Creus, An Entire Book

 

 

...The Prophet seemed to shine above, but this was only an illusion.

He looked away and ahead.

The sun glared down at everything below. Sunlight flooded the desert, and rays peeked their way past the clouds. The animals hid in the shade and drank from puddles.

Thousands of footprints led toward the mountain. All remnants of the Prophet. David followed them. He winced as the heat beat on his back, blinked from the sand around his eyes. Below, the sun-baked mud cracked with every step and the scents of cooked clay filled his nose. Sweat dripped off him and onto the ground.

Lush forests full of animals once stood here. Blue rivers had run through these stones. But now, in its place, a dry, isolating, desert had buried paradise, with the ground crumbling beneath his feet, and heat streaming in the air and wavering in blurred lines. David used his crusted hands to push through the sandy winds and squinted to look at the sky. Yesterday's winds had stopped, as sand had swept through his hair and beard, and whirlwinds of yellow buried him in the sand. But the sun didn't hide behind cloudy layers. Instead, it shone in full view.

David strode past cliffs, approaching a village. Crowds surrounded it, following the same footprints as he did. They walked along with him.

All of them followed the Prophet, who owned armies of followers that marched behind him. They asked for cures, things they could hold, and to change them. They blessed him, they listened to him, they learned from him. Stronger horses, dogs for comfort, and pigs for food. The Prophet held the answer to all things.

He walked past the tawdry huts, leaning roofs, and low winds that breezed past him. He saw the highest pinnacles of humanity in brick houses that stood against the wind, people dined and laughed. He saw the highest falls of humanity in fallen homes and crawling half-dead people, who begged for food as they reached for him from below.

David walked to the middle of the village. He stood in the bricked square under the soft sun. Nobody was there. He heard nothing, but the sounds of twittering birds.

Something reached his nose. He curled his lips.

David held his nose, closed his eyes. He remembered it, the smell of a village far away.

The smell of death.

It continued into him, emptying him of his previous joy. He pulled the water out of his bag, drank the contents, and sat down in the middle of the village.

Ahead of him, he saw a pit. The smell of death... With bodies, thousands and thousands contained inside the jaws of the Abysm and buried near the Abyss, where the demons lay and tore at the joints and sinews of the dead. Salgon peered at them with ever-watching eyes, the Nalrath tore the corpses in half and collected their ears, and Salugren used venomous fangs that rotted the flesh.

But, he held no witness to those things. Bodies were burned without regret and shame. People revolted. People ran, screamed, escaped, and ignored those corpses. They escaped the Plague. They revolted against kings and conquerors, who sat on golden thrones. He held no witness to those things.

He had already traveled far away from them. Away from the dead, who stared with empty eyes, and away from the drunks who sang. Inside, he dreamt of worlds inside his mind. All dreams, he held close inside his memory.

Death and death to the millions.

What was the world with people who rotted away for years, collapsing from the plague?

There was no use for death in his world... Years passed quickly... People rotted away in his eyes...Unrelenting death, no use in the world, then no use for this world. There was death, and there was life. In the middle were the memories and the dreams. The truly great things that disappeared at the end until all were useless. All was useless! In the infinite plain of dreams, worlds, and people, he was the smallest thing. The minute detail. The piece of dirt. A death in millions.

He almost laughed, but seeing the village, he lamented and held his head in his hands. The sun thrummed, he heard it beat its fiery heart, with flames reaching out to him.

He had wasted away his boyhood, where he'd dreamt and felt joy that fleeted away. He had seen himself grow up until he had grown a beard. He had dreaded the days until he would grow tall and walk into life. He wished for moments of enjoyment and wonder. When he'd lived in a shack and eaten apples from a bowl... When he'd walked underneath those leafy trees... When he'd saw the clouds stretch out above him... When he'd ridden on a horse to the Laphanist churches and prayed with the Men Of Deer... When he'd slept on those rickety benches... When he'd hid underneath a bed, afraid of thunder...

He had wished for moments of eternal time. What was the use of life, of worry, of the world, when he would grow old? But, he didn't need to worry about that... The Prophet ahead would allow people to live eternally. The uselessness of life, he thought nothing about. Eternal life forever. Living as a child again. To live as a child again! He wished for a chance to see the world through new eyes, and finally enjoy the fresh path of a world anew.

He held everything in his hand. He held the solution to everything. With greatness emerging, with all things clicking into place, and nothing else.

Above him, the world darkened and the sun began its descent. In his mind, he saw Protennessen shut its eyes and fall to sleep. David turned his head and looked at the mountain Pnoaphales.

A ring of clouds surrounded its peak. Then, the mountain radiated orange from the light of the sun. Deserts sank, and precarious cliffs balanced in his eyes.

Now, he walked. He'd followed the footprints for days. David wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted his carrying pack. He pulled an oilskin from the bag. David gulped the contents down and continued along the path of footprints. He looked ahead.

The sun shimmered, going below the world, and he squinted. A squat tavern sat ahead. The roof tiles clacked against one another. He walked away from the place. The sounds of laughter and drink faded from his ears. The sun dipped beneath the world. He walked to a clearing on the street, set up his straw bed, and lay underneath the darkness.

Bronze keys jingling from the inn as the innkeeper led his guests into cramped rooms. Then into a room with a candle-wick holder; a broken cabinet leaned against the walls. Torn cloth hung from the ceiling; water leaked out of the walls. He saw each bright room, then they closed. He turned over on his straw bed. David closed his eyes and slept.

The next day, he woke in the morning sun, with dawn touching the cusp of the earth. He woke to people everywhere and clay jars and clay bricks, broken upon his feet. He stepped across and around them. He ignored the people, sometimes dragging carts, sometimes carrying sacks, and sometimes trying to laugh surrounded by it all. Nobody stood near the temples. The Prophet's abode lay empty, and as did Protennessen.

David walked on the path again. People strode ahead and behind him. Footprints shifted into bricks. The road continued along a forested expanse. David looked above at the sky. Thin clouds journeyed across blue. The sun's light faded into the dark forest. Colder than the desert and its wind. From the beating sun of the mesa, into the air of forests.

The trees seemed to scrape the sky. The forest smelled of pine, and he could hear a waterfall. Birds watched him from their perches, and they twittered with birdsong. Everywhere, people walked alongside him in ragged shapes, ragged clothes, ragged steps, with smog polluting the air.

As he continued, the road raised itself and steepened. The brick road went higher. It stretched upwards. Then the road stood in the sky and David looked down at what was below the road. He could see the treetops and the fog that ran halfway up the wall. No birds flew over the road now, and above him, only the sky lay. His legs stumbled and then strode forward. He inhaled the mountain air, and let it form into the fog before his lips. He went past the few people remaining on the road.

He clapped his hands together and received an echo that reverberated back to him. The view spread itself below him. Forest, then desert, then the Gate that surrounded Pnoaphales. Brick monoliths supported the walls. Below the Gates, brick crumbled, and time gnawed at the stone. Rambling vines crept along the sides, and green devoured rock. Each brick stacked against the other, preventing gaps, and no light streamed through.

Below them, flowers bloomed. They ran in rows that grew from the loose earth. All red and blooming. The smell of daisies and roses; the deep scents of flowers. He remembered a similar field. David had run through those fields without a beard; he ran through them without a creak; he ran through flowers and exclaimed delight into the sky; he ran on velvet across the rough; he ran with young legs. Young eyes, free of dust, he looked through.

Dust and grime crept around his eyes. A grey vignette covered them again. He shook his head, sighed, and walked with wooden joints along the wall.

Soon, the Abyss, and people decrying Laphanists and the Men Of Deer. But he saw them, he ignored them, and he continued. Not many reached the top, nor did they reach the bottom. Soldiers and generals climbed the cliffs and braved the whirling world above. None walked back. But he knew about the world above, and had journeyed before, when he'd been younger. Only now, he revisited his past with a beard.

He shivered in the cold. At any moment, the wind could blow him away, the rocks could push him down. Every joint in his body seemed to creak now.

As the seasons passed, as time scraped away at the bone, as death approached him...The Prophet had the answer. The Prophet had the answer... As he thinned, grew weary, and gasped out his last few breathes...

No, the Prophet had the answer. The Prophet had the answer.

David reached the clearings, where the sun shone upon his spotted head. Ahead of him, the road diverged into two ways. He walked to the second one, passing the tree with raised branches. Uprooted bushes, weeds, and other things, he encountered, as he followed the footprints. With that, a hill rushed down, and he looked upon a valley that lay below his feet. Underneath, the road wound into the further forest.

He turned away, walked back, passing the damaged trees and shriveled stumps. He walked onto the first path. Further footprints and wheel-tracks damaged the forest floor until mud mucked the grassy plains.

He passed by plague bodies. Each with the rotting bones, seeming similar to him, similar to all. Mortal souls... By the Prophet! He stopped, backing away from them. Further death! Further death! He shrank from the view, seeing himself. He was fine... Soon... The Prophet...

He stopped there suddenly, sitting upon the ground, and closed his eyes.

He thought further of the Empty eyes. Crowds and bodies in the masses. Death! Further death! The future held nothing, but the cold eyes, empty sockets, the skulls on pikes held high above all. But, what to do? He bit his tongue, nails, lips, pulled at his beard. To gamble with death? He had a chance... Maybe... He looked into his bag, saw nothing, closed it, and sighed... Money and power. He had none. Death would accept nothing, not even payment. Soon... With a whitened beard, hobbling, and dying from the throes of Plague.

He turned away, shaking his head. He pounded his fists against the ground, cried for a while. After that, he looked into the sky, gazed at the sunset. Then, from his bag, he took out two vials, drank them down, and shut his eyes tightly.

Ahead, a village loomed, with stacked stories, and decaying homes. He glimpsed smokestacks and farms that cleared plains into the titan mountains. He walked into the open doors of an inn with sallow, sulking people that drowned their depressions with wine. Cabinets surrounded the innkeeper, people drank from rounded jars, and leaned against the frescos. Tiles slipped, shattered, tumbled, but the innkeeper took no heed.

"The world itself. What is past it and what shall I discover?", said someone, from a group of five that sat around a cylindrical table.

"Ha-ha-ha! You'd try on Pnoaphales! A world by itself, by oneself, journeying isolated and cold. A great, great thing, you call it. With beauty, with the Prophet! With the PRophet.", said another.

"I'd want to... But the world itself. All can see that it lies in Pnoaphales."

"A world seems fine. Greatness lies on the peak of Pnoaphales!"

"I wouldn't go, no. A world... Yet again... Yet again, there is nothing but the Prophet and his followers. The boring drone of their marching will surely distract me."

To the right of David, someone mumbled in slurred words. Then, the words grew louder as the man stood up.

"Pnoaphales, I'd climb the slag heap", it mumbled, "Going onto the top, with people, with anyone for hire! Who'd go? Who'd come with?"

He pointed to himself with limp arms. His eyes widened, revealing red. Lips sagged, foam curled at the edges, then he waved to himself.

"I'll bet, bet my home, house. Don't reach it, I sell my money, sell my land, sell my home! And all useless with the plague. Coming about and destroying the crops! I'd- I'd-", the man spat with every word. Yellow teeth revealed from his lips. Grinning, with a smile filling his face.

The one behind him, holding him, whispered something into his ear, then pulled the man backward.

"I climb. No matter the choice... My words, not, the mumbles of a drunken idiot....", the man wiped his mouth, "No... no... Nobody understands...understands... "

"Denton, come down. Drunken, drunken rage, and I told him.... Denton... Denton..."

The innkeeper shouted to get him out.

"Give us some time. He's woozy. We'll carry him away, and lift him...", one of them tried to pull him to the doorway. Then turned his head to stare at the drunken man,

"Let's walk away. You're too drunk. Let's walk back home. You should take a nice rest, then in the morning, everything is new."

"None of that matters! The Plague! The Plague! The Glorious, Glorious Plague! Run, I'll run, run and run, the glorious Plague! The Plague!", the man stumbled away from them. His legs crossed each other, and he fell . David caught him in his arms as the man collapsed.

David led the man over to them, holding him tightly against him, "Here"

"Thank you", Grunting as he dragged him over to them.

"Can you... help us with him? Too heavy of a load for us, you understand", gesturing to what David carried.

"I'll need another", David lifted the sagging weight with his arms, "C'mon, lift his legs, then we'll get him home."

They walked in silence as torches were snuffed and the town basked in moonlight. Then, the house covered them in grey. David lay the sleeping figure on the ground. He turned and stepped away.

"Wait! You seem hungry, you seem sleepy. Helpful, you've been. Why don't you sleep under our roof?"

"I can sleep outside. It's fine for me, otherwise, this bed of mine will be of no help for the journey."

"It's cold, no one's outside. Come, eat and drink with us, then retire to bed. The Prophet will wait for you on the mountain, but for now, rest."

"I can't deny that. Dirt, I've eaten for days and days. A warm loaf, maybe, I'll devour, something else, maybe... I'll go, then set out in the morning. Thank you."

"No matter. You've helped us aplenty. With the Prophet's journey, people arrive and pass, they wreck the town, and they ruin its resources. A sliver of luck is better than continuous ruin."

He dined and ate what they had, morsels, wheat, bread, some tomatoes, and wine. He slept underneath their roof, hearing rain patter on the roof, along with snoring and shuffling.

The morning arrived with orange covering the sky, and yellow radiating from the sun. Light streamed in rays, and David woke up. A sound came from below.

"I'm going, climbing past, and going. Nobody'll stop me. My journey is too great, too challenging, too tall."

"Denton, this idea of yours. It isn't... You drank and drank, and your mind- Denton? Denton?"

"The mountain stands at the glorious heights, nothing stops me, the Prophet awaits."

"You've seen what those people do! They've left their lives behind, but not you, not you..."

"Bernard, Bernard, you see the mountain? Do you see that glorious peak, the splendor, the lush, the amazing world? Bernard, listen to me! The Prophet, he'll fix everything, everything!"

"The Prophet is gone", Bernard said.

Silence, for a minute. Someone stepped down, the wood creaked, then more talking, mumbling, muttering.

"No, no, the Prophet, never gone. I'll go, see if I don't...".

Footsteps, sandals upon clay. David stood, and packed his things, then headed down the stairs until he reached the door.

"What're you doing?" Bags piling upward and all of them rushing to hurry.

"Denton's left, we're going with", said Bernard, short, squat. Someone with the stature of the Prophet and the glorious smile.

"Beautiful day on the outside, horrible on the inside", one of them observed, "I'm ready, let's go."

They walked out under the sun. David followed them.

"The Prophet awaits for me too, then", David nodded his head.

"You too?"

"Yes, better than being alone", said David.

"The Prophet came past here weeks ago; he must've reached the top by now.", said one of them, tapping his chin "Coincidental, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Osmond", Bernard said, "With that crowd, no, he'd try to shake them off, or let them go with him, or I don't know...."

David followed the rest of them into the deeper part of the forest. It was reaching midday, and the sun was halfway into the trees.

Near him, Bernard opened his bag. Galtrand and Gotund glowed from inside. Coins jingled and shimmered from the sun.

"Magi. Then you must hold great power", David nodded and uncapped the oilskin, drinking the contents.

"I practice magic, but not the type you find in plays or entertainment", Bernard rummaged in his bag. "Not that sort, no..."

