behind the shifting sands of time.

Something was in the air, an ever-present feeling of wrongness but Greynose had no intentions of not facing it... besides, he had a sense that running wasn't going to help him here.

Tinypool entered the camp exhausted and nervous. Once she settled around the Willow Branch with the rest of her clanmates, she let her head drop on Moon's leg. This was a nightmare... but else could they do? The Dark Forest had taken over all the clans and any attempt of resistance was futile, as Whitesnake and Moon's battle proved. I hope Jaystar know what he is doing... Her blue eyes darted to Perchfall's shape, trying to find some comfort in the usually serious and stoic she-cat. She looked so calm despite the situation and Tinypool wondered how could she keep her head cool down like that. What was going inside her? Did she know a way to get out of this mess?

With their kits settled (or what passed for settled, given the circumstances), Flywhisker’s thoughts turned toward the Gathering. No warrior worth their name could ignore the stars’ absence. Somebody at Fourtrees must’ve brought it up by now, which meant someone else might have an explanation, and at this point, they would take a thousand wrong answers over no answers at all. Keeping one eye on the kits and the other on the camp entrance, they planned out what to ask, tried to pick the things that sounded most warriorlike and least panicky. Then the shuffle of fur on reeds reached their ears. At once, their gut seized violently enough to squeeze every question on that list out of their head. Fourtrees. Past RiverClan’s northern border. Darkglow. Thrusting their muzzle into the night air, they opened their mouth—

And choked on a lungful of something horrible. Old and bitter and familiar-but-new in a way that made their sleek pelt stand upright. Their eyes watered at its intensity. They swiped at their face, even as realization settled in. Outside of vigils and the medicine cats’ den, that scent had no business being in RiverClan’s camp.

“Stay here.” It came out sharper than they meant it to. Flywhisker blinked at their kits, painfully aware they were still bristling with no idea how to stop. Jaystar’s voice cut through the air—giving them an out, they realized a heartbeat later. “I’m gonna go outside,” they said, softer. “For the meeting. I’ll be right back, promise.” And with a parting wave of their tail, they slipped out of the nursery. The shadows around camp seemed…thicker than usual. Their shapes turned more catlike the longer Flywhisker stared. Blood and strands of smoke spilled from fresh wounds. That explained the stench. Tearing their eyes away from the ghosts (for they had to be ghosts; that was what the stories said), Flywhisker took a step toward the Willow Branch. Hesitated. Circled back to the nursery. It was unorthodox, but… They sat near the nursery’s sturdy outer wall, almost nervous as they looked from Jaystar to Perchfall and back again. They didn’t trust these strangers within a tree-length of anyone’s kits, least of all theirs and Darkglow’s—but if their superiors ordered them to move, they had no choice but to obey.

Dovekit had sort of calmed down, now assured of the fact that Adi had not, in fact, disappeared, although she still couldn't see more of a sillohuette. Still, that was all she needed to know something was not right. She didn't know what was going on, but Adi looked scared. Although she couldn't understand why.

When Adi left to go to the meeting, she noticed that they hadn't actually seated too far away. So she decided it would be fine to sit with them, since they were just outside the nursery. There was this awful smell, although she didn't pay too much attention, nor did she notice the shadows around camp. (Besides, she didn't know there were more shadows than usual anyway, with this being her first time out of the nursery, so they didn't draw the same attention.)

She was so confused about everything. Why the stars were gone. Why Adi was scared. But for now, she just stayed by Adi's side. They were all she needed.

Vixenstar’s unsightly frame showed no signs of exhaustion or discomfort as she padded into RiverClan camp, an air of satisfaction painting her features as she strutted in. A deep breath in signified her relief- she was home, and man did it feel good. Rolling her shoulders, she looked around camp. Much had changed since she last resided here, as their leader. There was still the Willow Branch, and the many dens spaced out around their island home. But the general feeling had changed. She was alright with that, though. Seasons came and went as quickly as the tide, and that applied to her ever-changing and ever-growing Clan, too.

Once the she-cat was done looking around camp, she shifted her gaze to Jaystar, perched on the Willow Branch above. With a smirk and a playful wink, she bunched her muscles together and joined him on his treetop perch. Settling down next to him, she looked down to the gathering Clan below. Then, gently touching his shoulder with her tail as if to comfort him, she mewed, ”It’s been a while, my dear. I much prefer this than walking among the fragility of your dreams. Don’t you?”

