[The clinic. Where? It certainly wasn't Brightmoon's. And they're still badgering her with questions, to the point where Shadow Weaver wasn't sure if she was developing a headache, or she'd just failed to notice it prior among all the other body aches.]

[And they're still both talking as if they were years younger. As if nothing happened. All the progress they had made, gone. As if they were still her wards, and Prime wasn't—]

[Was this his doing? Or another strange splintering of reality?]

[Whatever it is, with the accusation in their voice, they wouldn't believe her even if she bothered to try to explain it. Best to play into their expectations for the time being.]

You actually believe that Hordak cares so much about a single pair of cadets? The world does not revolve around you.

[Except that Etheria figuratively did revolve around Adora (around She-Ra), but. Details. Shadow Weaver waves a hand lazily, dismissively.] If I know not where I am, do you really think I'd be so concerned with where you two are loitering about?

Again. Where have you taken me? This is clearly not the Horde—or a number of other locations around Etheria.

[The experience of age had its advantages. The decor was... odd. Or the lack of it. With how dilapidated it is, Shadow Weaver was more surprised it wasn't the Horde.]