"I remember the Men Of Deer's magic. Healing, lifting, and much more. I saw it in circuses..."

"Circuses? Ha-ha-ha! What a jest! A circus?", Bernard laughed again, "Nobody practices magic like that! You must've seen a light show with candles, and the Great Healing Magic."

"Like that, it was. Maybe, but then again...", David frowned, "Alright, alright... Why don't you practice it? Show me what magic is, try it out."

"It won't take long. Only a second to show you. Then, I'll have you eating out of my hand. Won't take long..." Bernard grinned and opened his bag. Then he pushed something into his palm.

He made multiple flashy movements and then gestured to David's pocket.

"Look in there! Ha-ha-ha! Didn't expect that, did you?", Bernard said.

He rummaged in his pocket and held up a coin.

"A coin? But this is just petty magic" David scratched his beard.

"But magic it is! It's the same as the type you find in that circus."

"Can you show me real magic?"

"Another time, another day. The real magic is much more difficult to do. Wouldn't try it here, myself.", Bernard said, and put the coin back in the bag.

Bernard stopped and turned to face something in the grass. He walked over and picked it up. David saw Bernard smile and show it to David. But, nothing stood between his fingers. Not a glimmer went to David's eyes.

"Very good of a coincidence, Gotund. Although you can't see it", Bernard nodded," But it's an early sign that we're getting higher."

"There's nothing there. There's nothing between your fingers..."

"A shroud covering it then, one of five. But Gotund, this is. Rare to find up on the surface, though."

They trailed through the night, looking for a clearing that shone. David kicked at stones, Bernard whistled, Osmond ate bread, and the other one, Darrell, drank water. They reached a hillside by the evening. The trees faded away behind them as the sun went down. The stars sprinkled across the sky, twinkling and fading, with a cosmic fog covering them.

They sat down on the grass, all surrounded by a crackling fire. There was no meat to cook, but the heat of the fire provided comfort to the cold of the night.

Bernard turned the spit, and the fire roasted the bread, warming and expanding it while the crust burst at the seams.

"What is there to do? What is there to do...", David juggled a pebble with his foot.

"Maybe a story, entertaining little stories", Bernard replied.

"Stories?"

"I have a story, from my time in the First War", Darrell said.

"Well? Tell the story", Bernard said.

"In the army, when my captain decided to attack Pnoaphales. His triumph over the Men Of Deer and Laphanists was withstanding. Immediate respect, with great honors upon his kin. His ego expanded, eventually, until he reached his breaking point. Pnoaphales stood as a final achievement until he was laid to rest."

"One day, he decided to take control of Men Of Deer territory atop Pnoaphales. He decided to separate them into respective groups. As I waited in the first group, the others, in the second group, attacked them. We heard screams; the throes of death. Then came the animal sounds of the Men Of Deer and the human shouts of the Laphanists, perhaps of triumph."

"But, when we got there. Fog covered everything. Agog, we were. Devoid of life. Nothing but swamp. What did we know?"

"When we marched back, only a person remained. No ears. We gave him some wine and made him stagger. He wouldn't talk, nothing but blabbering. The wine didn't work, we tried to bribe him, to bow to his needs and desires. A blank stare crossed his face, and his mind fell from sanity. He drowned himself in the rivers going into the ocean. The captain and his group didn't come back either."

"It was pure luck that I was in the second group", Darrell replied.

"Strange, strange, strange... A long time ago, then, a long, long, time ago.", David said.

"The First War wasn't like that! A time of adventure, a time to fight, a time to stand! A time when Wailen fought against higher things! Not of the plague, but something else!", Bernard said.

"It was for me", Darrell replied in a whisper.

"Then, maybe... I remember fighting in the First War, cold in the winter, hot in the summer, both miserable, but still as fun", Bernard replied.

"Still as fun", Darrell echoed over his breath.

"I've got a better story than that", Bernard grinned at Darrell, "Yes, a much better story."

Darrell sat there and nodded. His lips curling as he did. Then without a blink, he answered.

"Ok", Darrell studied Bernard, "Tell the story."

"I was walking on the street when a glimmer reached my eyes. I went over and there shone a silver ring. It was the largest ring I'd ever seen. So amazing, so glorious, so splendorous. A miraculous discovery. And, it weighed twice as heavy as this rock".

Bernard held up a large pebble. The fire made it a raging red. Denton scooched closer.

"That night, I didn't sleep. I dreamt only of the ring. The very much silver ring. Several times, I rubbed it for good luck. Then I bit the ring to see if it was fake."

He paused for effect.

"And, the next day I walked to a jeweler. I showed him the ring, and he examined it. He was mumbling, and he licked it and sniffed it. The whole time, I thought only of the money. The piles I'd be swimming in, the great mountains of gold and copper, and also how fast I'd spend it before being poor again. The riches. I would use this to buy the largest castle in the world. I could use it to fly in the sky like birds. Or, buy three steady meals every day. Then the jeweler stopped. He sniffed the silver ring. And he looked up and said"

Bernard hunched his back and spoke.

" 'Get out of here! It's a fake, look! See! Get out of my shop!' "

"Asking him to check again, I did. But he mumbled something about stupid customers. And he kicked me out. To this day, I will never know who dipped an adder stone into some lead. But, I know this"

He leaned forward and whispered.

"Don't bite lead rings, it brings bad luck."

"Bad-... What?", Darrell bit his lip, "What?"

"Have you ever cracked a tooth?"

"Besides teeth though, besides teeth, it doesn't bring much else"

"Ok," Bernard pulled a rusty ring from his pocket. "Bite this lead ring,"

The rust on the ring was layered with thick age. It smelled horrible, like old bronze buckets.

"Er...", Darrell took the ring," Okay, then."

Darrell closed his eyes and bit into it. Then he spat onto the ground. David watched as Darrell grimaced. He scooched back a bit.

"Tastes like old coppers!", Darrell continued spitting, "Like rusty iron gates!"

David handed him a flask of water. Darrell drank it greedily.

"Wait for a second! That was of the impure type. Made of nickel, wrong ring."

Bernard pulled a larger rustier ring. This time, David saw moss.

"No, no! Enough! Okay, made your point, you have", Darrell turned his head away and spat on the ground again.

"Right, you see what I mean", Bernard took the ring back and wiped it with his shirt.

"But without rust, it would still be lucky", Osmond tapped his chin.

"Try it out then?"

"There's no evidence to prove that lead-... It seems... Uh.... I.... Is it-?", Osmond took the lead ring, "I'll bite into it... Then, we'll see what happens."

"Alright, we'll see... We'll see...", Bernard nodded, "Bite it"

Osmond bit into it and spit onto the ground. He spat again to get rid of the rust. Below him, he could see the swirling red in the translucent water.

"Red?! Red!?", the ring fell to the ground.

"Let me just pick this up...", Bernard grunted.

David stood up.

"I'm going to go to sleep", Bernard nodded in reply and David walked away into his canvas tent.

"Good night", Denton replied with a faint nod.

The wind whispered and the grass poked through the weak canvas. It billowed and swayed.

He closed the flaps of the tent and looked through to see if anyone was looking. The rest all talked around the fire. Bernard laughed.

He closed it again and opened a small bag.

Inside it, a vial glimmered, made of glass and cork. A peddler gave it to him, producing a box, and his hands had snatched it away. Years ago, but it seemed quicker, and during it, the peddler had promised fantastic dreams. From Galtrand and Gotund, the peddler had said, from the great elements of magic, from the magi.

David had tried it out after and he had dreamed wonderful dreams. Wonderful, wonderful dreams. Dreams his mind could never comprehend. These dreams seemed as different, great, and strange as Pnoaphales.

His hands pulled out a small vial. He tapped out a small palmful. Then he scrambled to put it back. David drank it with water and lay down.

A warmth filled his body. Slow, as it wrapped around his mind and relaxed him. He closed his eyes. He saw darkness for only a second. He could feel the exhaustion of the walk draining away from him, and felt as calm, in its purest form, came through him. Small dots of white danced in his vision and he smiled inside his mind. Then he saw light.

Gone was his beard. He sat on the ground in a crowd of people. In front of him, Men Of Deer raced chariots. Horses galloped around and around, speeding past another in blurs with dusty streaks remaining.

David laughed, and his eyes filled bright with delight as Men Of Deer moved past. But now none of them after The First War....

He shook his head at the thought and looked above. Above him, the crowd cheered and the horses sped past him.

He relaxed his mind. David's hands clapped together. Then the horses bounded into their pens. The crowd stood up and clapped. People crowded around him, their bodies stood everywhere, going around the track in a wide ring. Then, they sat down.

Every moment reminded him of the times before the First War. Before the rats ravaged the town's remains. In his heart, the memories remained there always. They'd never fade away into dust. For, his memories existed as immortal. Floating inside his mind, as precious as gold, better than any gift. Nothing could take away these memories.

Fading away now, gone from his mind. He reached out a hand to catch and hold them, but they slipped out of his hands.

In another dream, his feet walked above red sand. His feet curled, and he walked around craters. A mountain lay above, he knew, a mountain higher than Pnoaphales. An eternal night shrouded him from light. People stood ahead, waiting for someone.

Where is the Prophet?, he asked and shouted, Hello? Where is the Prophet?

The person ahead of him, Denton, didn't answer. Denton stared at the sand instead, sifting the red through his fingers. He continued, dragging his feet along the sand. Winds lashed at his head, and he reached his blind limbs forward.

Two people stood ahead, walking with him. He wiped his eyes and ran to them.

Hello? Where is the Prophet? Hello?, he shouted, cupping his hands together, Hello?

The person pointed, Osmond and Bernard, and David made his way past. The mountain loomed ahead blocking the winds and casting a shadow upon him.

Finally, the mountain stood ahead, surrounded by infinite gates and infinite water that dripped down the sides. He strode forward, but fell, and tried again, falling again. The Prophet's figure outlined against the light, splitting into three figures. His eyes filled with light, and then…

He sat up.

The thick straw around him was filled with sweat. He shifted deeper into the straw. It enveloped him with a nice warmth and he closed his eyes. The straw stung his skin. His skin was clammy and his nails were filled with dark soil.

A realistic dream, full of reality, and nothing else.

He climbed out of the straw and walked outside. The flame still raged, near it sat the three of them. All of them slept near the fire. David blew on the embers and the white ash tore away from its place.

He clambered over to the now-awake Bernard. Bernard shivered in the cold and wet. Droplets fell from him as he stood. Bernard stifled a yawn.

"Near the afternoon, it seems. I'll be going to get some food from Denton", David asked.

"Okay"

David ran down the hill and jumped over the jutting rocks. He neared the forest, then stopped. The tent swayed with the wind, and billowing as the cold filled it up. He opened the flaps and ducked his head into the darkness.

"Denton?", David rubbed his eyes. Red dotted his vision, then faded away. He blinked and stumbled forward.

He heard no sound. Denton had gone. The bags lay clean of their contents. Empty of food, empty of water. He looked back. Behind him, footprints continued to Pnoaphales. They led away and into the forest. Further into the trail and up onto the mountain. Not climbing back down and into civilization, but Denton furthering without them, Denton had abandoned them.

Gone was Denton. Their friend had scrambled off with everything. Everything, except the money. David ran toward the others. The hardened mud cracked beneath him. His breath turned into fog.

"Denton's gone!", the others sat around the fire before sitting up. He scrambled over a boulder and ran to Bernard.

"He's run away, the bags are gone, everything. Further up the mountain, without us...", he caught his breath, "He's gone!"

Bernard looked at David, droplets fell down his face. He began to realize that it wasn't the rain, but sweat, running down from his forehead.

"Gone?", Darrell asked, "Gone?! Without us? What was this journey for then? What was it for!?"

Darrell stopped and sighed. A foot tapped the ground. He shifted. Bernard looked at the fire.

"Show me it", Darrell said.

David ran down the hill again. Bernard didn't follow. The grass parted around David's feet. He ran around the rocks and toward the tent.

Darrell jogged behind him. The tent arrived in their view and David ran inside. Then he ran out with the bags.

"The food and the water", David picked up the bags, "He left money, and other things."

"We'll have to find him and convince him to go back or stay" Darrell sighed, "Denton... Denton... Denton.... What've you done now?"

"There we go...", Darrell traced with a shaking finger on the skyline, "Over the trees, past that, onto Pnoaphales. It shouldn't take long. But soon we'll make it."

"Further up the trail then, and we'll make it", David pointed to the footprints, which zigzagged and stumbled past them.

"We can wait back home. We can sit and relax, never have to bear this journey to Pnoaphales. C'mon, let's pack up. Better we go back to town", Darrell replied.

"No", David pointed again, "Denton's stolen everything, and left us to journey for ourselves. And if we catch him today, we might never have to bear the sight of his corpse."

"Corpse? Denton's impervious to harm. Never had a scratch on him, I've seen."

"Why not your friend between you?"

"Well....No. Wait", Darrell nodded, "Let's go forward then. The faster we hurry; we can catch him. I don't want him to... get lost."

"Foward to Pnoaphales", David nodded.

They ran back. Bernard sat there with Osmond. The two of them talked. The fire blazed lively, wavering in the cold air, weak against the wind. Bernard huddled while Osmond talked.

"An example would be...", Osmond looked up, "What happened?"

"Denton ran off with everything", Darrell shivered in the cold.

"David says that we must go further"

"What about the path? And its danger?", Osmond asked.

"We can bear it. But only if we catch Denton in time. After that, we won't have to bear a single danger."

"If we become the fools we fear, then what'll happen?"

"We won't. The journey won't take long."

"Let's go forward. Catching Denton will be a hard thing. Like the slippery fish that he is", David pulled at his beard,"We might as well go forward."

Bernard watched him. He paid no attention to David. He sat occupied by something else.

"I can still see it, very bright, still there...", Bernard whispered.

"Bernard, what're you talking about?", David asked. Osmond looked at Bernard.

"It's fine, we were talking about dreams. He told me his, but he stopped and thought when you came"

"Dreams then? That's fine, that's fine", David pointed towards the looming mountain, "We must hurry, no regrets for now."

"We should go to the village, back, for a while. We'll get some rest.", Osmond stared at the shivering Bernard.

"No", Bernard stared at Osmond, "Denton..."

"Alright", David replied, and looked past them, onto Pnoaphales. "Let's go then"

"I'll pack up", Osmond said and walked away. Darrell followed behind him. Bernard sat near the fire and shivered as the wind made the fire waver.

David watched them go and sat near the blaze. The journey ahead awaited, the immortality he would gain. He'd walk home with bliss, with immortality in his hand, with time in his grasp. With everyone, the same. With life for all, and death for none. Then, his mind would soothe itself, and calm would overtake him. Worries about the plague, all gone. After the Prophet... After the Prophet.... But now he needed to find the Prophet. He shivered as the wind blew a cold gust towards him.

Ahead, going forward, to the Prophet.

Far, far away from the Plague. Away from the great pit that they held bodies in. Away from the sickness that left them helpless. Away from the fires of the Plague. None of those sickness... Not anymore... The Prophet, with his magic, would remove the worries of the Plague. From his position, David saw nothing. But, when their steps walked and trudged. The Prophet would let them into his abode. There, they would be welcomed, and he would give them eternal life. A droplet, a horn, an oilskin of immortal liquid. All worries would fade from his mind as he sat in peace. No death... He would remain with a grey beard, living his life... Soon the Prophet would arrive with his splendors and powers, more powerful than all of the magi.

