The City Center Motel

He rubbed at his aching wrists, a nervous habit he wasn't aware he'd developed over the past century. Something was... well. Wrong. This wasn't where he'd been somewhere in some dark void that cut him off from the Tower's power.

Had he failed? Had he somehow whisked himself away to some other world without truly meaning to? He hadn't absorbed the Warrior of Light's light-soaked Aether like he'd planned, or even he would have likely become a Lightwarden by now. Everything had come tumbling down so quickly-- and he knew how to manipulate history. He'd done it before. He'd do it again. This had to end differently, had to end... Crimson eyes shot open wide, ears flattened against his head as a spike of recent memory pierced through his fog of confusion.

A gunshot. That he remembered. The Exarch instinctively pressed his palm to his stomach, seeking the wound he wasn't even sure was there. As he tried to swallow his rising panic, he heard something-- or someone-- move nearby. After quickly and haphazardly yanking his hood back into place, he tried to even out the wavering of his voice.

"H-Hello?" Worse still, he could sense nothing. His magic felt far away, dampened by his confusion and terror.