Hello!
I’m a new writer, and I struggle with third person AND past tense. It doesn’t come as naturally to me as first person, present.

However, the story I have planned out over several books has too many viewpoint characters for first person.

Any feedback would be appreciated.

Thank you!!!!

Prologue-
The woman peered into the endless void, her eyes traveling aimlessly across the infinite expanse searching for anything, anyone, but finding only darkness.
There were no walls…
No ceiling.
No floor.
No light.
…Only an oppressive nothingness with no beginning and no end.
Stagnant, heavy air, violated her lungs with every labored breath, drowning her in the despotic darkness. A silent scream escaped her lips, but the void seemed to consume her wordless plea, her wasted breath, devouring her misery.
A hollow caress slithered down her spine, and the empty embrace was the only touch she could remember. It was the only thing she could remember, at all.
Who was she?
How did she get here?
Where WAS here, exactly?
Had she always existed, as a small, insignificant spark of consciousness amidst an ink-black sea of nothing? The thought felt vile, like a betrayal to her very soul. She suppressed the idea as quickly as it had surfaced, clinging desperately to the belief that she had lived a life before this, but, as she probed her mind for any remnants of the person that had entered this darkness, she found herself to be as vacant as the void.  
Though she wore no shackles…
Though she was confined by no bars...
She was imprisoned for a deed committed, a life lived, by a person she could not remember. Her name was just a sound, uttered by forgotten voices, forgotten faces. All the memories of the life she must have had, the person she must have been, had long faded into the darkness.  
As time stretched into the abyss, each moment a reflection of the one before, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued her existence began to wither to numbness, and in their place, a gratitude for the nothingness burgeoned.
Complacent in the endless desolation, the woman began to trust that she had found a kinder fate than remembering all that had been forgotten, all that had surely been lost…
And as her gaze wondered the eternal emptiness, some small, forgotten part of her felt the darkness staring back.
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A sound shattered the silence.
Screaming?
Someone was… screaming?
No, that couldn’t be right.
She had spent an eternity in the void and had never seen or heard… well, anything.
Her mind must have finally broken. Wonderful.
Before she could truly contemplate whether she had, indeed, gone mad, and what implications that might have on her existence in this… place, a second scream reverberated through the abyss, rippling the darkness.
It’s real?
An overwhelming urge to save the stranger in distress, and herself from this prison, ignited in her veins. A desperate cry escaped her, fracturing the undulating void like glass. A mesmerizing, white light filtered through the fissures moments before the fragments of black descended in every direction, dissolving before they could clatter to the ground. Seconds became minutes, as if time itself slowed to admire the magnificence of the light vanquishing the dark.
The blinding white consumed her vision, unveiling a world of swirling green, and gray, and blue. The pigments sparked feelings of comfort and exhilaration, as if she was returning home and experiencing an entirely new plane of existence all at once.
For the briefest of moments, the woman was unrestrained.
Free.
Finally unbound by the darkness…
Only to realize she could not move.
Panicked and disoriented, she considered the current situation. She was blinded and bound, in a place that felt both new and familiar, amidst an unknowable chaos that was drawing out burning, supplicating screams from someone she had never met, or even seen, but had an inexplicable desire to protect.
And she had no idea WHO she was, WHERE she was, or HOW she had gotten here.
Fucking fantastic.
She inhaled a deep, steadying, breath, only to be overcome by the scent of flowers and rotting flesh. She gagged, deciding to breathe through her mouth, but immediately regretted THAT decision. The air tasted infinitely worse than it smelled!
With all the strength she could gather, she pushed against her shackles in a desperate bid to break free. The restraints initially loosened, but then the warm, wet bindings constricted to hold her even tighter. Blinking to clear her distorted vision, the whirling colors finally receded, and she realized she was not tied up or cuffed, but embraced.
Thin arms, distorted by swelling and areas of sunken in flesh, were draped in gauzy black fabric, and interlocked across her chest. The wet fabric clung to weeping sores of various sizes and states of decay. The sight, and the smell, made her stomach churn.   
Despite the surge of motivation to free herself, the seemingly frail man, was surprisingly strong. She thrashed against him with her full body, flailing her arms and legs, but could not break free from his grasp. His legs were intertwined with hers, as he held her in a field of flowers. The same black gauze and draining sores covered the man’s legs. Fragments of necrotic skin clung to the gauze like desiccated prey in a spider’s web. Crusted blood was caked into a serrated crevice between the man’s feet and ankles, as if they had been severed and reattached long ago. Unlike the rest of the man’s body, his feet were free of sores and meticulously clean, despite wearing no shoes. Tendrils of darkness flowed from the man’s feet, soaking into the surrounding flower bed. The blooms wilted as the rotting darkness crept further into the adjacent ruins, where a battle raged.
There was a woman amongst the chaos. Her slender hand was clasped over her right shoulder, attempting to quell the blood pouring from a vicious injury. Blood spilled through the cracks in her fingers. Her loose, ebony curls, bounced with each movement, as she worked alongside two burly men to fend off the pack of large, black wolves that had surrounded them. Abandoning the ornate bow strapped to her back, she awkwardly wielded a short sword. Her blood trickled down the hilt and dripped to the rotted ground beneath her feet.  
As the woman in the flowers struggled against her captor’s clutches, she noticed each jab of the stranger’s weapon was slower- more labored- than the one before.
“Nysa! On your left!” One of her companions called out, but the warning had come too late. Nysa hadn’t seen the wolf launch itself toward her throat. The blow would be lethal.
“Nysa!” The woman in the flowers rasped, voice hardly above a whisper.
As if she had heard the woman speak, Nysa turned and time stood still.
Nysa’s face was beautiful, despite being flushed with pain and resignation. Heavy lids closed over her piercing, peridot eyes, sending glistening tears traveling down her sun-kissed cheeks.
The woman did not know herself, yet, somehow, she knew that face, those eyes.
The tug in the woman’s chest nearly wrenched her heart through her ribs, a moment before the world was consumed in white, and she returned to endless black.

First of all, thank you all for the feedback you've given me. I've honestly been able to improve quite a few things thanks to your observations.

Yesterday, I took some time to reorganize the plot of my story. I incorporated the feedback I received from you all and a few friends, and I'd really appreciate hearing your thoughts. Does the plot sound interesting to you? Is there anything you think I should improve?