The light was not light; it was memory.
As Lina fell, there was no feeling of gravity, just a floating through layers of color. Gold, blue, black—like water reflected within itself. Her fingers grasped at nothing, her breath echoed in a silence that felt like music.
Then she landed. Not hard—more like waking up.
The ground beneath her was smooth, transparent, yet warm. Like glass that lived. Underneath, something pulsed—veins of light that crossed and intertwined, as if they were the blood vessels of some enormous creature.
Lina straightened up. The sky above her had vanished. Only the light remained, endless and still.
"Hello?" Her voice echoed—once, then again. The echo was too close, too precise.
> "Hello."
She turned around. Nobody there. Just her own voice coming back—delayed, but altered. Deeper. Older.
"Who's there?"
> "You are there."
The echo came again. And this time she saw it.
