“I was chasing my visions, trying to change my future, only to be blinded in the present.”
A void stripped of all light—a hollow where I drift, bodiless. I float in it, or maybe I fly. It’s hard to tell; my body doesn’t move. It’s still. My thoughts? Not so much.
How cruel... to die and not be reunited with Ren. With my blood, my family.
My eyes are open, but I see nothing. No light, no shape, no motion. Just endless darkness.
It somehow reminds me of the moment when I saw the world end back then, when everything was still alright. I try to sigh, but no breath comes. My lips don’t even part. I can’t move them. There’s no air here—just pressure.
Hell. It must be. Why else wouldn’t I be with Ren? Why would I be here, in this place that devours time and sense and meaning?
My eyes stare into the eternal black pressing in on me from all sides. I feel it—its weight, its stillness.
I don’t want to die. Not yet. I’m afraid.
I try to cry, but I can’t. No tears. No heat behind my eyes. My body won’t respond. Even emotion seems hollow.
Empty. I am empty. Words slip from me, and thoughts spiral without end. I can’t stop them. I can’t shut anything off.
Hell. This must be what it truly is.
Did I die from blood loss? Did that creature rip my head from my shoulders? I don’t know.
And in the end, it doesn’t matter.
I can’t move. I can’t hear. I can’t feel or taste, or smell.
I exist—but only barely.
I keep staring into the black. Waiting. Hoping for something—anything—to come.
Time passes. Or it doesn’t. Maybe it’s only seconds. Maybe years. It makes no difference here.
Something that is gone—truly gone—can only be felt in the shadow of what it once was. And this? This void teaches that lesson well.
I float through what feels like forever. No direction. No gravity. No change.
I don’t want to be here.
I want to kill those beasts.
The ones whose veins are poisoned by corruption. Whose tongues are blue. The Greens, with their twisted limbs and vile grins.
I could retch from the memory of them—what they’ve done. What they’ll do. What they did to my kind. To our women. Our children. Our cities.
They’ll slaughter the men. Chain them, break them into workers. Sell the women like meat.
But even as I seethe, I know I’m lying to myself.
I did not fight for the people who followed me.
That was just a side effect. A product of my vengeance.
The truth is... I did it for him.
I stare into the blackness for what must be weeks. And somehow, it begins to reflect me.
Not of fire. Not of rage. But of emptiness.
No storm. No burning. Just cold, hollow stillness.
The inability to scream, to shout, to speak—it drives me mad.
How long has it been? Months? Years?
I try to recall Ren’s face. But even that is fading.
I can’t see his eyes anymore. Not the exact shade of blue. Not the way he smiled.
Who had longer hair—him or me?
And that—that—is the cruelest part.
Not the pain. Not the dark.
But worse still, is the absence of grief. I don’t even feel sad. Just that same, endless emptiness.
After a storm, they say, comes calm.
But this calm is like a weight. It presses down. Smothers.
I’ve spent what feels like years thinking of those who surrounded me. Wondering if they meant something to me.
Now I’ve forgotten most of their names.
Or were they already closed?
Was I asleep? Or have I never woken up?
What is real? What isn’t?
Visions flicker inside my mind. Images. Fast.
Are they memories? Dreams? Or something else entirely?
Real light. A sharp, burning flash like lightning striking my skull.
It glows—bright and brutal—and I flinch. My eyes slam shut.
But the red seeps through. Covers me. Surrounds me.
I lie still. My body refuses to move. I stare into the scarlet haze. Mist—dense and thick—chokes the edges of my vision.
I can’t tell if it’s near or far.
A small flare inside my head.
My eyes flicker. My fingers twitch. My breath stutters into life.
I let the pain wash over me.
It rises—fast. Explodes in my skull—then fades. My hands go still again.
And now... the red deepens. The black fades.
I see too much. Too fast.
Pictures. Emotions. Moments.
They rush at me like waves.
A young soul. Shattered. Crying before two heads. His world collapsing just as mine did with Ren.
A noble man—blonde—swinging lifeless from a rope.
A trembling hand in another’s grasp—then left cold and alone.
A pool of blood so wide it drowns an island.
An amber-haired woman running to somebody dear, to the hanged man.
I feel them. Their pain. Their terror. Their numbness.
The boy—anger boiling in his chest, before hopelessness suffocates it.
The hanged man—crushed by guilt.
The trembling man—paralyzed by grief.
The woman—frozen in disbelief.