But, he remembered the stories of horrible climbs. But he had little chance to encounter that. They'd walk past those stories.......But the beasts ahead.... No, bad luck like that wouldn't come to him........He snapped out of the thought and stood up.

The fire had gone out, they'd already begun packing, he ran to Osmond and Bernard, who was red-faced from sitting near the fire all day. He continued in thought as he rushed through the grass, and stomped through flat mud.

Bernard's stare, mumbling about his dreams. Soon his dreams would match the dreams of the Prophet. Pnoaphales would fix them all, give them everything, all things. Immortality and life forever in the world. Back in his youthful fervor. Back to feelings of wonder and the world with its freshness and newness. Back to his curious self, back to himself. He'd travel into nature and then buy a ship to travel the world...

They would go on empty stomachs for the rest of the day until a village came into their sight. Denton's thievery left them with no food and no water. The only things Denton had left were Darrell's sword, some supplies. It was only by chance that Denton had left his box of vials and the Book of Stories. Without them, he wouldn't have tried to go forward. He'd kept the Book Of Stories for years and years, ever since he'd left the Men Of Deer. Before many, many things, he'd held it in his hand. He looked at it's dog-eared cover and faded pictures. Many pages he'd repaired with glue.

They ran past the rocky jaws of the mountain, with pillars jutting out in teeth-like formations, and onto a field. Wheat split and revealed thin stalks. Rabbits chewed, robins dug and pulled at worms, and cattle migrated past them. During this time, Bernard held a clay crucible and pulled invisible things out of it. He muttered, grumbled, and did magic by himself again and again. Eventually, that sound faded from his ears, and it seemed like they were walking in silence.

Then their journey began, and they saw and began to follow the footprints. Each turned fresher with distance. Now, they passed a stream, flies stood thick, and David's stomach growled at the thought of food. They reached a small clearing in the forest and rested. Silence continued as they sat and rested. It continued until David spoke up.

"Why don't you perform some magic, Bernard?", he pulled out a stick, and waved it around, "Hizzak! Bizzam.... "

"Sure" Bernard reached for a pebble, "Here I go."

David watched him glumly tap the stick against the pebble.

"Now, watch as it disappears", Bernard pulled the pebble out. Then he hid it in his pocket.

"Er...Why don't I tell a story?", David said, pulling out his Book Of Stories. He flipped a page, and then arrived at one of them."I'll read aloud then."

"The Story Of Mercurus and His Quest:

"

Mercurus was cast out into the world. Sent into alchemy, into it he went as a chemena, away from the magi and the himare. Along his way, he encountered the five shrouds. The first shroud let him see Galtrand and Gotund. The second shroud let him see the soul and the body. The third, fourth, and fifth remained covered over his eyes.

After that, into his created world, where he sat near a furnace, tongs, hammers, bellows, resembling a blacksmith's workshop. Mercurus lived near farms and peasants. He wore rags and drank mud. His stool creaked as he worked.

Tools filled his home, all light and fragile, with clay crucibles, clay pots, and clay pans. In this place, he worked to cure and revive, as a doctor does. His work left metallic-smelling smoke hanging in the room. At night, his home would glow with the lambent light from the Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand. In the day, he'd sit content, near the window, working again. Day and night, never a change.

Until the Prophet came, giving all things to all people. The Prophet arrived, walking to the village, with his crowds of followers, and now, throngs of people outside his window. Mercurus's eyes never beheld the sight. For, he was too entranced by his work.

But, he managed to witness the Prophet. It happened after he set off toward the market, away from his home of clay and reed roofs, onto the road. Past the crowds of people, into the center of the city.

There stood the Prophet, performing magic, spouting blue, red, and gold from his fingertips, facing his back to him. A pile had formed below his feet, with gold coins imprinted with statesmen, with gold cups, with gold plates, with gold pots, all in piles. Giving it all to the masses, from his fingertips, while the Prophet performed magic.

Inside Mercurus's mind, a fire ignited.

There it lay, gold, all over the ground, produced by magic. All the gold, made from magic itself. All from magic. With that amount of gold, he'd buy a new home. With that, he'd drink the wine and beer of nobles. With this, he'd wear gold.

He went back into his home, where he set his glass flasks and vials onto the table, getting to work. To make gold from Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand.

The first day, he set off with Galtrand and Gotund only. Hours, he spent, filtering and dispersing into vials and crucibles. Yet, no result, none at all, nothing to see. Instead, only a flask of liquid, which glowed blue and felt hot. He set it down on the tray and rested.

The second day came with many surprises. He added Quand, and when he poured the flask into a crucible. It solidified into solid bronze. Shining, solid, bronze. He touched it, and a metallic ring ricocheted off the walls. Again, he repeated it, and again, out came bronze.

On the third day, he added more Galtrand and poured the vial into a crucible. It shook and fell apart, and shattered. One shard caught itself in his hand. He had to bandage it with rags and rest.

On the fourth day, he added more Gotund to his mixture, and out came liquid silver. It flowed faster than water and shone brighter than the moon. He dipped his finger into the mixture. When he pulled it out, a silver finger emerged. His hands hurried to cover the window, and he went outside to look for people. Paramon barred the doors to his home and went back. He added more Galtrand to the crucible. The crucible boiled and steam rose into the air. Paramon gazed at the red outline around it. His fingers crept along the edge; one went past the steam; into the crucible.

He screamed. Acid ran up a finger; burning it; dissolving it. He pulled his finger out, and he tried to shake the acid off. Mercurus almost pushed the crucible away, but he fumbled it around before setting it down.

Only a stump and nothing else. But Mercurus knew that he didn't need this finger. He would replace it with gold later on. When gold arrived, then he'd live like a king. For now, he needed to continue. Another bandage wrapped around his finger. He filled the crucible with Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand. They all buzzed, rotated, and then beat like a heart against the pot. With an ear against metal, he heard the pot ring. Blue, red, and gold lit his home, but then the light faded away. The night devoided the light from his home. The window Paramon sat near for a decade twinkled into darkness. Only him and the draught remained.

On the fifth day, he found gold. He held a nugget the size of his palm. It weighed like a boulder. He flaked some off, and he held it to the light of the window. Gold, not silver, not brass, not copper. Gold. He rolled it into a ball between his fingers; then he mashed it into the nugget. His hands rolled the nugget into a cylinder. Mercurus carved it into the shape of his lost finger, and he attached it to the stump. There it went; it gleamed and shined; beautiful; it radiated brighter than the stars.

He needed more, many, many more than the piece before him. His house; all plated in gold; he needed much more than the meager nugget before him. He needed to let all people enjoy this gold. He'd give the gold to the peasants. He'd live with them as equals. He'd let all people live with riches. He'd let them live in immortality. Everyone! Everyone! But with himself sitting atop them all...

Mercurus dragged out a clay pot, larger than himself. He poured a boulder of Galtrand and Gotund in; then some Quand. Light burst from the depths of the pot. He heated it and he waited.

The pot shook and shuddered. He stepped aside. The room lit up with blue, and then red, and then gold. Soon, he could see nothing else. They imprinted themselves into his eyes, disfigurations of light; traveling past his vision. Visions went past his mind from the deep depths. Darkness covered his eyes, then red scales. The Abysm hissed, slithered, and writhed as it bared fangs through many heads. Then, the Abysm swallowed him and he lay inside the Abyss. Salugren lumbered and held a creature in his white jaws. He stumbled and fell into a pit and into a fleshy mass. Pale creatures latched and grabbed. They held and devoured. Each stared at him with beady eyes as he fell past.

He collapsed into a heap upon impact. His eyes blurred, he saw a fallen Abysian. Massive in size and shape, but torn apart by more of the pale creatures. His hands reached forward, and he looked into the blue pit. A misshapen man, blurs, and pain shot through him until he saw the finality. The final creature, something massive, beating like a heart. His mind bore it no further, and broke from it's holds.

Mercurus stumbled toward the pot. His feet stepped forward, one by one. He moved little, swinging his legs forward bit by bit.

He blinked his eyes and looked inside. The Galtrand and Gotund, writhing red, bursting with energy, moving, twitching. He reached a hand in to dip it in gold. Below, the mixture glowed. He couldn't reach it. Mercurus lifted his leg into the pot, and he tried again. His grip loosened. Galtrand and Gotund glowed.

He fell in.

Into the red Galtrand, into the blue Gotund, he felt heat rise through him, into him. He tried to call out for someone, anyone. He yelled, shouted, but the Galtrand burned him. It covered his lungs and his mouth.

He could call no more for anyone. Already gone, he was. Gone to everyone, nobody knew.

He shouted, flailed his arms, tried to. But the Galtrand and the Gotund forced the gold to run up his arm. It covered his face until he stood as a perfect statue in a perfect form. He stood in gleaming gold. With sunken sockets and perfect detail, Mercurus twinkled. His mouth stretched across his face. His fingers grasped the wall. The statue went silent, and now, Mercurus existed forever in his throes."

"Better?", David closed the book and poked at the fire. A red spark rose into the air.

"I'm fine, just a bit of worry and a bit of bad", Bernard cleared his throat, "But, I've got a very, much, better story than that."

"Tell us. I've never seen one rivaling 'Mercurus' before."

"Then, the Story of Circacial."

"Many years ago, a king and his people traveled through Wailen. Their feet dragged along the roads, and they carved pathways. All of them searched for their lost kingdom. A world they had once owned, but all taken away by a Magi. Bricks had vanished and the king had cried. Then his subjects set off to find their kingdom with carts and oxen.

The king wore his crown crooked in a slant against his head. It hung sideways as his chariot tumbled across the road. His eyes saw forest and sun for miles. No brick, no cities, nothing... The traveling village rode and the oxen chewed their cud. They crested a hill and built a village of tents. Lamps flared and children played, but all enjoyed the stars. The great, great stars. Glittering, twinkling, sparkling stars. They floated above like a dandelion's featherlike hairs with blue and white tufts stretching from each star.

The king caught sight of the stars while he prayed to the Prophet. But his eyes glimpsed for a second until he closed his eyes and imagined. His mind saw visions of his lost kingdom, with empty houses and empty villages, with neglected toys and lost mirrors, with dust over everything. His eyes saw vines creeping and breaking down walls. When he opened them again, they were gone and the pit inside his heart grew a bit more.

For him, tomorrow brought progress, but today brought nothing. Tomorrow, another king to ask for help from, but today, his feet had walked, and he had dragged his heart behind in chains.

So, he stood up and lay on his kingly bed and wondered about his kingdom.

The morning arrived, and the king's eyes opened themselves. He held his staff in one hand, and his head poked out from the tent flaps. The sun hid itself among the clouds, and he walked to the oxen. His legs climbed upon it. The king set off and followed the path of the others.

The afternoon came with a beating sun, and they arrived at Aligore's kingdom. Soldiers and a telluride greeted them, and Aligore walked to him. Both exchanged greetings and walked to Aligore's clay abode. Underneath the reed roof tiles, they talked and agreed. Aligore nodded and the king mumbled but laughed.

Then, in one final nod, Aligore decreed 10,000 soldiers and able-bodied men to find the king's kingdom over Wailen.

The telluride waved them a goodbye, and soldiers marched away. Bronze hacked through weed and bush. Cities sprung from their footsteps, and a city of tents lay at night. On and on, the soldiers marched, but they met no village, no brick, no lost kingdom, nothing...

After a month, the king nodded his head and waved a sad goodbye. Then, with his subjects, he set off. Their footsteps left trails behind him, and he raised his staff to the place of Magi and Himare. Thundery clouds billowed, and wind swept through them. Trees bent and the grass swayed with the wind. He and his subjects hid in the forest for refuge. Their eyes hid themselves away from the wind, and they tried to rub together fires. But, the wind put each one out and only smoke remained.

The king raised his head, and tried to discern the Prophet's face from the clouds. But his eyes saw clouds and none else. He tried again, and wondered if the Prophet watched over them in the clouds. He squinted, and discerned elephants, grapes, houses, a village...But his eyes fell through those mists, and saw nothing.

When night arrived with stars, the king prayed to the Prophet, but he heard no answers. He yelled for the Prophet, screamed the Prophet's name over and over again. It echoed in the air, but nothing came back to him. No replies, only the soft winds pushing the tent flaps open. The king went to sleep underneath a tent, and hid himself from the light.

The sun rose overhead and bloomed light like a yellow flower. The king set his staff upon the ground, climbed the oxen, and set off to the Magi. They trudged through mud, and traveled through yellow grass. The king had his staff against the light and pointed it to the sun. He beckoned them forward, and his subjects continued. When the clouds covered the sky, they saw red, blue, and gold fly above in sparks. The smell of sulfur and charcoal wafted in the wind.

When the afternoon arrived, they stood above a village of Magi. Torches went with the wind, capes dragged, beards pulled. People looked up, and the telluride came down. It greeted them, and the king went down to the village. His eyes looked around, and he spotted a Magi. Tall and old with no cane, who greeted him with a nod.

They talked, and the Magi agreed to find their kingdom. The king sat on a bench and watched the Magi boil and simmer Galtrand and Gotund. With a sphere of Quand, the Magi looked into and saw nothing, but grass and weeds. The Magi continued throughout the day while the king rested his kingly figure against the bench.

When the Magi could work no more, he fell asleep from exhaustion, and went away from the king.

In the morning, the Magi told him that his kingdom lay lost to time. The king went away and gathered four more Magi, who he told the same thing. Each time, he sat and heard the same, that his kingdom lay long lost. With a heavy farewell and a burden still upon his chest, he set off..

The king bid the telluride and it's village a farewell, and his subjects went along. Their oxen traveled and pounded through marsh and mud. The king looked back with a frown, and stared at the sky for the Prophet's face. He discerned blue clouds and white sky. But he paused after the harsh sun glared down at him. Then the king blinked and looked away.

Aligore greeted them, but the king never looked. His eyes stared down, and he rested against the grey walls. He rested and lay, and ate and drink. He refused to dine, and sat against that bench for hours, then days, then a week. The king's eyes grew grey with circles clinging around his eyes. The crown lay and slumped on the bench.

After a week, Aligore ran down to the king's bench. His eyes grew wide, and he talked about Pnoaphales. The only mountain where the soldiers hadn't gone. Aligore tripped and stumbled. Then, he yelled at the soldiers to gather 8 explorers to find a kingdom on Pnoaphales.

The king stood up from the bench, and walked to watch the explorers. Messages passed while the king looked up for any signs of the Prophet. The explorers braved the magic and passed the Abyss. They reached midway until their legs pumped no longer and their energy fizzed out. They climbed down, and reached Aligore's kingdom.

They'd seen nothing... Nothing! They'd shouted those words again and again. Aligore tried to set the king's crown back upon his head, but the king refused and sat in silence...

After the king heard the news, he gazed away from the sight and slept. He slept and slept those painful memories away. His mind emptied of thoughts until he dreamed no more. His breaths grew soft and labored. With wake, his thoughts suffocated him until he longed for sleep once more. Days passed, and he slept through each. Time passed quickly. For him, time had no meaning, there was no time...