Whitesnake had trailed Moon and Tinypool back to camp with an almost cheerful smile on his face. He could feel the anger and fear radiating off of many of the Riverclanners, and he basked in the strength of their emotions, the feel of blood and real, solid ground beneath his paws. While Vixenstar leapt to sit beside Jaystar, he settled in among the warriors gathered, stretching his lanky, marshwater-sodden frame out next to Tinypool and Moon as if he belonged there, the flicker of a smirk crossing his maw as he gazed up at both leaders.

A heavy weight pressed against RiverClan as they made the journey back from Fourtrees, shepherded by their shadowy ancestors. Avatars of death themselves, reeking of carrion, stale mud and old blood. And Jaystar invited them here. As cordially as if they were old, old friends, their leader had waved the Dark Forest into their ranks, ushering them along the path home. It was more than just acceptance of it all– it was familiarity, and it made Cloverheart's fur prickle.

As they made it back to camp, the medicine cat sought out her own den first, taking a half-step in its direction before she got pulled away. Flywhisker was sitting just outside the nursery... and still no Darkglow beside them. Blinking away any irritation at the she-cat's sudden disappearance, Cloverheart padded over to settle in beside them, tail curling loosely against her paws. "Hi, Flywhisker. Are the kits alright? I hope you've had a better night than us."

His own walk back to camp had been silent, keeping a reasonable distance from pretty much every entity around, finding himself more wary of the hostility of his clanmates than of the wretched smell from some of the Dark Forest warriors. Upon padding in, he found himself a spot on the outskirts, watching cats gather together, some throwing hostile looks at the shadowy warriors, others speaking quietly to each other - presumably discussing the events of tonight as Jaystar waited for everyone to file in. Aspenblaze watched with particular intrigue as Vixenstar allowed herself a seat next to the black-furred leader, and he looked up at his former mentors with unbridled curiosity, head titled as if to say - what now?

Dragging his paws back into camp behind the rest of the group, the old warrior huffed and plopped himself down near Ashflight and Poppypaw. He watched Jaystar hop onto the willow branch. He hadn't noticed the smoky aura surrounding his nephew until now. He narrowed his eyes. Why did he look like that? Did he miss something during the gathering or was his nephew about to burst into flames? If the latter was the case, they had a river...they were Riverclan. Jay could just jump into it and he'd be fine...hopefully.

The calico-colored warrior watched as Perchfall took her place then noticed the rest of the group file into camp. He shot Vixenstar an unamused look as he watched her saunter into camp like she owned the place. Actually, maybe she did own it now that Jaystar was being all buddy-buddy with the stinkin' murder spirits and inviting them into their home. He sure hoped the kid knew what he was doing.

---

The young warrior had remained home during the gathering. He had been nervous and anxious all throughout. Many strange things had been happening and he didn't like it one bit. For one, the stars had disappeared! Silverpelt had just vanished into thin air. It was why he had chosen to stay awake and keep on the lookout for any danger. He had a bad feeling and he felt that it won't be going away any time soon.

When he noticed their clanmates returning back into camp, he felt relieved. Then, he felt confusion. Intermingled with them were weird, horrid-looking cats that were all smoky and bloody and they stunk, bad. He felt his fur rise and he slowly backed away. He sat somewhere secluded as he watched their leader enter then head up onto the willow branch. He squinted up at Jaystar. Why was he all smoky like those weird cats? Why were those strangers here? Who were they? Were they dangerous? They seemed like it. What even happened at the gathering? Poor Blackpanther had so many questions and zero answers. He bit his lip as he looked up to listen to what Jaystar had to say. Hopefully he cleared some things up.

Before long, a tiny shape emerged from the nursery. Dovekit, Flywhisker realized as she settled next to them. They blinked down at her, at a loss for what they were supposed to do. Unless those shadowy cats weren’t what Flywhisker suspected, the camp wasn’t safe right now—but figuring out how to explain that without sending Dovekit into another panic took more mental energy than they had to spare. For her part, Dovekit seemed content just to be beside them. “You should be inside,” they said, tail curling around their daughter anyway. They were so close to the nursery… If things went wrong, it’d just be a matter of dropping Dovekit inside and blocking as much of the entrance as they could.

