Gray floated in nothing.
It wasn't water, but it felt like he was swimming.
It wasn't air, but he wasn't suffocating.
It wasn't solid, but somehow he felt the faintest resistance brushing against his skin like the touch of ink swirling through his bones.
There was no sound. No heat. No cold.
Just an endless, oppressive black.
His hands hung limp at his sides, fingers trembling. The coppery taste of blood lingered on his tongue, yet it wasn't the ache in his body that hollowed him out, it was the silence.
Gray tried to move his arms. They didn't move. Yet somehow he felt like they had. His legs? Same. His breathing? He couldn't tell if he was breathing at all. And yet there was no desperate gasp for air, no crushing pressure in his lungs.
He didn't know how long he'd been here.
Only one thought kept crawling back into his mind, wrapping around him like the black void itself.
'I—I died...' The thought repeated itself in his mind, but for some reason he didn't feel any pain.
But he could still remember the memory.
The memory was fractured but sharp, the stabbing pain in his chest, the blood, the big spider's shadow looming over him, the sensation of his life leaking away. The fear.
He could never forget it.
He also couldn't forget his sins.
Lira's face flashed in his mind, not the fierce determination she always carried, but pale and still, eyes dulled. He didn't know if she was gone, but the image took root anyway, gnawing at him. She probably hated him now. Hated that he couldn't keep up, that he'd let things spiral so far out of control. Even in death,if it came to that she'd despise him for the weakness that had dragged them here.
And Adel… the thought twisted deeper. She had always been the sharper one, more composed, more capable. He imagined her looking at him now, bloodied, staggering, useless, with that quiet, cold disappointment that said everything without words. She would think he was weak. She would be right.
And she would be right.
He was pathetically weak.
The truth pressed on him like the weight of the earth. If he'd had a talent worth mentioning, an affinity, a passive trait or something...then maybe it would have been different. Maybe they'd still be standing beside him. But all he had was the hollow ache of failure, and the echoes of their absence clawing at his skull.
They were going to die a slow, painful death because of his actions.
His shoulders curled inward, each thought hurting more than the last. The shadows in the space seemed to close in, swallowing him whole. He thought about stopping. About letting the darkness have him.
But no matter what he did, the darkness never consumed him. It only tormented him, remaining at the back of his mind.
He would do anything, anything. Just to apologise to them. But it was too late for that.
After a while of sitting in the darkness he shook his head. There was nothing he could do about it now. They were dead, and so was he.
He curiously looked around.
'So… this is the afterlife?'
He half expected fire, screaming, judgment. Or maybe… nothing. But this felt wrong. Too quiet. Too… aware.
Then, without warning, he noticed it. A light. A faint, pale shimmer far ahead of him, or maybe below him, direction didn't seem to exist here.
It wasn't warm. It wasn't inviting. But it was different.
He tried to move again, this time he found himself able to. Just slightly.
He began to "swim" toward the light, arms not moving yet still propelling him forward. At first it seemed close. Then it slipped away, as if the more he reached for it, the more it pulled back.
He kept going anyway.
Minutes passed. Or hours. Or days. The light was still there. He could no longer tell if he was moving closer or if the light was just drifting away at the same pace he followed.
'I've been going for ages and I'm still not close?' He gritted his teeth, or tried to.
After what felt like a few more hours he finally stopped. Turning around to see if he really had no where else to go. If he really was alone...
That's when he saw it.
On the "floor" if there even was such a thing here, something flickered. Not light, not shadow, but a dull crimson pulse. It was faint at first, then stronger. The outline of a shape began to form within it.
A body.
He felt his throat tighten.
He drifted toward it slowly, each moment adding a leaden weight to his chest. The closer he got, the sharper the image became, boots, tattered clothing, pale skin.
Then he froze.
It was him.
The body lay perfectly still, eyes closed, skin drained of all warmth. His chest didn't rise. His lips were pale. He looked… smaller. Thinner. Almost fragile.
Gray cautiously approached, kneeling beside it, his hands trembling even though he couldn't feel them. His eyes traced over the details, the faint dirt on his cheek, the messy hair clinging to his forehead. Then he saw it.
A gaping hole near the left of his chest. Large enough to fit a fist through. Clean, cruel, and completely see-through.