Then, while he lay in bed one day, he heard a sound.

Light seeped into the room from a window, and he closed it with swift hands. He lay asleep, still and pale. The dark covered his eyes with a shroud, and he slept in silence... There was nothing...

Only wind, and the creaking of his bed... Then a slow whine, louder, and louder, until it was a roar... He stood up, and discovered an open window. He stepped to it, heard the battering wind, and the groans of wood.

The king passed his head through it, and looked at the light. A great, shining light. It shone past him, into his eyes, and he heard the Prophet... He heard the reverberating voice.... A final echo, some soft words were spoken, and he was left in his bed...

Another day passed, and Aligore ran down the hallway for one last time. The king heard the knocking, and he opened the door.

News came that his kingdom had been found. Houses of brick and stone uncovered. No moss, no vines, no plants tearing it apart. No dust settling upon it, nothing. For, it was as new as ever. Aligore laughed, and told him about the arrow. They'd taken an archery contest, and shot upon Pnoaphales. Then one drunken explorer had readied and fired. An extraordinary wind had guided the arrow into bricks. They had heard the sounds of collision. When they saw the towns and houses, the explorers ran to tell them.

The king bid Aligore farewell and laughed. He set off on two oxen. His subjects followed him to the brick kingdom. The clouds parted to reveal the shimmering sun. He followed the Prophet's path, and reached his kingdom.

The Prophet had watched over them in the clouds, floating above them all, but hiding himself from their view... The Prophet, with thoughts everywhere, guiding the arrow to their town and village... The Prophet... He'd seen him... He'd seen the Prophet...

For years, they had traveled. Now, it stood, found by chance, found because of the Prophet. Not lost, and now found.."

Bernard stopped.

"A fine story", Darrell nodded towards Bernard.

"Good for me", David said, "But next time, not so long."

Osmond tapped his chin, and then, with a face glowing orange, "Where'd you find this type of story?"

"A long time ago, when I was eating some cherries, then I thought of it."

"That's it?", asked Osmond.

"Yes, but these cherries were the seeds of inspiration."

"So, you planted them, and buried them underneath the earth", Osmond tapped his chin, "That's fine with me, a small, simple, allegory."

"No, I spat them out, and walked away."

"What about seeds?", Osmond curled into a frown, and he began to resemble a blind mole.

"I'll never know what happened to them. Maybe they grew, maybe they died, I don't know", Bernard shrugged and leaned back, "But somehow, those cherries tasted terribly."

Bernard turned away, struggling to get something out of his bag. He turned, and wrestled the bag to the floor. David turned away, and saw colors streaking from another camp.

Something caught his vision. Red, blue, and gold. Around him, he saw light, others that had camped there before them. He'd ignored them before. But now, he saw Magi. They were handling Galtrand and Gotund. But practicing in silence, with light bursting at their fingertips sometimes, and sparks wavering in the air, but dropping like falling dew from wet leaves. His eyes had their full attention on them. Osmond turned to face the Magi, and Darrell did too. But Bernard had only a single glimpse before he turned away.

"Bernard! Bernard!", David waved his hands in the air, "Look at them! Their magic doesn't seem hard. Better and easier, they practice magic. "

"Yes... I can see...", Bernard mumbled. "I can see..."

"Take a look, maybe stare. Look! See? But, I bet... you can beat them.... Try it? Why not?"

"Yes... Yes... I could...", Bernard mumbled again, quieter and weaker. "I could... try..."

"Yes, you could.", David turned to face him again, "Bernard? Bernard?"

This time, Bernard didn't reply.

They continued talking throughout the night. But, he managed to doze off on the grass. He didn't drink from one of the vials in the box, and sleep overtook his mind. He slept soundly, the events of the day all behind him.

The sun rose into the air and it turned into the morning. David awoke after the others. He sat up and walked towards Bernards. A blue sky greeted them with clouds that spread across the sky like white ink fading into the ocean. Then the clouds parted to reveal the sun.

"By the Prophet! There's no food, there's no water. What sort of journey will this be?", he grumbled and coughed.

"There's a village close to here", Bernard replied, "We'll get some food from the markets and continue into the Gates."

"That's fine", David straightened. "Something inside me grumbles and gnaws at my mind. Sooner we eat and drink, the sooner I can finally relax."

"Then we'll see the tellurides", Bernard said, "Sometimes, their glow makes them blend into the sky, and I can never see them. Then I go walking, eating some sort of food, and one taps me on the back and surprises me out of my skin."

"The telluride in the village!" Osmond laughed, "They're great creatures, flying over the air. Things that many don't think about. Their immortality unlocks entire barriers to knowledge."

"Then you ask for Curiosity's sake."

"Yes", Osmond smiled at him, "Curiosity is my profession."

"With a toga dragging behind him, bald from thinking, and a beard growing. I can imagine that!"

"Yes, I can imagine that."

They avoided the other path and continued across. The trees grew shorter and into stumps. David coughed as smoke filled his lungs, and the stink of mud entered his mind. They spotted more people, and David smiled, their was people and food. Pepper, herbs, bread, steam, and much more. David spotted the village as they headed toward the bustling market.

The village crowded around him. People bumped and strode past him, but all to Pnoaphales, all seeking the Prophet. A trail of footprints formed along the trail, and the crowds followed it upwards. Many dragged rags and carts with them. Oxen huffed and stomped past others, and the fastest horses galloped past them all. David looked away, and up into the sky..

A bird flew overhead. A swallow, with tail feathers that glowed as it flew. It glided above him, a great bird. His eyes filled with thought, and he saw the kite. Leather, cut and sewn, and stitched together. An octagon, and spinning with red and gold.

He blinked. He shook his head and stopped. Above him, light glowed. A telluride, enveloped in yellow, flew above the sky. In its hands, a staff wavered. It glided above, and dipped above the clouds, then appeared as it descended. The telluride's face glanced down. Age made rings around the telluride's eyes, and grey covered its forehead. The telluride hovered over them. What did it see up there? Going above the sky, like a bird, flying and flying, above the clouds... Going above the world.... Yes, he remembered one of them.

An old telluride lived in his village... He'd spat and grumbled many times... Long shawl... He didn't like to fly, but sat thinking... An old, old telluride, with a staff just like this one, but small and wizened.... A fine telluride.... After the Callous War, he disappeared along with all of the other things.... Men of Deer and Laphanists...

The telluride looked down again. It flew down and reached the ground.

Osmond walked away from them, and went to the telluride. David heard word fragments as Osmond talked to the telluride. They discussed, nodding their heads, tapping chins, while Darrell went off to buy more food, and him and Bernard sat on the bricks.

Then, Osmond walked back, and away from the telluride. Bernard stood up.

"What did you talk to him about?"

"It was a story about a Men of Deer. Something about flying above. I can recall it still: 'The deerman had sat there thinking, and he told me about the sky. The deerman was curious about what was above. So, I told him that I would fly to the sky to see what was there. I flew up. The houses grew small, and the clouds grew in size. I could see the infinity tower from there, I was flying taller than even that. The first minutes were full of thick fog. Then the valley of clouds parted and up into the sky, I went. The copper disc of the sun began to burn me a little. But I went further up and into the blue sky. And, as I went further, I realized that only darkness surrounded the world. I went up and up. When I stopped, I saw whorling chaos and a large glowing sphere. An blue sphere, thin, covered everything. But, when I reached out to touch one. I fell into the ocean. When I woke up, the deerman was gone'"

"That's fine", Bernard walked towards the market, "Let's get some food."

They passed the walls of the village, past the Tellurides tower. Bernard and Darrell ran behind him. Osmond followed him. When they went further into the city's center, the crowds thickened. At times, he saw nothing but people. They seemed to be from everywhere.

Flies formed a hazy fog overhead, and smoke and steam mixed to form dark clouds. David ran past creaky shacks and weak houses. They got some food and filled their bags again. The tight alleyways of the village provided them with a spot for lunch. They chewed and ate near the sewers, where fleas bit at their knees. David gobbled his food down, and drank the water to wash it down to quench his thirst. It wasn't good food, not the stuff he had eaten at home. But it acted as a filler for his empty stomach.

Osmond bought two small birds from a shop. The birds were tiny creatures. They twittered with birdsong, with no care in the world. They chirped when silence filled the air, and quieted afterward. David watched them hop around in the cage during the day. They bore thin beaks and wings painted with yellow flecks. Afternoon came, and they went into the center of the village.

A smell wavered above his nose, he followed it, and stared at the pile of bodies, of plague bodies. All piled above each other like worms, wriggling over one another, grey, empty of life. Everything was a corpse, all with the smell of rot and decay, all dead from the Plague. He looked away and held his nose. Below, wood, all piled around, ready for burning. He tasted something insipid that rose in his throat, but he bent backwards, and closed his eyes.

People bumped past him, in ignorance of the mountain of bodies.

David walked around it, and into a baker's shop, loaves of wheat and barley bread, all of them roasting in a clay oven. They bought a few loaves, and split one between them on the street. They followed the crowds as they ate bread. People yelled and shouted, they chanted, and, when they cleared, he saw criminals.

People in wooden stocks and bronze manacles. In their for pushing boulders upon Prophenist temples, but they hadn't succeeded.

People yelled and jeered. They spilled wine upon their faces, and they threw things at them. Bread crusts, stones, and sewer water. It shot onto them and ricocheted off them. They lay silently, witnessing the crowd. Their faces were stained with grime and they wore indignant looks upon their faces.

"Laphanist! Laphanist! Laphanist!", the terms jumped out at David, and his eyes widened. Laphanists, Laphanists.... These weren't Laphanists, not Laphanists no... He was a Laphanist once, with the Men of Deer, traveling the world, but then the Callous War and the Plague.... But Laphanists.. Why this? Why this?.... What were they doing now? Hitting Laphanists, punishing them.... Punishing them.... Yet.... Yet.... They'd done something horrible, gotten the punishment, but yet.... Yet.....

"C'mon, let's go", Bernard beckoned him forward. Darrell had a pebble in his hand, but Bernard picked it out of his grasp. David turned away. Osmond only drew. He drew and drew and drew, nothing else, but drawing.

They all hated Laphanists, all of them, all of them.... They'd sent all the Laphanists away to Pnoaphales, away from all, away from everything. But, boulders... His mind thought and thought, but no solution came to his head.

They walked past the telluride in the sky and the people bustling about. More and more footprints crowded the path. People walked and talked. They traded and debated. They did this with chaos and thrill. Motivation had increased. They continued their way across the village. Not crowd-free, but many people. In the center of the village, people amassed to watch the Laphanists lose their dignity. The smells of food, people, and grease wavered above him. Smoggy warmth covered him, and wrapped him in pigskins and dry steam.

They rested and Osmond waved at the telluride. While it ate an orange, it looked down from the top of a tower. It wiped some juice off its chin and flew down. The telluride stared at Osmond. Disheveled eyes. Slack jaw. A small smile. It nodded to them as they strolled past.

They refilled their packs with olives and some round flat-cakes. He'd bought some rabbit meat to enjoy if they'd ever ran out of food. Some of the food bags had gotten lost because of Denton. Maybe he'd gotten lost and into the Abyss, where the overturning waves continued to push them deeper into it. Into a whirlpool, and then a red-skied world with a gibbering creature. Although, he'd never seen the Abyss, but his imagination did the rest.

After they'd ate their dinner, they walked to the inn. People sat around a table that curved around the innkeeper, who polished some cups. Some logs held the thatched roof steady. Dusty clay made up the walls. A small mirror lay near the innkeeper, reflecting sunlight onto the roof. The inn seemed cramped. A small kitchen connected the central room. People squeezed into every corner.

Darrell got wine, watching the window while he drank, and sat there sipping as they looked for a guide. David smelt the wine and moved his chair back. He watched the alcohol drain from the glass and splash Darrell's lips. The thick glass bumped against the table and went up again.. The innkeeper pulled up a chair and sat while he continued polishing. Yellowed glass with cracks that edged around each of the cups. They waited for a while. Osmond seemed to have some courage and called the innkeeper.

David shook his head and relaxed in his chair. Time slipped away from them now. Time, that would've been spent on finding the Prophet, but they lazed around... Time... Time... Time... He hated time... When people sagged and skin folded, time would be there... Always time... He wanted a place where time had no matter, where time had no place, where time didn't exist... But always time... Time.... Time...

Bernard drank along with Darrell, drinking and drinking until the entire inn smelt of wine. They continued waiting as the sun fell and was replaced by the shimmering moon. Clouds covered parts of the moon but glowed blue as light streamed through. David watched Darrell drink. He'd eaten some more of the flat-cakes. Some of them had crumbled, but they tasted alright. Osmond talked to Bernard about his notebook. More strange pictures from journeys around the world. At the end was the drawing of the temple. Osmond had almost fully colored it in. Some water had leaked onto the paper. But the drawings were still intact.

They went outside with Bernard, and they sat in the night air. Bernard smelt of wine while he looked at the moon. David stood behind the two, eating some bread and flat-cakes when Bernard perked up.

"Right there!" Bernard said to David, spitting drink out from his mouth, "It's a quack! Rubbing herbs on a child's head, how'll that defend against the Plague?"

He saw it. A man rubbing herbs on a child's head, brushing the child with leaves.

"Well, maybe it'll work, maybe it won't. Doesn't look too bad of a quack."

"But herbs? Not magic! I'm a magi, I've made draughts,all from Gotund and Galtrand, but herbs! Hah-ha-ha-ha-ha! As they say, the otter that quacks is no otter at all."

"Show me then, show me a draught"

"Right", Bernard said, grabbing something from his bag, "Although.. It's very dangerous, handling these things, too much of Galtrand and Gotund, and-Poof!- an early coffin for me. But. I've been pious for the Prophet. Not a chance of poofing! for me."

He pulled a bronze box out in a daze, and opened the lid.

"Pulling out blue Galtrand and red Gotund, both with soft glows..."

Then, he dashed his hands in again. But he saw no glow, no object, nothing. Only Bernard's hands glowed in the moonlight..

"Pinching a bit of Galtrand out, and then a rock of gotund....", he pinched the invisible things into the clay crucible. Then he added a cup of water.

"Now I need a fire, a small one, to heat it up", Bernard looked around.

"I don't think you should practice magic in this public place"

"Nonsense, no, not a blacksmith, they'll want me to pay, or pay me... ", Bernard looked down, "I don't need heat....I'll do it without flames then! Yes, it'll work."

"The tellurides coming, Bernard, Bernard? Bernard!?"

Bernard placed the crucible on the ground, and shook it. He placed his feet upon the lid, and waited.

Light ran out, dashing into the air, rays of it ran outwards, scattering into the moon. David looked away into the tower of the dead, making them glow with red, blue, gold, all in colors spiraling into the center, forming black, all of it...

"You can't practice magic here!", the telluride floated down, "This is a public place!"

Bernard looked away, turning to the others, a frantic look between his eyes.

"Well...ok. I will....When we get on the road then... When we're on the road...", Bernard closed the lid, and put the can into his bag.

The telluride flew away, and they were left alone. Bernard folded his hands, and put his crucible back with unsteady hands. Darrell stood up, and Osmond did too.

"Let's go forward", Osmond said, "Then, we'll set up camp, and rest."