They looked up in time to catch sight of Cloverheart and immediately relaxed despite themself. They’d been waiting on her since the beginning. Of every cat in RiverClan, she could best explain what was happening. Flywhisker forced their stomach to unclench with a slow breath as she sat beside them and Dovekit. Medicine cats weren’t meant to fight, but they couldn’t help the thought: another barrier separating the ghosts from the nursery. “They know something’s wr—weird, but they calmed down pretty quick. We were about to tour the camp when—” They broke off. All night, they’d refused to put words to what was happening overhead; Cloverheart would probably understand without them. Their muzzle bobbed toward the burning moon just in case. “I take it that has something to do with the Gathering…?”

The Gathering. Their mind circled back to their first impulsive question once more. The line of somber faces passing through the camp’s entrance had beaten the initial flash of hope down to embers. Surely someone would’ve told them by now if Darkglow had been found. Still, when they searched for the things they were meant to ask, they came up with nothing again. Flywhisker’s voice dropped, their eyes urgent in a way their tone couldn't be. “Did you find anything at Fourtrees?”

Dark eyes, devoid of passions like the churning riverwaters upon a moonless night, fixed against the wavering, blood-bespeckled wraith of Vixenstar curled tight against the immediate proximity of his space; sharp features devoid of any tells, refined attention displaced at best as he made to haphazardly peer down at the anxious milling below, restless in both living and dead. If there was any outward indication of such formal proceedings or rehearsals within the bounds of his tiresome head, it was lost to the roiling currents of always lingering irritation and exasperation oozing from neatly poised muscles.

Surprise! Meet your new denmates- pending the question of whether or not the dead actually require sleeping quarters. Idly, Jaystar wondered how wise it would be to envoke all standings of seminal authority and simply dismiss all those below, quell the further brewings of a deep-eddying headache rising within the linings of his brain. "For one who intended to minimize loss as a whole, I certainly feel as though your.. introduction could've gone better."

Unblinking and mirror-like gaze finally detaching from the ghostly familiarity of Vixenstar, Jaystar merely turned an unruffled gaze back upon the crowd, mauve-washed figures frothing forward and backwards in the dark wan hour as though little more than wan tides. Bearing striking resemblance to his overtly causal behavior amidst the initial calamity and bloodshed of the gathering, the waif dark-furred tom seemed as though this was nothing more than a casual, informal little get together. Cool, untouched, impartial like the river. Methodic, practiced, at worst- calm and comfortable alongside the ghastly sight of Vixenstar.

"RiverClan," Jaystar eventually rumbled out, tenuous voice pointed as he made to finally address apprehensive onlookers, unblinking wine-dark gaze fixing sharply upon the smaller figures, "I'm certain that I don't need to waste the required breathe necessary to explain what you likely saw- the moon fell, it is no more. Nor must I point out what walks among us; that there are visitors within our camp- it would be difficult to miss such benefactors." Somewhere within the inky darkness that lurked behind the thickly-framed lashes of his simmering gaze, flashes of long lost memories and conversations crept and crawled to the surface; fighting with the finality of one being dragged down deep and low to a watery grave. For better or for worse. Like Darkpaw. Know your name. "This is the Dark Forest."

Steadfast remaining fixed upon some unknowable point lost within the shifting depths of a ravenous crowd, only the briefest half-gaze in the vaguest direction of Vixenstar was snatched from the shaded reaches of his peripheral vision. Mentor, overseer, vaguely similar bird meant to forever share the same cage as his own. Whatever standings they held, it didn't matter much in the end. Control was a powerful illusion to beheld. "The Dark Forest walks among us for StarClan no longer does, whatever hold they previously retained on the waking world nothing more. They have graciously agreed to camaraderie with RiverClan in good faith for mutual benefit, and shall be welcomed among us," the traipsing words of Jaystar sharpened to a blunt warning, newfound expectations finding themselves adequately stressed in the ears of all those who happened to listen.

"You will welcome the Dark Forest," The curt summation was sharp and callous like flint, uncaring towards the astounding news he had just spilled upon his Clan's paws like the secondary tidings of a seasonal flood, "without resistance of any caliber."