His stomach twisted. He reached out without thinking, fingertips brushing the cold skin around the wound. His hand came away stained with dark blood, and the moment he saw it, the pool beneath the body began to grow.
A thin stream at first. Then thicker. Spreading outward in perfect silence.
Something primal gripped him. He stumbled back, heart pounding.
His eyes locked onto the figure.
Then the corpse's hand twitched.
Not much, just enough to stretch forward, fingers reaching.
Gray's gaze snapped to where it was pointing.
The light.
It had reappeared, this time closer.
Not far now. So close he could almost touch it.
He looked back at his own body. Its lifeless eyes were still closed, but the hand stayed extended, almost pleading.
He hesitated. A part of him wanted to stay, to keep staring at this… thing that was him but wasn't. Another part whispered that if he stayed, he'd sink into this abyss forever.
Gray swallowed hard. "There's nothing here for me," he muttered to no one.
And he swam toward the light.
The closer he got, the more it seemed to pull him in, not dragging, but calling.
He pressed a hand through it. Nothing burned. Nothing hurt.
He pulled his hand back, stared at it, then took a long, slow breath he didn't need.
And stepped through.
At first he felt nothing.
But then it hit him.
The first thing that hit him was the feeling of falling.
Not the stomach-lurching stumble of a trip, but a full, endless plummet.
"Shit!"
Wind tore past him, except it wasn't wind. It was… lighter. Almost pleasant. Still, panic took over. He spun, flailing for anything to grab,but there was nothing to assist him. No ground, no walls. Nothing.
In his panick his eyes managed to catch the view.
It was impossible.
Below him, no, all around him, stretched an endless range of mountains, their peaks rising like jagged spears into the clouds. The sky was awash with deep blues and warm pinks, a massive sun hanging low in the distance, spilling gold across the world. Each mountain seemed impossibly tall, their tips tearing through the mist as if trying to pierce heaven itself.
It was beautiful. Staggering. And utterly alien.
It wasn't anything he could imagine from. Not from Aurelia nor Nyxterra. It was otherworldly.
But Gray didn't have time to enjoy it.
He was still falling.
And for some reason… the ground wasn't getting closer.
Seconds turned into minutes. He fell, and fell, and the mountains stayed exactly as far away as when he'd first seen them.
Then he saw it.
Something far below, massive, strange, and shaped like…
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding—"
Before he could finish, the shape rushed up toward him. His gut clenched.
A deafening crash shook the air as he slammed into a surface that gave way in a storm of marble dust.
For a long moment, Gray just lay there, blinking up at the bright sky. Then he sat up , and realized he wasn't in pain. Not even a bruise.
Perhaps it was because he didn't have a body anymore.
"What the hell…"
He looked around.
The floor beneath him was smooth, white marble veined with gold. Shattered chunks of it lay scattered in a wide circle around him, cracks spiderwebbing outward. Above, there was a hole in the ceiling exactly where he'd fallen through, an enormous, jagged wound in an otherwise pristine structure.
And what a structure it was.
The place was a temple, ancient, towering, open to the world. Massive columns ringed the edges, supporting a high, ornate ceiling that shimmered faintly with gold inlays. There were no walls, only those columns, leaving an unobstructed view of the sky and the endless mountains below.
At the far end of the hall, raised upon a dais of carved steps, stood a throne.
It was enormous, carved from marble so pure it seemed to glow, veins of gold running like rivers through its surface. Upon it sat a figure.
His mind quickly became alert.
Gray squinted, trying to make out the details, the face, the posture, even the clothing, but every time his eyes settled on the figure, the image blurred. The harder he tried to focus, the more it slipped away, until it was like trying to recall a dream moments after waking.
'Who is he... is he...'
Then the figure spoke.
"No, I am not a God. Nor a devil. Nor an angel." Gray had expected a booming, majestic voice that would echo through the temple. Instead, it was calm. Reasonable. Almost casual.
'He's... not a divine being?' He raised an eyebrow. He was doubtful.
The figure spoke again.
"It's been a while since I had a visitor," the voice said. "But this is quite a rude way of entering, wouldn't you say?" This time his voice came loud,echoing.
Gray blinked, then remembered the gaping hole in the ceiling. And the broken marble all around him. And the massive crater in the floor exactly where he was sitting.
He let out a breath.
'Ahh, shit…'