They set off into the night, where the clouds glowed, and the moon shone. Bernard stared silently at his bag, and Darrell stumbled throgh the night. The air thickened with smells of wine. After that, they went on the road, past people, past leashed dogs, and more. Bricks loosened, and they left footprints along the Prophet's glowing trail.

When the moon glowed a little less, they dined on bread and drank water. After that, they drank more wine, and went to sleep.

All, except for David, who hadn't fallen asleep. He went and lay on his mat. The stars shone brightly, enough to read a book. He pulled the Book Of Stories out. Worn pages and a dog-eared cover. He flipped through each one until the illustrations passed by and he reached the end. But instead of a blank page, there lay something else instead.

He picked it up. Not this page, no, it hadn't been there before.... He examined it, and read it to himself:

The infinite tower, with splendor. It gleamed, tall, and extended into the clouds. In the center stood a single pillar, a cylinder of stone, wood, and bronze. This structure stood because of the leaning beams that held it in place. Sometimes, it would creak in the wind and groan as the builders hammered in nails and climbed up the scaffolding. The building extended past the sky. It went into infinity. Eons and eons, it had taken. With generations heaving the stone up into the tower, and thousands of people watching it take place. Never-ending excitement for them all. The tower itself stood for Protennesen, the great being that made up everything. Protennesen was infinite in wisdom, infinite as the tower. The tower never would stop lengthening, for the tower needed to reach into infinity, it needed to reach Protennesen himself. For now, it lay beneath the brain of Protennesen.

Each floor of the tower stacked above another until the final one. The final unfinished floor. All of the floors were designed by different architects. All of the floors were dressed in different colors. Red, yellow, black, green, blue. Blending into each other until it resembled a rainbow of hues.

Towns and cities sent their finest to build the tower. Great people, people that enjoyed the heights and bore the weights.

For 50 years, the tower never swayed, never creaked, never moved, solitary on Pnoaphales. Around it, people populated a village of builders, architects, and surveyors. With houses of clay and reeds, with a rectangle wall, with crops and farms, with a telluride who flew around the village. It was a deerman, who favored long talks and nice views. He lived in a tall tower near the village. Each house accommodated many people, for the infinite tower required multiple hands to keep it together. Below the village, a quarry stood, filled with marble, bronze, and limestone. Miners lived beside it, and they dug out resources for the tower during each day.

After 50 years, the tower grew to overshadow the village and its people. It almost matched the height of Pnoaphales with ninety-nine floors. Each of those individual floors held art. Paintings, statues, all beauty, meant to be sent to Protennesen. The first floor held the most beautiful of them all. Each of them was picked by philosophers and the artists themselves.

Then the hundredth floor, with builders surrounding it on scaffolding, with ladders covered on all sides. The final one sparkled with gold. It made up the walls and the art. The hundredth floor. Taller than the first floor, full of ornate carvings, full of immortal joy. Each design, crafted by meticulous artists.

It rained as the builders placed and hammered the roof. Moonbeams shone onto the final floor, and it glowed bright, even at night.

It poured down onto the village and the tower stood tall. Even as water trickled down into its walls, even as wind battered the structure, even as the earth shook. Thunder rolled across the sky. A light brighter than the sun filled the sky. White light lit up the village.

Soon, the tower shook with the ground and the lightning. Rocks ran down Pnoaphales, and they tumbled into the tower. An avalanche of snow, rock, and sand piled onto the tower. The tower shook. The people ran. The builders watched. Dust and stone covered the village. The tower shook again. It creaked and then it groaned. The metal shrieked, the stone fragmented, the supports fell. The tower, along with it's floors, toppled. Each of the stacked floors separated, tumbling onto the ground. Only the first floor remained.

In the aftermath, each village and town blamed the other for the collapse. For the gods hadn't sent those disasters to collapse the tower. Something else had caused the infinite tower to collapse. Nothing else. Only the Men of Deer and the Laphanists, who'd lived atop the mountain. They'd pushed those rocks down onto the infinite tower. They'd obeyed the urges of the Abyss, and worshipped those evil gods with vigor and happiness. They'd become Abysians..

They hunted down the Men of Deer and Laphanists. Crowds of them, raiding monasteries, sanctuaries. They burnt down forests, and set the world ablaze. Wailen was crimson for a time, full of smoke and flame. Then blue as the oceans filled with ships.

Thus, the Men of Deer retaliated with water. Triremes of wood, filled with Men of Deer and Laphanists. With builders who stacked the boats, adding tiers of oars. They planned for days, splitting the power among the remaining nomad tribes. With three leaders, Attira, Lavacus, Perimenes, each with their own army. Then attacking the borders of Wailen. Unguarded, they torched and burned every village they saw.

The Callous War commenced and...

David stopped there and he turned away. His hands quivered. This again.... A reminder of Laphanists and the Callous War. The horrible, horrible war... He looked away. Not again.... He remembered, after a long, long time.... The memories of moving away, gone from the nomads, into villages with people, smoke, and plague, and the smell of rot.....He didn't need to see that paper again. Never again... His hands buried it into a separate bag, and folded it's contents away. Not today... He looked away, then sat underneath darkness. He looked up, trying to find some stars, even some light. They had all gone away...

He closed the book, and folded his hands together in a praying motion. He bent his head down, staring at the grass he lay on, and whispered words to himself. Nobody else heard him as he prayed to the Prophet. Nobody else heard him as he prayed to Protennessen. Nobody heard him for a long while. David prayed for luck, fortune, success. He prayed for other things, and let secrets loosen from his mind and into words. Moonlight spread over the sky, and some stars brightened, but fell into the dark.

His hands reached into the bag again, and he pulled a new vial, untouched, and drank its contents. Then, he dreamed...

His eyes were filled with light. He saw the sky and the kite. He twirled the string in his fingers, and the kite passed the sun. It flew further and further as he let the string unravel in his hands. He waved it through the orange sun, and the kite glowed a bit as he let it drop. Then he let it rise, then drop, then rise. He sat down, and the grass covered him with green stalks. He let the wind blow over him...

An ivory statue of himself, standing, with youthful features. It eclipsed the sun, and he saw it bend and lean with the wind. No features, he could recognize, but he knew it was ivory.... Yes... Yes... He knew...

Now, the Prophet, splitting, then light flashing into his eyes. He closed his eyes, then opened them.

He woke up...

They continued in the morning after eating loaves of bread for breakfast. The Book Of Stories lay in his bag, as did the piece of paper, and all of the vials bounced off each other. He continued to walk along with them, listening to Osmond talk. Bernard stopped sometimes, but continued on, holding Galtrand and Gotund, concentrating on magic, trying to improve himself.

They stepped in bogs, and trudged through marshes, and reached a hillside in the middle of the day, and as the sun approached the top of the sky, they stopped. Osmond stared at what stood ahead.

David glanced at the sight, and sat down.

In front of them, a temple lay underneath the brushing leaves. The wind swept dust past them. Birds perched and watched them. The stone lay untended as weeds pushed marble apart. The sheen had long gone, now old and tired.

Osmond opened a notebook, flipping past it, then drawing it. Protennessen's head covered the floor, and the Prophet engulfed the ceiling. Once a Laphanist temple, now a Prophenist one. A Prophenist one!

"The Prophenists again...", David muttered.

"A Laphanist temple, I can see. The ugly god Protennessen with a face of discontent. Horrible, horrible Protennessen", nodded Osmond.

"Yes, like the Abysian cults, and Salugren and Salgon.", Bernard looked upon the temple with distaste, stepping away from the viney temple.

"Protennessen?", David pulled at his beard, "Protennessen, Protennessen, Protennessen?"

"Yes, horrible, horrible Protennessen", nodded Osmond.

"Why Protennessen...", David paused, remembering the Laphanists. All covered in mud and dirt. People yelling and shouting. None loved the Laphanists, none loved the Men Of Deer...

"Yes?", asked Osmond.

"I mean... I meant to say..."

He looked upon Protennessen, who stared at the sky... Osmond was shaking his head, Bernard frowned, and Darrell was wiping away the mosaic tiles.... They all hated Laphanists... As with the rest of the world... But he'd liked Laphanists with the Men Of Deer... He remembered fond memories...

"David?", said Bernard.

"I meant... I was saying about...",He looked upon the ruins, and David pulled at his beard

A lost age, and a lost time. Yesterday, he'd been part of Laphanists. Yesterday, he'd accepted something past the Prophet...But no more... They could never survive in the modern age... Prophenists, with the glowing Prophet.... Hope stood near him now... Now...

He looked at Protennessen's face for one last time. He gazed for a while, remembering the festivities and worships of Laphanism again. He remembered those memories of riding horses, dancing, and smiling...

David turned away, loosened his hand from his heard... No... No.... No... It would never happen... Not Protennessen... Not such a god...

"No, never mind. It was an impulsive thought...."

David shook his head, and loosened the grip from his beard.

"Yes... An impulsive thought, it was..."

"Right, let's go forward then", Osmond nodded.

"C'mon", Bernard said , "The Prophet awaits, I can see his figure. Past those trees, do you see him?"

"I see the sun and the clouds", Osmond squinted, trying to see past the sky, "I can see... Nothing but sun and clouds, where is the Prophet?"

"The top of Pnoaphales, of course."

Osmond coughed, "You say Pnoaphales, yes?"

"Yes... I can see that silhouette of his, and a glowing light."

"I see the sun..."

"Maybe, you don't look hard enough"

"I thought we were looking for Denton", Osmond eye's squinted.

"He's someplace near", Bernard nodded, "But, focus on the Prophet..."

They trudged forward. Bernard went last, slumping forward as they walked up the mountain. The ground slanted, hills sprung forcing them to climb. The road turned into dirt, clearing inside the forest. Green tangled inside trees, and topped every branch, covering the sky with grey.

Darrell talked sometimes, but most of the walk he was quiet. Osmond seemed to like talking about his journeys. Osmond journeyed everywhere. But now, they were all here for the Prophet like him.

As they walked, the road grew wider and David watched as it turned into bare earth instead of brick.

"Look at that. Ha-ha!", Bernard grinned, looking above the trees, "The sun shines to all of us. Look at the luck we've gained! Ahead is the Gates!"

Bernard strode, straightening himself, past the rest, with arms spread out, basking in the sun's glory.

"We're near the Gates, then", Darrell examined it, "It seems tall enough."

"You can see it peeking above the treetops! There it is!", Bernard said.

Bernard pointed at a huge wall, that extended past trees and into the clouds. But then, the wall thinned and crumbled. Flora filled each split in the wall with vines, and detritus poured from every hole.

The Gates stood covered in arches, buttresses, and clay statues. Both sides of it extended for miles, curving and then stopping suddenly over a cliff. In the center, a gate stood open, waiting for all of humanity to rush through in crowds, albeit there were none. Nobody stood below it, only them, staring at the Gates.

Osmond took a sketch. Flipping the page with the temple away. Drawing with the same detail as before, albeit no color. David looked at the large Gates. Trees crowded their view, reaching into the sky, and the road continued in darkness.

"C'mon!", Bernard beckoned.

David stepped forward, Bernard followed, Darrell went in after them, and Osmond stopped, turning back, but reached a toe in and walked with them.

They went into the open Gates.

It swallowed them in. He saw all dark, nothing in the eye's view, no depth, no sound, no light, no sun. He couldn't see, he blinked, trying to see if his eyes were closed, but no, not at all. All sound had died, fading, turning away from his ears. He felt his feet stepping across dried leaves and dead twigs.

Darkness shrouded his eyes, throwing his vision into the endless Abyss, leaving him crippled and unable to continue with ease. David yelled for Osmond, Darrell, and Bernard, shouted their names, but no echo, no semblance of sound.

He moistened his lips and walked. He seemed to grow heavier with each step. He turned to watch for light, but none. A glimpse of light, a brief shimmer, but the forest had left him in isolation.

He stepped, walking in the lightless oblivion. The minutes passed, sparks of red, blue, gold, all of it, danced, wriggled, curled, in front of his eyes. His body dragged onwards. But his feet endured to move forward.

He stopped. He could hear his feet drag along rocks, a deafening sound, but he could hear it. He could hear the sound of rocks, animals, everything.

He watched a deep white light enter ahead of him, and he was out.

Nobody stood beside him, he turned around, pitch black, covering his eyes again, he turned around again.

Winter, summer, spring, autumn continuing everywhere, hills and valleys expanding and forming, trees stretched upward and then shrank. Blue and red hovered ahead, gold tinged the rays from the sun. All the seasons moved into each other, the ground turned into sand, solid ground, gravel, brick, the road ahead undulated with the changes, moving up and down slightly. The sky remained the same. Curving a bit as it touched the ground.

Someone rushed past him. He turned, passing the dark, and saw Bernard.

David gave Bernard some water, and he watched as Bernard drank it greedily.

"Thanks", Bernard said through gulps. Osmond stumbled into the clearing. Red and huffing, Osmond walked to him. He pulled a loaf of bread and shared it with Bernard and Osmond as they waited for Darrell.

Darrell came out, looking pale. He walked to them, and lay down on the ground. Observing the sun.

"I saw a corpse...back there", Darrell pointed backwards, waving his finger to the forest, "Something...Look..."

He pointed to darkness, and a shimmer, a glimpse. He walked closer. The forest glowed ablaze with orange light. Heat washed over him, he stumbled over something, and then rushed into the forest. He saw a body. On it, a backpack full of food and water. A lamp lit the area, Denton, the same face. Osmond ran to him.

"A dead Denton...", David pulled the backpack off of him and held it up, "With all of our supplies..."

A large tablet with stone carvings, a red figure, and then thousands of heads. Thousands of grey bodies, crowding around each other to watch the center figure. One carving in the middle glowed. A face of red appeared, covered in ears. A perfect sphere held them in place. He stepped back. Bernard bumped into him.

"What is it? What do you-", Bernard stopped and stared at Denton's body. David paid no heed, staring instead at the face at the center of the carving.

It was a face of madness and perpetual anger. Its feet held claws. Each of them grimy with age. The creature was empty of humanity, life, and energy. Multiple fingers and the sinews that throbbed inside it. Around the carving, it glared red like fire, but with pallid skin.

Sweat dripped down his face. He fell into panic, his body felt frail, weak, light, easy to break, nothing stopped him from collapsing, but he stood as an unsteady monolith. He beheld more demons, masking themselves, pallid faces behind those masks, and then...

Two more faces, one of an eye, multiple eyes, crowding around a body of decay and damage. It stood on weak legs, but glowed blue. Behind it was an army of similar things. Grey, pallid, but taller, with teeth, and limbs spreading chaotically across its figure. Another face stood in front of them, a giant snake, slithering, and three tall snakes supporting it, hissing outward. Salgon and Salugren....

"What do you see?", Osmond asked. His voice was faint.

"Come take a look for yourself." David said.

He heard Osmond's footsteps and they stood there looking at the body.

"It's Denton... Denton.... Denton's an Abysian... And...", Osmond said, looking at the tablet. He looked at the body, he recognized the face too. " The Nalrath...The Nalrath, then Salugren, then Salgon... With the demons of the Abyss, all crowding around at the clay tablet... Then more.... More..."

Osmond let it drop onto the ground, it tumbled, bouncing on the floor. Osmond picked it up again, and threw it down onto the ground. It broke, shattering, breaking into dust. Osmond took hollow breaths, and stepped away.

