Imagine, for a moment, that you had power. The power to bend the laws of physics like a straw, to warp reality - to see all possible futures and pasts with a whim. The power to change the course of history. The power to rip apart semi trucks with your bare hands, to transform into any being you wanted. The power to recover life damaging wounds - to speak to someone across the world with but a thought. Imagine, for a moment, that you were a god.
It feels nice, doesn't it?
Now imagine that you have that power, but it doesn't matter, because all that power means nothing if you aren't there to use it.
It's a strange, irrational powerlessness that Sylvester found himself feeling, as he made his way to what appeared to be the reckage of the Chantry. What had happened here? The place was absolutely destroyed, and folks were calling it a fire but then... Sylvester knew better. Sylvester heard the echoes - the stories of the history that had happened in this place before.
The spirits told him in their screams, their wails, their suffering. They reinacted scenarios of bloodshed, of wreckage, of bullets and blades and machine-god-men and spiders-who-wore-faces. Of bombs and elite moving in single file, one by one - robotic beings who were not robots, and robots who were more human than man. He'd just left one battlefield, and found the ruins of an entirely new one - one where he hadn't been there to fight and defend those who were being attacked.
Would his addition have mattered? Did it matter on either side? While he was out riding centipedes, the people here were busy fighting their lives in their own way. Had Dragana survived? Had Rachael, or Micah and Channa? The spirits seemed unsure on all accounts in this regard, having not measured the space away from here or simply seeing too many bodies to reliably point out the specifics of one individual.
As he stepped towards the reckage, looking over it, his eyes gazed quietly across the shadow, across the gauntlet and through to a would that was tethered to this location. The seals that let people in and out, broken apart and shattered trapping them inside, on the other side. The weave of patterns and resonance and the spirits of hunger, fear, and worry wandering the borders.
The spirits might not have many more answers here - but he could do what he could for the people still there. He made a phone call to Aria, and simply said, "Change of plans, I need you over here with me. This is the address, get here as soon as possible."
Once he'd done that, he'd find a safe, unmonitored location to cross over and collect information.
He wasn't there. But he was here now.