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The ritual does not pierce the air so much as it worms a crack in it.
Scott is, admittedly, not in a safe spot when it happens—just outside the ritual circle, still desperately shouting to the students inside that they shouldn't be doing this, when someone grabs Pyro by the arm and seems to drag him in, accidentally or not, so Scott, stupidly, panics and follows.
And then he can't see the ritual, because he can't see anything.
Anything, that is, except for Pyro.
The fire mage's hand is clutched over his chest like it will somehow protect him from the hungry, enclosing blackness that has swallowed them whole. Pale blue eyes are cloudy with fear, and he knows it's fear. Confusion, too, maybe. Scott won't be any help just standing here.
Scott is at Pyro's side in an instant, one hand on his far shoulder, trying to keep him steady. He's sure his own shock will kick in once he doesn't have someone to worry about calming down, but it's a distant reality and he hopes it's not soon. Pyro is the immediate concern—they're hyperventilating.
He gives them a light push, trying to encourage him to sit. "Hey, can you sit down for me?" He asks, voice as gentle as he can make it around his alleged archnemesis. Pyro follows the order with worrying ease, sinking to their knees like a puppet with cut strings.
It's an odd relief that there is a bottom. He could have guessed, because he's able to stand, but still—the fact that this isn't a free fall is relieving.
Scott kneels there trying to get Pyro to match his breathing for what feels like thirty minutes, but is likely only five. Scott only knows when Pyro is in control of himself again because he gets annoyingly snarky and makes him remember why he hates him.
"Where the hell are we?" Pyro hisses through their teeth, pushing up off of the not-floor to stand. Scott follows suit, not holding out a hand for help because he doubts Pyro will give it. And, even if he did, he probably wouldn't be able to actually lift Scott off of the floor. The snicker in his head that follows that thought is kept between Scott and the strange abyss they have found themselves in.
"Someone did a corrupted ritual." Scott informs him. Pyro scoffs; of course he already knew that. Scott promptly ignores them. "You got dragged in at the last second, I… perhaps dumbly… followed you."
The silence feels like it has teeth. Pyro breaks it first. "Okay. Where do we go from here?" They open their palm and a small fire flickers to life. If they weren't in such a dire situation, Scott would make a joke about how Pyro's eyes are immediately transfixed on it like a moth before they shake off the fascination.
Then the blackness begins to shift, and Scott's hand finds Pyro's before he can think about it. He nearly snatches it away when he realizes what he's done, but Pyro gives it a squeeze, so it stays.
The scene changes. It's Tegrith.
Scott pulls Pyro closer, and feels himself go stock still. He misses home. he misses home so much. But this isn't home, it can't be— home is days away—
Pyro makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, and immediately presses into Scott further like they used to do as kids, huddling for warmth. Right, fire mage. No matter their homeland, the cold must not be doing wonders for them. Scott settles for wrapping his arm further around him until they can figure this out.
Scott himself is okay, warmth-wise. The ice in his soul sings for the cold climate, and he is dressed for it as always. Pyro might need the thick, Tegrith-made cloak around his shoulders more than he does. It's a hesitant thing, but Scott unclasps the cloak and drapes it over Pyro's shoulders. They stop shivering quite as much; it's a small victory, but Scott will take what he can get. The blue definitely doesn't match, but it's whatever.
It takes a few more seconds of actually surveying their surroundings for Scott to understand what the blackness revealed, and it only unsettles him more, because this place does not exist anymore.
It's their spot—not around the campfire in the Summer Village, not in Scott's bedroom, their spot. The one that was swallowed by corruption so long ago. It looks just as it did when Pyro left; covered in snow, but alive, not swarmed with gray spores.
There's nothing here to mark it as theirs, but he would know it anywhere. The not-quite round treeline around the clearing, the two stumps that they purposefully cut down to use for wood so that later they would be good for stools.
Pyro's face brightens and dims all at once. He doesn't understand—they weren't there to see it, of course they don't understand. Scott takes it upon himself to tell them, and pointedly ignores it when his voice cracks around the words, jagged and sharp. "This place was corrupted ages ago."
Pyro looks devastated. Scott has to avert his gaze.
It's a good thing he does, because someone steps out of the treeline.
Something, maybe, because that's not Pyro. There's no way that's Pyro. Pyro is shivering slightly next to him, staring with horrified eyes at whatever creature has taken to imitating him. Some of the details are wrong: the smile is too cruel, the eyes too vibrant, the movements too fluid, holding none of the natural action that Pyro's gait does, the need to be everywhere at once and the inability to keep still.
The thing doesn't speak, just jumps at Scott. He darts away, but that leaves Pyro defenseless— well, no, Pyro is a perfectly capable fighter, but this is not their forte, not his turf. They weren't prepared. He just came down from a panic attack.
The more pressing matter is that a second thing has appeared behind Pyro, and it looks like Scott.
What happens next is something that Scott's brain doesn't process properly. He just starts swinging. It's a blur of fire and ice, thrown by both parties, some of it friendly fire when Pyro can't tell which Scott is which—it's easy to tell the real Pyro from everybody else, because of the cloak. That had been a surprisingly helpful decision.
Pyro earns himself a gnarly scratch across the eye. Scott's face is littered with new scratches that remind him of the ones made by a cat. He's prepared to throw another swing when—
The forest dissipates.
The abyss is back, that terrible, biting blackness—and Pyro is not here. Where is he? How did they get out? Are they okay are they alone what just happened is he dead—
The floor comes back into focus, and Scott is back on the ground in the ritual room. he reaches out blindly, trying to find Pyro, and instead a startlingly warm hand pulls him up— Drift. Her eyes are shining with concern, and he returns the hug, but his eyes immediately search the ritual room for—
Pyro. He's okay, intact, mostly, except for his eye.
It's too much of a relief for the person he's talking about.
He doesn't much care.