They ran from the body, no time to pick up their stolen supplies, but that didn't matter. They ran into the instability, into the changing biomes until they reached a crossroads. The sun had gone and the moon had risen. The stars didn't come out. David looked up, all he saw was a night sky. It grew blue the further he looked up. The forest trees blocked his view partially.

As they walked, David tried to think about things other than the demon. But, it resonated through his mind. The face of the demon was in his mind forever. The lack of emotion. No eyes. It was hard to describe what he had seen. But, he knew that he would never forget it. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He racked his mind with different thoughts. Thoughts of youth. Good memories. His mind wouldn't let him forget.

When they stopped to rest, Osmond looked behind to the Gates. David drank water, Darrell ate bread, Bernard said nothing, staring down again, not talking, not muttering... Silent....He'd changed yet again...

"Only forward", Osmond nodded, "No matter about the Abyss... No matter.. We only must travel a few more miles, not near the Abyss", Osmond shivered, "I can see the Prophet, and only a few more miles..."

"A few more miles. A few more miles. We've repeated that in our minds, and there it remains. Over and over again.", Darrell stood up, "It's time to go home."

"Not yet, only time. Only some time until the Prophet arrives." David nodded.

"What about the Prophet? I haven't seen anything from the Prophet, just signs, and signs. But they fade as we grow closer to Pnoaphales and the lake. Let's go home."

"Yet home is a distance far, far, away. Better to not let this be a failed journey", Bernard stood up, and stepped forward, "Follow me."

"A few more days then...", Darrell grumbled, standing up, "Alright then..."

They walked, passing sand, river, earth. The biomes here lay strange, but new, with tiny sprouts populating areas, and trees barely reaching the sky. Here, he saw red wisps, mixing and intertwining with blue and gold. Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand. Before, it lay invisible to his eyes, but now they went past him in colorful lines. A flock of ravens flew past them. The sky seemed like a grave. Rushes of grey from the sky faded into black when it touched the ground. Some snow covered their steps.

"Village!", Osmond pointed ahead. Ahead of them were thatched roofs and grey walls. A large crack had split the wall and rocks were tumbling out.

David wrapped his bag around himself. They hurried across the trail and into the village. Buildings filled with gaping windows populate the place. Silence again and again like a consistent noise, but it emptied instead of filled. The afternoon turned into evening as the sun fell from its pedestal and a dim moon replaced it.

Osmond made a torch that illuminated the village with weak light. Broken furniture littered the ground. Some stained with a crimson red. Some with a sick yellow. David stepped over a pile of ropes.

"Is there any...?", Osmond whispered. David shook his head, and they stood in silence, forming a silent ring, that silently shuffled backwards and forwards. Below him, not a sign of rats, no dead bodies, but the furniture told him something else.

"I don't know", Bernard murmured," Maybe... I... I don't know."

A mountain of thick ash piled up ahead of them. It stopped as the wind rushed down and pushed the climbing dust down onto the broken wood. David saw a silhouette at the top. He squinted, and Osmond set the light forward. A telluride sitting on the ash. Osmond looked up and climbed over the ash and toward the telluride. David clambered after him. Thick sheets of ash rolled down the pile. He ran forwards and looked at the telluride.

The telluride held a shriveled twig. Osmond shook him and repeated.

"Hello? Hello?"

Osmond stopped and looked at the flock of ravens that had gathered around the telluride. The telluride's hands were limp, and the skin pallid. It stared down at the mountain of ash. It stood empty of eyes, ears, and thousands of little marks, like fangs, covered him. The Abysians, the Abyss... David stepped away...

He looked away from the dead telluride... Death... Death again.... It wouldn't happen though, David reminded himself as he covered himself with his arms, it wouldn't happen... There was time, there was still time... They all had time... But he saw their eyes wrinkle, with everything sagging, and the Plague covering them with a shadow... The Plague covering them all... Death and death... With a shroud... But no.. No... It wouldn't happen... He knew... He would let them all live...

He wished for life upon them all... He wished away those piles... He wished away the Abyss... Only in his mind, it was... For he faced death in it's empty eyes now.... David covered his face with his hand... No, no.... He knew it wouldn't happen, Death, but he'd spent too long sitting around... Always time... Always time...

He wanted to enjoy life now... But always the same reminders... And if the Prophet had no immortality, then what was the use?... But it wouldn't happen... He knew it wouldn't, the Prophet had the answer he'd sought... The Prophet... the Prophet did.... The Prophet did...

He looked down. Darrell and Bernard sat at the bottom, waiting. Bernard and David ran downwards. He almost tripped on a broken chair but only stumbled.

"There's nothing good here. Let's go", Osmond beckoned forward. Darrell stared and looked.

"What happened?", Darrell said, "There's no one... The emptiness."

"Let's hurry. This place is reeks of plague. Better to leave this torturous place ", said Osmond.

"Right", Darrell nodded, "Let's... Let's go..."

They walked away from the village. The snow continued and landed around them in quiet mounds. Rock rose and diverged into two walls that stood on either side. They walked into a canyon. Large rifts filled with rock split the ground. Darrell walked behind them all. Osmond led the way with the glowing lantern.

A dark orange filled the sky as they continued across the canyons. The cold had increased until it bit at his fingertips. And now, an orange fog had seeped into the canyon. Aged statues leaned into the ground. Sometimes, blurs of motion passed in the corners of his eyes.

But, when he turned to see what it was, he saw nothing but the cliff. It had seemed so long ago that birds had populated the sky. Nobody talked, he heard rocks tumble, but the constant crackling of the torch permeated the air. The fire that Osmond contained and held comforted David. He calmed himself with it's sound...

They climbed a sloping cliff that seemed to go to infinity. His arms ached and he longed to sleep. But the sky hadn't turned dark yet, and it was still red. After a while, it seemed like they'd climbed every pit, ledge, and cliff in existence.

"Osmond?", David asked, "Let's stop. It's too dark... We can stop for today, and get our minds rested."

"Soon, not now."

"What's that?", Bernard asked. David looked down at his oilskin. It was almost empty.

"What do you mean by 'what's that'?", Darrell asked.

Bernard pointed again. David looked, but the fog blocked his view.

"What's that you saw, then?", David said.

"There are shapes. People. Behind the fog.", Osmond answered.

"Alright. Let's go David", Darrell looked and beckoned him forward.

"But, well...", David answered.

"C'mon. We're only seeing what's behind the fog."

"Fine", David stood up.

He followed Darrell's lead. They walked slowly towards where Bernard pointed. The fog thinned and David could see people. Faces appeared, thin, pallid, dull, lost of life. He expected a sea of whispers, but no sound. David walked a bit further.

The fog finally opened. David saw multitudes of armor. Bronze swords skewered bodies, and lances struck past thick armor. Rust had congealed in ragged shapes on each suit of armor. All of the soldiers stuck in a pose for eternity. A torn red-crossed flag stood waving in the middle of it all. Crowds of armored soldiers seemed to surround the flag for miles.

Some of the armor had collapsed with age, revealing mottled bones. Around it, Men of Deer, grinning in death, holding their weapons. Legs bent, chests high, in the position of glory. Spears surrounded their flanks, many through their ribs, killed by war.

They were from lost battles, lost armies, the past. They stood from a time long forgotten, the Callous War... He walked around them, trying to pull Darrell forward. He turned to look behind him and saw Darrell standing there, motionless.

"The Story...", Darrell exclaimed.

"Every nightmare, everything... All I want is to go home... Back where nothing will ever affect me... But what will happen? What will happen? By the Prophet... By the Prophet..."

Darrell drew in a ragged breath.

"They're dead... All of them..."

"Let's go back. When night falls, we forget about this", David said.

"Back then... Back home? Back? Or, forward", Darrell muttered, "Back and forth. What's the use?...What's the use David!?"

"C'mon. Let's go back", David said.

"Fine... Fine...."

They walked back to Bernard and Osmond. Osmond perked up.

"So, are there people there?"

"No, no, some rocks", David lied. Darrell nodded.

"Funny-shaped rocks then"

"Yes, they were funny-shaped rocks", David nodded, "With ears of stone, and much, much, more..."

They continued walking. With Darrell looking down, past the earth, into the Abyss. He turned away from him, nodding sometimes, tapping his feet, whistling. Anything, to make noise, to remove the silence, but it suffocated and constricted until he heard nothing.

The cliffs shrank down in size until trees covered everything. The road widened into dirt and gravel. David pulled at his beard incessantly. Bernard said nothing, looking down with wide eyes. Osmond stayed looking at his notebook. Nothing... Nothing....

A crossroad stood ahead. Dirt and gravel divided into three, and the sky wrapped darkness around them. The forest grew taller. An amber sliver poked out of the clouds and shone upon the world. Moony clouds crowded the sky and covered the moon. Stars hid themselves behind the night, and darkness filled the world. Birds rested on branches and lay their wings upon nests. Bernard yawned and David blinked.

"Third one," Bernard stepped forward, "It seems the best path to follow."

"After that, we rest beneath the shroud of night." David nodded.

"All I desire is sleep. Nice, nice sleep. To rest these burning eyes of mine, that I want and will do", Osmond yawned and shut his mouth, "But for now, no... Let's hurry..."

They walked onto the third path, and dark shapes passed by them. Movement in the thrush from unknown animals. His ear's perked, and a scent wafted into his nose. A rotten smell permeated the air. David wrinkled his nose. Rot and death, like plague bodies. The forest centered upon them, closing off exits. His eyes straightened to the path's front. There lay a dead sheep. Lacerations covered its head, and flies crowded around its stomach. Crimson stained it's fleece, and gentle feet collapsed underneath flesh. Mud had dirtied its mane.

Darrell put a toe forward, but took it back. David squinted, but all he saw was a haze of flies. Then the haze glowed red, and his vision filled with orange.

It grew from his mind, blurs and streaks, then buzzing in his ear. A high-pitched noise that reverberated through his ears. He held his hands tight against his ears, and shook his head, trying to get it away. But, the noise continued.

Then, it faded away, and the colors ran from his eyes. The night covered what he could see, but the clouds moved a little, and moonlight streamed through. When he looked up, he saw the silhouettes of soldiers. All carrying bronze swords and wearing bronze helmets, with symbols carved on each one. A red ear, red eyes, and a snake crossing all of them, carved in lines on the helmet. They stood behind the dead sheep. None of them spoke, and neither did the soldiers.

A tall one stepped forward, but didn't speak. Darrell shrunk back, and hid himself from their eyes. David stepped forward, he tried to meet with them eye to eye.

"....", David exhaled, "Can you move... across... away... maybe from each other... space out.... We need to pass."

They advanced forward with swords raised and helmets gleaming. None heard him, and he tried again.

"Can you part away from each other? We need to pass...", David's words grew slurred and rapid.

Bernard tried to step past them, but they blocked his way. He ran back and threw pebbles at them. The rocks bounced off their helmets, and away.

"Stop! Bernard, stop!" David grabbed Bernard's arms and pulled him away. "Stop it, Bernard, stop it... "

He pushed Bernard away, but something behind him.... He turned and felt streams pour from his ear and a bronze sword lift itself up. His head whirled, and the soldier who'd hit him stared with nothing in his eyes. A dutiful look, a look of absolute command, and none else. He tried, but stumbled backwards. The forest reeled, his vision spun, and his hands tried to grab and hold.

He heard Osmond's feet pound away as Osmond ran. Darrell pulled bronze out, and stabbed the front soldier, again and again, slice and cut, stabbing again and again until he gasped. Then, Darrell ran into the trees and faded into them.

He dragged Bernard behind him, who'd collapsed on a hit, and dragged him away into the forest, colliding with the trees and spinning with the leaves. The soldiers ran to them, marching their way forward, cutting paths into the forest. Charging without words, but duty, with automatic movements.

David yelled for Darrell and Osmond, he tried to yell for the others. But the thick forest drowned out the noise. The only sounds he heard were the same steps moving towards him.

His feet pounded in dead leaves, and sometimes almost stuck there, but he pulled them out. He shivered while he ran.

Wind blasted into him and pushed him back to the soldiers, but his legs sprinted and he passed cliffs, hills, and a lake. The sound of pounding feet and eternal chanting faded with distance. When he ran and ran further, there was nothing.

But, eventually, no sound, and no soldiers. Only him and Bernard.

Osmond and Darrell were gone. If they were dead. If they were lost...

He dropped Bernard onto the mud.

"Stay here, I'll come back later...", he ran back and to Osmond and Darrell.

The trees went past him, and his legs spun around them. He yelled for Osmond and Darrell, but it echoed back to him, mocking him. When he stopped running, he rested at a stream and sat under the red moon.

He straightened, hearing footsteps, crowding, all around. He jumped into the mud, and he sank into it. Bending to hide himself, then quieting his breathing. He hid his head under a thick clump and blended into the river. Mud gurgled, and soldiers surrounded the stream.

He closed his eyes, and soldiers crowded around him. A streak of air, a needle of wind, an arrow, flew past him. Then, someone stepped over him. They sat around him, rubbing their hands, not talking, silent. Staring at him, but not waiting. His heartbeat quickened, and mud seeped into his nostrils and ears.

Warmth covered him, and leaves rained down upon him. Pebbles ran past, and then one stung him. He bit his tongue, and clenched his teeth. Nothing.... Nothing.... Footsteps fading away, then rest.....

Light filled his vision.

The Prophet stood as high as the mountain, looking upon them, then tossing the soldiers away. But, they continued, flooding the forest in a fleshy mass. The soldiers writhed past one another in infinitely expanding crowds. Trees bent under his feet, and the Prophet cast magic upon them, leaving smoking remnants. He smiled and waved at the Prophet. Then the Prophet lumbered and left footsteps bigger than houses. The Prophet climbed to the mountain. With it, the Prophet split apart into three shapes, then white, dancing across his vision, spots of light, splotches of red, blue, and gold. Then, his eyes fluttered open.

He woke up.

He lay on his side, away from the mud, and Darrell shivered and sat near him. A bloody sword lay between them. He patted himself free of dust, and stood up.

"Anything to eat?", Darrell grumbled and shivered. "A cold, cold morning. Cold, cold, cold, too cold."

"What?"

"I said, have you got anything to eat?"

"No. Wait... Yes, I mean, yes. Yes, I do have something."

"Great, give me some."

"Wait... Wait, first we must set off to find Osmond and Bernard. I left him in the forest, but we'll find them... We'll find them..."

"Give me some."

"Later... Later... Wait until we reach them. "C'mon, stand up, face forward, and walk", David stood up.

"What about food?"

"C'mon, follow me."

"I will, I will, but I'm hungry, give me the food."

"Fine, here, have some," David tossed him a loaf, cracked and soggy, mud stained. But Darrell ate with relish, tearing apart the crust, then chewing.

Paths ran past them, and they walked for a day. They passed the road. In the afternoon, they found footprints, intertwining, going twice, and they followed them. Sometimes, their lungs would dry and they would feast and drink. Then, their feet stepped forward, and they moved into the forest. No birds, no animals, nothing. Silence emptied all life, all semblance of reality, from them. He walked under the silent sky and the silent world. He trudged through leaves, and then a clearing, and a cliff.

