Little traveller, you are confused. To you this is startling, falling into the abyss - for you cannot see me. It is a strange feeling - as many of your experiences lately have been for you. Let me explain.
There was a place I liked to visit. The tall ones call them Ages, but I am not sure you would understand that term. You are not one of them, I guess, little traveller. I wonder why are you here.
It was not a spectacular place - although all places have merits - but I enjoyed its simplicity and its peace. I would drift through this void between worlds now and then to watch its people and murmur thoughts and dreams to them in the wind.
One day, I entered the place and found it greatly changed. One of the tall ones had come to the world, and his words twisted it. It was... fragile. Thin. With his words he had torn away its foundation, leaving little between it and the void to keep the whole structure of the world from tearing and warping - cataclysmic destruction and annihilation.
While the people of this place could not see these damages as I could, they could see their society - simple and peaceful before - twisted and disfigured in much the same way. It was abhorrent, like the old days when the tall ones ruled over and controlled us. I hated it.
But I stayed. The people learned from the tall man how to write - their Ages brought life to my dreams, guiding me to places I had never found before. I was interested by this, but the cruelty of the tall man grew greater every day. He burnt the world, controlled the people, destroyed the past to build a mockery of the Cavern. I hoped for someone who would rise to restore rightness to the place, to bring down the tall man and build up the foundation again. I sought to influence some of the people toward this goal - one I chose in particular to lead them, but there was too much fear and too little power to resist the tall man and his knowledge.
Another tall man came to the world, the son of the first. I saw the influence of his words, clear and true - bracing and supporting the foundation again. I saw him speak to the people I spoke to, to listen to my dreams spoken by them.
I saw him understand them.
More words joined his, bending the place this way and that. The healthy and unhealthy words struggled in the place, and the world shook. The words contended with each other and it became hard to understand, contorted by the war between them.
While I was investigating these new words and the struggle, I saw the son challenge the father, and the father cast the son down with anger. He was still in control, stronger and with more influence than the son. I feared he would prevail - and then there would be no one who could right his wrongs. There was no justice in it and my anger overflowed. I reached into the fibers of the place, through the fragile existence into this void behind it, and I tore through the fragile shell.
When my anger cooled, I stood back and looked into the wound I had opened in the ground. The tall ones came, the father chasing the son. Through the wound, the son fled - diving into the unknown fissure to flee his certain death. It was foolish but brave. He had bested the father, although his victory was a minor one, and I was thankful for that. I took hold of him, and when we had descended for a short while he took his book and travelled away through the void, leaving it to fall.
Out of curiosity, I followed the book, and it fell to the place above the Cavern. I often wonder why it did so. Perhaps the father’s words, crafted out of ignorance and longing, carried more purpose than he understood. Perhaps the dreams of my chosen one positioned the world at such a pivotal point. Perhaps there was a higher fate for it.
In the meantime, the place I loved was still ruled by the father. Despite the successes of the son, and the alterations I could see him place - one after another - attempting to brace the place up... despite this, the foundation was thinning out. Weakening. Then you came, bewildered and confused, and set things right again.
I do not know why you are here, or what you thought you were doing, but you have done well. The father is now imprisoned, and no longer can he twist worlds with his pride and anger. Perhaps I would be angry at you for the end of my beloved place, the shattering of the world into lifeless fragments - but this would have come regardless of your actions. It has long been inevitable. You let its people leave and the many good things of the world, the dreams and the memories they have of it, will be born anew.
You know the son, little traveller, and somehow this falling is his plan for you. Perhaps his own experience made him naive about the void, for he planned for you to fall in it. You are fragile - much more fragile than a written book. Even his little experience with the void was sheltered by my grasp, though he could not feel it. Perhaps he trusts that the same will happen to you. Perhaps he trusts me, understands me, though he cannot see me.
I will vindicate his trust. As you fall I will be here to guide you, to soften your descent. You were with the son, and you defeated the father, the bringer of pride. I will keep you safe to where the son intended for you to go. I will bring you home.