Manifold. An onion unraveling in 700 dimensions. Layers on layers, intersecting infinitely. We of the coven have made it our task to peel back the fold of our reality to find the deeper truths hidden within for centuries. Ever since the first witch Mataraza breached the fold and found herself in a world outside her own. There she built the Coven with a small band of acolytes, which grew into thousands over decades. 

For a witch there is nothing outside the coven.

Dalasin careened through the air, descending uncontrollably upon a thicket of jungle trees so tall the turgid branches scraped and drew deep gouges out of the clouds. Despite the incredible deluge, and the fact that Dalasin was within the clouds themselves, she burned. 

Clutching her long staff tightly to her chest, Dalasin tried to regain her composure, but her mind was reeling. She had been struck dozens of times by lightning that did not behave as any lightning she had ever known. Up here in the cloud cover that indelibly shrouded this land, the clouds which blocked all light from reaching the ground grew ceaselessly. There was no end, no upper limit that Dalasin could discover. The clouds grew in thickness, doubling up on eachother, until it was scant difficult to move through them. Deep within, moisture would gather and spiral in on itself, creating masses of thick water which shifted as air, but crackled with violent energy. Lightning sprang from these tumors like the branches of trees. Or better, Dalasin thought, like the thick tangle of roots. The lightning would spread out in an instant, fingers curling and branching for terrible miles. 

This atmosphere was so charged, so thick and churning, that Dalasin found herself at the mercy of wind, atmospheric pressures, water that moved like oceans above the earth, and terrible lightning which stuck in the air, illuminated for long minutes. 

Dalasin had planned to travel up through the clouds of this storm and reach the apex, then go out to find where perhaps the clouds did not cover, but it was no use. Normal lightning should not have bothered her, nor normal weather of any sort. But the lightning in these clouds struck like the fingers of god, and, Dalasin was starting to suspect, reached out to ensnare her with something like cruel, inhuman intelligence. 

Dalasin let herself fall. She kept her mind sharp enough to curve her descent, clinging desperately to her staff, to avoid those thick pockets of dense water. She allowed herself to get struck, over and over again, because the lightning was simply too quick and unpredictable to avoid. All she could do was keep her mind on fortifying spells, and shields that would divert the worst of the energy around her. For minutes she fell, adjusted her trajectory based on the feel of the cloud pressures, and tried to curve destructive energy from her vital organs. 

Finally, relief, the bottom of the cloud cover released her, steaming, and she shifted the grip on her staff to curve her at an angle, then horizontally, so that she would fly above the jungle canopy. She flew directly towards a tall tree with branches that extended deep into the cloud layer. She landed on a branch, thick as one of the great spoke bridges which connected the central ward of the coven to the outskirts. 

She panted, she allowed herself to grow weaker, and fell to her knees. The water clung so heavily to her clothes and body she felt she was drowning. A familiar spell spun itself in her mind, and she dispelled the water in an explosion of steam. And still the torrent continued. She grabbed inside her robes for a vial, and threw it down her throat in a quick motion before stowing it back into an empty pocket. 

The sickly concoction spread tendrils of heat throughout her body, banishing the biting cold of a land that had not seen the sun in many days. It fortified her already advanced bodily regeneration. She was starting to feel better. But still, something about the air here sapped energy at an alarming rate. 

Dalasin stood, and let go of her staff, it floated freely beside her. Days of searching, and nothing. Nothing that would help her bring her sisters out of this hell. This hell they three were forced into. Dalasin thought it was as if their coven sisters had genuinely killed them back in that dire tumult, and they were now in a realm of divine punishment. This jungle, this damnable jungle was so thick. It was impossible. Every branch was scoured of any foliage by the rain that fell like nails. Dalasin had considered this and came to the conclusion that the trees here, which perhaps were not even trees, had evolved to not have leaves at all. These branches ran over and over, twisting, spiraling, creating archways. It was dizzying to behold. 

At least the branches were close enough to the wood she knew from home. Her staff drifted back into her outstretched hand, and she moved it in a stirring motion. The wood below her shifted like mud. With her staff, and her hands, and her mind, she sculpted. It was crude. Hastily done. But within a few seconds she had fashioned herself something of a shelter. Something like a hut, made seamlessly out of the wood of the branch she stood on. 

Dalasin allowed herself to pass into a meditative state. In the cover of this small knot of wood she had dug out of the greater branch, she attempted to steal herself, rationalize what she had seen, what she had experienced, and plan ahead. She had to return to the hideout. Hopefully Pierint had found something and returned safely. She allowed herself to hope. 

After uncounted moments meditating Dalasin began to feel something strange. A rumbling, perhaps, and not from the booming thunder ahead. There was vibration coming from below her, inside the wood of the tree. She snapped out of her meditation and pressed her ear to the wood. 

The vibration was too muffled but it was there, regular, and getting louder. After a few moments assessing the situation, determining if she should investigate further or leave, Dalasin lifted her staff. The wood underfoot blossomed with her movements, coming away like flower petals, layers over layers, and Dalasin lowered herself into the growing hole. After a few moments she hit something. The wood became thin and she opened a small hole, only large enough to stick her head into. Inside was light. Artificial light. Dalasin looked in. 

Within the branch was a tunnel. Huge. And within were lights strung up along one side of the wall of the tunnel. Small lanterns, filled with a substance or method of lighting Dalasin could not discern. The vibrations reverberating through the wood originated from a single body. 

Many large legs. A shining carapace, pipes chugging out smoke, and on its front, a drill. A massive drill was carving away the walls of this tunnel. Blades along the curves of the drill ate into the wood at a rapid pace, tearing off chunks of it and bringing it into some sort of great mouth around the drill. It was standing, or sitting, side on from Dalasin’s perspective. Several smaller beings were walking around the beast, and even walking inside it. The side of it had some sort of large hatch where individuals were crawling into and out of. Humanoid. Dalasin realized that the creature was a machine of some sort, though she had never seen anything of its like or size. The coven never created machines so large, aside from the great wheels that were turned by the waters of the river underneath the central ward. The humanoid creatures must be controlling it. 

Dalasin had an idea, she would follow the creatures, hidden within the wood, staying a safe distance. She would find where they went. This was her best chance to find a way for her and her sisters to survive here.