David yelled for Bernard and Osmond. The names echoed through the cliff, then reached an endpoint. Then, a reply.

"Hello?", it rustled the trees, and pebbles flew down the cliff sides.

"Bernard, wait! Wait there!" David saw them, two shapes, miniscule against the cliff. They waved and yelled. Darrell and David ran down the steep slopes, then to Bernard. Bernard stood near Osmond, who lay with an arrow in his foot.

"Poor, poor Osmond. Hurts like Abysian flames, does it?"

"Even worse", Osmond flinched and closed his eyes. He opened once again, but flinched, "Much, much, worse!"

David sat there in the silence of the forest as Bernard wrapped a bandage around Osmond's leg. Darrell stood there, disgusted and disapproving of the images before him. .

Their luck had disappeared. David looked down, frowning at the sight. Nothing stopped the chaos ahead. They'd survived by chance, and then the Abyss... The Abyss... The Abyss...

The fiery pits that spewed magma upon the earth!... The quivering of Wailen and the world... The Abyss...... He didn't know why... He didn't know why... All he wanted was to meet the Prophet... To see the robed figure high above, to finish his journey at last... But not now... Because of the Abyss, and now, he faced death doing so...

Death... Death... With the darkness covering them all, watching their every step... He could fly away from it all... Turn away from death... Turn away from mortality... Find a way to survive in this world that he lived in...

He tried, but chaos stood everywhere... He wished for everyone to live in the world forever... He wished for eternity. He wished for the absence of time. But Death faced him with a bronze sword in hand... Destroying all things... Destroying and leaving mounds of bodies... The Plague.... Those bodies, dumped without honor, and put into disarray...

The caged birds twittered around, waking him from his thoughts.

"Can you shut those birds up!", Darrell yelled.

"Sorry... Sorry... ", Osmond said, then clenched his teeth.

"Wait, wait.... I've got some wine... Helps with pain, have some", Bernard pulled it out, and poured it onto Osmond's lips, "Relax... Relax yourself... Relax yourself..."

"Yes... Better now... That arrow... Pull it out.... Please pull it out...", Osmond nearly flinched, but restrained himself, then slowed his breathing. "That's fine... That's fine... I feel better... No pain.... Look at that wound... No pain..."

"Rest now.... Rest now...", Bernard set the bottle near him. Then faced David.

"Well, you set me down, and here we are...."

"But, it seems as though we can't journey any further. With Osmond's foot, we'll camp." David nodded.

"Early?", Darrell blinked.

"Early, we can't hurry for today. But tomorrow, we'll make extra progress." Bernard closed his pack.

"Away from the Abysian's. You saw them, along with Darrell. The sigil of the Nalrath...", David nodded.

Darrell turned to David rapidly.

"The Nalrath? The tablet? Then, we're-", Darrell turned back and faced the forest, "-I'm going back. Let's go! Denton's dead, everyone's dead... We're all alone... C'mon! Let's go!"

Darrell attempted to drag Bernard, then Osmond, then David, but he failed. His arms fell to his sides, and he looked away.

"Then no one? Then no one...", Darrell walked to the forest, "Goodbye..."

"Darrell, Darrell!", Bernard ran to Darrell, "Darrell. Have you lost your mind?! The Prophet stands ahead. I can see him now, with light glowing upon us... Do you see him? Do you see him?"

"Hogwash", Darrell spat, "I'm going back. I can see home now... I can see home now!... Goodbye, Bernard..."

Darrell walked into the forest until he was swallowed by green. Bernard turned away and sat down in the dust.

"He'll come back...", Bernard said, "He's too afraid to go by himself."

"Let's set up -Ow...", David touched his ear, pain appeared, and faded away soon afterward.

"What?", Bernard faced David.

"Just my ear..."

"Your ear! I didn't notice that. Let me heal it up...", Bernard looked into his bag...

In the afternoon, they set up tents and a fire. Smoke rose in the air, and fragments of leaves floated along with the smog. They recooked the bread until it cracked. Bernard replaced breaking logs with twigs while David ate their food. The wind carried it's smell through the air and flies flew to it until a thick haze floated in the air.

With this, Darrell stumbled back to them with dirt clinging to his knees. He scooched near the fire, and warmed himself in its flame.

"So, did you reach it?", David asked.

"Why didn't you come with me?!", Darrell shivered, "By the Prophet, it was cold and nobody there... "

Darrell blew at the flames, and shivered some more.

"You went back then?"

"Those soldiers, remember them. I encountered them, horrible, horrible things. I didn't remember, so I went back."

"What soldiers?", Bernard faced them.

"Dropped swords, similar things...", David replied.

"Right... Right...", Bernard fanned the smoke away from him while coughing.

They waited silently as the moon shone itself and the sky glowed a slight red. Smoke glowed as it reached the clouds, but faded away. David saw smog swirl in the air, and he lay back on the ground, touching the grass.

"I could tell the story..."

"Always with the stories", Darrell grumbled, "why not something else?"

"What else?", David turned and asked.

"I don't know... But a different discourse, besides stories."

"Stories are fine", said Bernard, shaking his head awake.

"Stories then, I have the book. I'll read..."

"The Story Of Paramon"

"Quallous sent them on the trip and pushed the boat off from the harbor. The ocean welcomed them with showers and waves of gold. Paramon stood high from his threshold. Below the sails, he commanded them to row forward. Along with them, several triremes and dinghies glided.

The trireme swam away from Wailen, and it sailed into the open ocean. A trip, it would be. Forward, the boat sailed. The wood rasped as the steering oar turned.

It set off into the oceans. The boat undulated in the water as the waves carried it. Heat wavered in the air. The sun beat down on the backs of the rowers. The sun cast rays onto the waves, and the ocean glittered with orange.

The sun fell down the sky, and the moon radiated outward. Silver outlined the moon. Wailen darkened as the stars moved across the sky. The rowers rested their oars and they slept on the benches. Sopris ate dinner with him and then went into his below decks cabin. Paramon slept inside the boat cabin. The waves soothed him into sleep.

Dawn spread through the sky with blue, and the rowers woke up. The trireme sailed forward. Blue faded into grey, clouds covered the sky, foam erupted into the air. Paramon stood. Like a great mountain unperturbed.

The waves pushed against the boat. The wood groaned and the boat ran up the waves. The oars cracked under pressure. Dark waves split underneath the boat's bow.

Water swirled into the clouds, and the wind spiraled into every boat. A whirlpool spun beneath the wind funnel, and the waves curved into it. The sailors yelled and screamed as they were swept overboard. Many sunk and drowned. The rowers watched Paramon, and they waited for him to appear in confidence. But he stood with a face of stone, all of it featureless, not a smile, nor a frown. They rowed onward, and the sailors screamed for the gods. They prayed to the Prophet. Paramon hid from their eyes, and he stood tall, even as the boat's bow shattered.

Air launched the boat into the air, and more people were swept overboard. They screamed his name to him. He yelled toward them and he ran out from the threshold. Over to them, he ran. He reached out both arms, but the ocean grabbed them into the water.

The boat tilted and the rowers climbed up the boat. Paramon walked to them.

They held onto the sides and yelled threats at him. But Paramon couldn't hear them over the storm. They clambered over the fallen mast and held their broken oars.

"Paramon!", they yelled, "Give us your boat, and we'll spare your life!"

"Never!", Paramon shouted back, "I'll never leave my post, life or death!"

"Paramon!", Sopris shouted to him, "They'll spare your life just as they've spared mine!"

"Sopris, with the mutineers!? Come back, join me and save the journey and the boat!", Paramon shouted

The crew advanced toward him with Sopris behind them. They stormed his cabin, and they knocked him into the sea. He waded in the water, and Paramon swam away from the twister. His sandals sank into the water. Paramon dipped his head into the water. His hands paddled forward, and he collided with an obstacle.

A boat floated above him, and he held onto the wood. He gripped it and he hauled himself onto the boat. His hair dripped with water. The smell of fish and salt rose in the air. The wind spun the boat, and he lay on the floor. Rough splinters poked into his back, and the unfamiliar smells nauseated him. The boat swayed in the waves and it tossed him along the walls of the boat. Overwhelmed, Paramon's eyes dulled and he fell asleep.

The sun came wreathed in orange flame. Paramon woke near a sailor. He stood up and gazed around the boat. Planks and rope, they moved with the ocean. Paramon looked at the sailor. Two planks of wood lay in a cross.

"I'll paddle", Paramon bent down.

"Where'll we go then?", the sailor asked.

"Forward, to search for land."

"Not Wailen?"

"Why Wailen? We'll continue on Quallous's orders."

"They'll never know", the sailor said, "Let's sail back. Quallous's mission has killed all of these sailors. We won't be next when we sail back."

"Quallous's mission has, I suppose, done this. But we should go forward. If not, then the journey will turn into a waste."

"It'll turn into a waste anyway. Let's sail back. Why waste our lives for a warlord? The progress we make will only pain us."

"Not for Quallous, we should move forward for discovery."

"Let's move backwards for the sailors."

"It'll all be a useless journey if we go back."

"I'd rather go back than face death."

"One more day. If we don't find land by then, we go back.

The sailor sat in thought for a moment. With a nod, he talked.

"I'd go"

"A day of sailing. We go forward."

Paramon paddled forward. The boat moved with little speed. It skimmed the water. Waves of white pushed them further into the ocean. The water hissed as it curled onto their boat. For discovery, not Quallous, they sailed. Wailen shrank as they moved into blue and gold. Salted fish and bread, they ate, and then they rested at night.

The next day, Paramon and the sailor paddled into the ocean. Clear of clouds, the sky shone blue onto the water. The ocean turned calm. But as they ate, the boat collided. The boat quivered. Paramon stopped paddling. With a shout, the sailor climbed on the bow to look. Land greeted him with a cone of sand.

"One day, and we've found land", Paramon paddled backward.

"We go forward", the sailor lay back, "And we continue."

Paramon paddled forward for the rest of the day. At night, sleep overtook them and the ocean paddled the boat for them.

Dawn filled the air with the fragrance of the ocean. The smell of drowned sailors and nibbling fish. Paramon took up the oars and he paddled. Another stroke curved its way around the boat, moving it forward, and the boat dipped under as Paramon moved both paddles.

Overhead, it began to rain. Puddles streamed out from the sides and onto the floor. The boat dipped lower into the water and then creaked. Paramon paddled forward, the boat stood still. Paramon dipped the paddle into the water, then he heaved the paddle backwards.

"Let me help, must be a... ", the sailor dived into the water. Droplets deflected against the boat.

He heard a rapping sound from underneath the boat. His fists knocked back. Then the sailor's head erupted onto the surface. His hands grabbed out to Paramon. He let out a hand and the sailor clambered onto the boat. The sailor stood slick with water, and wet from both sides.

"Scales and scales shining everywhere. These glitter and sparkle with the sheen of silver and diamond."

"The Abysm slithers here with heads aplenty. We'll wait when the tide goes up, and when the rain dries out."

"The Abysm!? We're near the Abyss, we've sailed into the Abyss.... "

"Sit down, sit down. We'll wait until this rain dries away."

"The rain? But the Abyss, and with those scales, and scales..."

"Sit down, the Abysm never wakes. It'll never wake up. The Prophet has said himself."

"The Abyss! Let's get out of here, and back to Wailen. I've waited long enough, and now I face death with its sharp eyes."

"Rest, and sit. We should rest for now. Let our worries drown in the ocean."

"We can sail back! Let's sail away from the Abyss. Let's sail away from everything! Let's go home."

"We're stuck for today, and Quallous waits for progress."

"Quallous waits for nobody! He won't know about the wreck. He won't know about us. He won't know about anything. Let's go sail away. Let's go home. Let's go sit near a flame and rest."

"We'll have no fire if Quallous sees only us and knows about this. We should stay, then sail forward."

"Let's go back! It'll be a useless journey when we die."

"No, we should never go back."

"I can get this boat back myself!", the sailor picked up a paddle. With a struggling push, he set the boat loose.

"No! Stop the paddling!"

"I'm saving us from death!"

"Stop the paddling! Stop the paddling! If you don't...", Paramon picks up the paddle. A push sent the boat sailing backward, "If you don't-!"

"What happens when I don't? Quallous, dishonor, so much. It doesn't matter! It won't matter when we die!"

"Stop the paddling! Stop the paddling... ."

"We need to go back! We need to paddle back!"

The boat spun and turned as the rain glimmered beneath the clouds.

"Stop the paddling...Please, please stop the paddling...Stop the paddling... Please, please stop the paddling..."

The waves raged once more, and Paramon's body slammed against the boat.

"We need to go! We need to go home! We need the flames of fire. We need the comfort of home! ", the sailor shouted, "Let's paddle back. Let's paddle onto shore! Let's paddle back!"

"Stop!", Paramon managed to shout. But another wave swept over the boat. His paddle flew away with it, "Stop..."

A light shielded Paramon's eyes. It shielded him from the horrors of the storm. It shielded him and led him into warmth. The sound of waves and yelling faded away. Light everywhere, twisting, moving, all blurs of white. The sound of pulsing, like the beat of a heart.

Outside, the Abysm moved with the ocean. Out of its gaping mouth, a creature swam. It erupted into the clouds and the boat shuddered. The sailor continued to brave the waves, and he paddled as a storm funneled into the world.

"We need to go back! We need to go back", the sailor continued to shout, "We need to go back! We need to go back!"

The winds seized the sailor and Paramon into the air. It launched the boat into the water, and it destroyed Paramon's paddle against two waves. Water fell onto the boat while the sailor sailed.

Paramon awoke from his slumber. The light had gone. He lay underneath a myriad of blue and white. Foam swirled around the boat. Water dumped itself upon them. Waves built up in height and carried the boat back to Wailen.

"The sailor....", Paramon saw the world through rotating eyes. His feet grappled onto the boat. Paramon tumbled onto the side of the boat.

A light came from the waves. A column of red and blue. Paramon lay and watched.

It swam to them, and the sailor tried to paddle away. But it launched itself out of the waves. A glowing serpent met his gaze. A winding set of scales met on its head.

The waves covered the serpent while the sailor cursed at the sea. Paramon heard a splintering noise. His hands gripped the boat tightly, and he turned his back against the ocean.

Another wave poured itself onto them and hit the side of the boat. A glow illuminated the boat. A scream came from the boat, but the storm drowned it out.

Paramon closed his eyes in the darkness of the boat. Sleep overtook him, and night fell early upon him.

Dawn bloomed with orange and red. It unveiled petals of light onto the boat. Paramon woke from his dreams. The boat sailed with the waves, and nowhere could the sailor be seen. From above, the sun glittered down onto the ocean.

Paramon scrambled for water and food, but nothing lay in the boat except for him. He sailed alone in the ocean. On the waves of blue, over the piscine waters, over a world of water.

Paramon lay in the boat, and he slept.

When Paramon awoke from his slumber, he found two islands. Two humps of sand that each met in cusps. Around him, winds of sand blew to him and the boat. He cleaned himself with water, and then the boat set off again.

In the afternoon, Paramon's throat coughed dust out into the air. The seawater stood glimmering near him, and he drank from its infinite supply.

