In his fall, the air was too heavy to breathe.
Each time Zas tried to draw a breath, it felt as if his chest was collapsing, as if the very air itself had become an instrument of torment.
He remained suspended in that pitiful state; every movement, every breath, every second tore him apart a hundred times over.
It was not just a physical descent, but an inner collapse—his very being crushed between endless layers of existence.
Zas — who once believed his strength enough — suddenly realized how vast the sky truly was, and how far beyond his reach the unknown stretched.
His eyelids grew heavy, the world fading away.
He could no longer resist.
They closed at last, and he sank into a bottomless darkness.
...
When his awareness returned, he did not find himself among rubble and stone, but within a field of flowers.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, as if they weighed more than iron, and whispered in disbelief:
"What… is this place?"
The air was still, the breeze gentle as a tender hand brushing against his skin.
Colors stretched endlessly before him: blue, red, yellow blossoms swaying together like a living canvas.
Their fragrance filled his chest, and a strange ache welled up inside him — a mixture of comfort he had long forgotten, and pain that seized his heart without mercy.
"Is this… my dream?" he murmured to himself, uncertain.
From afar, a noise stirred — faint murmurs, like voices of another world approaching slowly.
He hesitated, then began to walk. At first cautiously, then faster. Until he reached a small rise overlooking the valley.
He stopped, gazing down… and there it was: a humble wooden hut, surrounded by untouched green.
He leapt down from the hill, landing on damp grass, then advanced. Each step grew heavier, as if the place itself were testing him.
At last, he stood before it.
On a simple wooden bench sat an old man, eyes closed, head tilted slightly as though in slumber… but he was not asleep.
The elder spoke suddenly, his voice calm yet sharp enough to cut through the silence:
"Oh… so, you have arrived."
Zas froze. He tried to move, but every muscle in his body was locked in place, as though his will no longer belonged to him.
With hesitation, he forced out the words:
"Who… are you?"
The old man cracked a faint smile, answering as though amused:
"Your question is far too big, boy." He chuckled lightly, laughter carrying the weight of a thousand hidden years.
Zas's confusion deepened, but before he could speak again, he whispered under his breath:
"Then… you are Adel?"
His heart trembled at the sound of the name, as if it had been summoned from a forgotten abyss.
The elder opened one eye slightly and replied:
"Wasn't that your name?" Then shrugged indifferently. "Names are only shells… truth is deeper than that."
Zas could not understand, but the old man gave him no time.
"What matters now… is that you've arrived. Which means you've already faced that wretch."
The last word was spat out with a glint of ancient mockery in his eyes.
"He was strong, wasn't he?"
Zas knew instantly the elder was speaking of Darvik.
"You… know him?" he asked cautiously.
The elder laughed in disdain.
"That one? A mere trifle. Power without origin… a shadow without substance."
The words only deepened the haze.
Zas felt as if his mind were drifting in a sea without bottom. He understood nothing, yet his heart screamed that this elder was far from ordinary.
The man rose slowly, as though moving a weight unseen, and said:
"Follow me."
And in that moment, the bindings on Zas's body dissolved.
He inhaled deeply — his senses flooding back.
Flustered, he muttered:
"Oh… very well."
But he did not hesitate long.
First with unsure steps, then quicker, until he was trailing behind the old man as though pulled by an invisible thread.
...
Above them, the sky had begun to change, shifting as if it were alive. Its colors wavered — from clear blue to a strange crimson dusk.
And Zas, despite all he had endured, did not know if he was walking toward truth… or into another abyss.