In the evening, Paramon drank more and more seawater. Thirstier and thirstier, he'd become, and a bottomless thirst filled him. He drank until

When he slept, his thirst and hunger went away. But when he woke, both hunger and thirst tore at him. He drank more and more until he couldn't drink, but his thirst grew. It raged inside of him with flames of blue tearing at his stomach. When he slept, his pain faded away. Protennessen healed his wounds and sewed them up with airy threads. Sometimes, his eyes grew misty and his mind fogged with shapes, colors, things! They were clear and sharp images across his mind that he wished for. Averan food in platters and sweet water. But a land only in his head. For he saw the ocean extending forever and none else. With each passing second, his eyes filled with lights. Colorful streaks that remained across his mind. A breath would escape from his lips, and he would sigh. Then, his head leaned back and his hands relaxed themselves.

When his mind could bear it no further, his eyes finally shut and his mouth closed. The water carried him forward and Protennessen sent waves. Long and tall, as they swept the boat back to Wailen.

One morning, after ten days, his eyes caught a ship. A gigantic vessel creaking with people and going to his boat. It covered him with a shadow, but his hands lifted him up. Paramon croaked for help. His hands waved, and the boat stopped.

The Men of Deer pulled him up, and got him on board. They fed him strips of meat fried in furnaces. Then, they gave him river water. He lay on a bed for days while he coughed smoke and healed himself. When he could stand, he walked to them. His lungs cleared themselves of ocean water, and he breathed in ocean mist. The men of deer and Laphanists crowded around maps and talked.

When he cleared his ears, he heard of waging a war against Quallous and Wailen. His head nodded, and he looked at Wailen and sneering Quallous. Smoke rose from its towns and cities with people. None of them were standing near the shore. They had abandoned the journey, and gone back to their towns and homes. He wept angry tears, but wiped them away and walked to the men of deer and Laphanists."

After that, they fell asleep while David lay looking at the stars. They shone in dull light, still as pretty, like glittering pentas. They crowded around each other shining in their own ways. But stars, not flowers... He saw each of them, lonely little stars... Each by themselves traveling and traveling, forced to travel around Wailen. He'd traveled, without meaning in his life, without a purpose. He'd traveled away from villages, away from everything... Away from the plague, away from the men of deer, trying to seek purpose, trying to seek meaning... There was no Prophet back then, only Plague, and Plague... With the eternal ocean surrounding them, nobody near him... There was nobody... Nobody.... Nobody in life... Nobody knew... knew the meaning....

The wind created whirlwinds of leaves, and carried them to ditches and ponds. The fire dimmed, and he let the ashes fall.... Red turned to orange...

If they'd known, then Darrell... Always sulking... Always angry... With his tone... What about Darrell? ... What about Darrell? Maybe.. He should accompany Darrell home... Believe him... Try... Yes.... Yes... He could try.... Try... Try.... Try... Try.... David sighed.... Stars faded, twinkling, but went away.

When his eyes closed, he fell asleep...

Light filled his eyes. He strode through clouds that puffed themselves further up. He bounded across each of them. The sun lay below them, and he let himself rise further. Fresh air inside the bluffs of cloud and pillars of mist. The natural world unfolded around him as clouds faded away and allowed rosy light to fall into them. Like a world of snow in the sky. Around him, a blue aura faded into darkness. The clouds let themselves fall slowly...

He stood near the peak on a cloud. It floated near people. Darrell, Bernard, and Osmond, all of whom waved to him and beckoned him forward. He stepped onto each cloud, one by one, while he reached out his fingertips and tried to get himself over to them... But... Then...

A warm memory. He climbed an oak tree, gripping the bark with ease. David scaled the trunk, the branches swayed under him, and a breeze passed through him. The lines of age on his hands had disappeared. The tree stood steady. The bark scratched his hands, but he didn't care. He looked around. A mountain stood in full view, and trees lay near it. But he hadn't finished climbing yet.

He neared the top, with leaves thinning out. After a while, he reached the top, poked his head out, and looked at the summer sun. It blazed, turning somewhat, and he rested in its rays. Around him, a mountain range emerged. The forest trees scraped the sky. He had never imagined such an amount. They stood in all places, covering him in shade. Then...

He danced. Others were with him. Playing. Fun. He felt carefree, with a bare chin. He could laugh or smile. They chanted and chanted, dancing in moonlight, underneath leafy tops, shrouded in the mountains. Men of deer, Laphanists, all dancing and chanting... He smiled, grinned. Happy times...

He woke up. The birdcages rattled. He watched the birds hop around. They pecked at the wooden bars. David watched them for a while.

While they sat eating bread, Bernard told more stories. After they'd finished, they walked further along the mountain. The familiar trees faded away and small hills prodded forth from the ground. Grass grew in small clumps at the bottom of the hills. Weeds scratched his legs and the chilling wind made him shiver.

Darrell stopped, looking down.

"The path was here...", Darrell said.

"We've only reached a clearing. The path will cut through here later. Maybe if we find people, they'll tell us", Osmond nodded.

David looked up. Rain dropped from the clouds.

"The path!", Darrell exclaimed, "Where's the path?"

"I don't know", Osmond said in a quiet voice. He backed away as they turned to face him. Nobody spoke.

"I'll find it myself", Darrell replied. He pointed into a forest of quivering treetops, "Right there! C'mon, follow me."

He strutted forwards as the rain came down from the heavens. The droplets of rain became absorbed by the cold ground. David covered himself with his bag. But, water leaked through anyway. Sheets of rain slid down from the clouds. Water covered every part of him. It filled in small pools around the hills. They ran into the forest, meeting a cliff on the way. David sprinted across a small divide. It turned into a ditch as he ran. They slowed down, and walked. He shivered as the rain pattered down his head. The cold. He tried to shake the rain off himself.

"What is that?", Darrell had stopped.

A tall abbey stood ahead. Tall cones sloped upwards. Scaffolding lined the walls and red roof tiles dripped with rain. Each tip of each cone held a metal diamond. David's head turned to look up. Tall arches supported a middle cone that spiraled upwards past the treetops. They walked forward. But, then they ran as the first sound of thunder rolled past. David looked at the lowering sun.

Bernard ran up to the abbey, and turned to face them.

"C'mon. Let's go in," He beckoned them forward. David stood, not taking a step. None of them did. But Bernard went to the door anyway.

Bernard neared the door decorated with intricate carvings of gold. A brass knocker stood in the middle of the door, and Bernard lifted the knocker and released it. The sound echoed across the forest. The door opened.

"Who's out there?"

"Can we come in?", Bernard asked. "The rain, and the cold. There's not much-"

"Alright", the doors opened with a loud bang. Rain flew from the door and onto the ground.

"Come in, come in. Freezing, eh?"

A monk led them into a vast hall. It was crowded with monks. Lush gardens rose from mud brick and David walked into a tall overarching hall decorated with paintings. Staircases lined the walls, and bookshelves filled each room they passed. Some monks walked in a circle around a pole. Around those monks, deep impressions showed years of dedication. In the middle of each pole, a large glowing sphere whirled around by itself. Many of them seemed deep in thought. David wondered if they'd ever stopped.

"What's the sphere?", Osmond asked.

"Galtrand. It's one of the three. Soln, Gotund, and Galtrand. All three make up everything."

"Everything?", Osmond repeated, "Everything?"

"Yes. Although, you can't extract any of them from any object. Impossible to do that."

"How do you get this-", Osmond pointed out, "-then?"

"Because reality turns weaker after you pass the Gate of Reality. And, then the elements pool up in the ground. When you reach deeper than the Abyss, then you'll find at least one of the three elements."

"Hungry?", the monk pulled something out of his robe, "Galtrand's the only food we have in the abbey."

"Alright", David took some and bit into it. It tasted like nothing, but it had a strange texture. It seemed hard to explain. Galtrand was rough and smooth at the same time.

"It only gives energy, but no taste", the monk replied, "Not much you can like in Galtrand, it tastes crummy. But, Galtrand is the only food available."

"Eh, tastes alright", Bernard replied after trying the Galtrand.

"Ten years and you begin to abhor it", the monk answered, "Fifty years, and the best thing to do is feign insanity, then hope you never touch it again."

"Feigning insanity for this?!", Bernard laughed.

"Sometimes, life-threatening diseases work better."

David grinned. They walked into another room. Straw seemed to be crammed in every crevice. Tall wooden stables stood atop each other, reaching halfway up the wall. A window to the sky filled light into the room. Candles lined the walls.

"Strange", Osmond said, " Do you keep horses in here?"

"No, horses can't fit. Too cramped.", the monk replied.

Darrell spoke.

"Men of Deer?", Darrell squinted forward. David followed his gaze and saw a deerman. The head of a deer, the body of a human. It sat on a rock, eating some leaves. David had never seen a deerman before.

"Yes, some middlings and pegagons, too", the monk answered.

"20 years...", David said, "After this, I'll never see them again."

"Maybe", the monk replied, "It won't be a good chance that you'll see one again. But maybe."

"That's small compared to the amounts before the Callous War", Osmond said.

"The great lumbering beasts of the sky remain in the middlings. But, those things are so frail and weak", Bernard paused midthought. "There isn't much hope for everything else."

"Now, they remain here. But, then one day even this monastery will fail. Everything dies with time", the monk answered. "Many don't like them. It was a bad day when civilization killed these beings."

"Then the Callous War, the plague, and the Prophet", David said.

They went to sleep in different rooms. Each room with a colorful tiled floor and a hard wooden bed. A clothesline hung on two poles. He slept with comfort. It seemed like a good night. It was a strange thing. The monks were kind people, but they were a fading cause. The plague outside of Pnoaphales affected everything. It made people desperate. They did anything to survive. Thievery was a light crime. David remembered when he'd seen a man kill his dogs for food during a harsh week. He'd heard of more serious crimes in other villages. Fewer people upheld the morals of the monks.

He bent his head down, praying again. His eyes twinkled from the light of the night. Tomorrow, the Prophet would listen. They'd been too far away, and the Abyss had interfered with his message. Today, he prayed and prayed. He wished for further luck, cures, warmth, fire, and light. He wished for a lantern, a boat, a coat, and leather. He wished for Averan food, and further things while his beard rustled and he muttered things like a mysterious Magi.

In the night, he woke up and heard marching outside. He opened an eye and went to his window. The familiar buildings of the monks surrounded him, and tall walls stopped the forest from entering. But, he widened his eyes at a different sight. In the darkness, people stood around the monastery. They held swords and stared at him. The Captain and his army.

David walked back into his bed and shook his head. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, exhaled softly, and tried to sleep against the dull drone of marching soldiers. They surrounded them all. They stood with swords and thousands of soldiers... David stood up from his bed. He looked again to see the soldiers gone....

In the morning, the monks let them leave with some more food and they went on their way. Dew dropped from every leaf, plunking into ready puddles. New-made waterfalls drained into a lake surrounded by hills. Trees sunk deep into the blue water, and fog covered the skies. The tide rose and foam whirled onto the shore. Thin clouds streaked across the morning sky. The earthen floor grew spongy as it lay soaked in rain.

They found the road again. It rolled forward past the trees and into a timeless vision. They balanced upon a cliff that led unto a grassy valley. David stood for a moment, and sat onto the ground. They watched the sun thin as clouds passed. They heard the birds chirp in the light of the sun... With a shout forward, Bernard ran down the slopes and into the valley. Osmond walked behind, the only one closest to Bernard. The rest waited, Darrell going behind them all. David shivered in the wind, but followed Bernard.

The long grass bent beneath their feet as they cleared a path into the valley. Bernard smiled at the sun, and gazed at the clouds. At times, something fell over Bernard, making him stop and contemplate, but he would continue. David followed closely with his bag tightened against his back.

Journeying up Pnoaphales, but resting after the sun flared, enveloping the sky in its inferno. David smiled at the sun, nodded to it. Once they had journeyed far enough, they sat against dusty monoliths. Bread crumbled as David twisted a portion from a loaf. He crunched it down, softening some pieces with water.

They lay in the yellow fields, and passed under the sun's eye. The Prophet watched over them all, with a great pupil surrounded by shattered blue spreading out into the world. The Prophet! He leaned toward the sun, with heat crawling through his body, and the cold fading away. The forests no longer blocked the sunlight. It went to them all, with rays, beams, in empyreal colors.

Soon, their journey ended atop the mountain. The Prophet sat above this world on Pnoaphales. What would he discover from the Creator of majestic mountains and seas? Everything. No more death for the world. Life had no end anymore. He journeyed for everyone. For Bernard, for Darrell, for the dead Denton, for life... Then, from the absurd chaos, order would arise.

David lay below it all, laying on these wheat stalks, laying with eyes closed, laying with visions passed in his mind's eye. Memories. Running and rolling down the hills. Laying under the sun. Talking to the Men of Deer and Laphanists, who talked around tables. How great it would be to go back in time... But, he lay in the stalks, with a beard falling down him.

They stepped up, picking at the stalks before them. The forest loomed over them, and the sun met midway into the sky. A bridge crumbled, leaning over an infinite abyss. They walked past it, and into a path. Tattered ropes hung on saplings. Leftover campfires lay with white ash and fire-eaten logs.

After the path, they reached a lake. Sprawling in its size, seething in water, spraying foam into the air. A man with his boat stood in it. A wonderful boat, he stood on. All painted in white. The floor curved in the center. Then a metallic plate stood on the bow, bent to form a shape resembling a swan's neck. Curling outward from the stern, a bent bronze plate stood. The ferryman's paddle waded in the water. Osmond walked to him.

"Money?", the man put out a hand, rough with blisters, covered in the salt of the sea and worn from the wooden oar.

"I've got a few...", Osmond pulled a few coppers out of his bag. Showing them to the man, "Here you are. I need to go to Pnoaphales"

"Sit." The man patted the boat. David stepped into it, sitting on the bow. All of them entered, one by one.

The ferryman held the oar and pushed against the ground, propelling it into the water, the boat skimmed across the lake, and the boat moved, without hurry, adapting itself to the lake.

The lake ahead bubbled, turned, and twisted as water flowed around poking rocks. Foam lashed out onto them, tumbling into the rocks, washing sand off them, eroding them further. Ice floated towards them, breaking off from cold areas. Fog rose in the air from waterfalls that erupted with the contents of the swamps above. Terraces of rough rock ran up the borders of the lake. Sparrows populated the cliffs with nests, flying above them in black and grey flocks.

The boatman pushed his staff into the water again, and the boat tore through the ice. He nodded his head to them and drove the staff down into the water again.

"Rickman, my name is, I drive this small paddyboat unto Pnoaphales, every day, down and up."

"Cold, is it? Sailing, by yourself, going on these lonely journeys, no one to see, no one to talk to?", Osmond asked, running his hand along the water.

"Never that sorta journey for me. I've worshipped the sea and its beauties, beginning as a child. To sail a ship, I've fantasized. In dreams, I continue to sail. For the sea is a blooming flower, which opens itself up for all people. It allows life to gaze upon its beauty."

"No, no, I thought it wouldn't...", Osmond mumbled, "Never a lonely journey, not in these waves, not in this type of sea, not in this type of ocean, no...."

David looked into the whorls of water and felt the winds rush into him. His heart pounded in him. David trembled and laughed quietly. A surge of something rushed through his body. His hands dipped into the warmth beneath the boat.

Into the sea, sailing into a new world of water, discovering the depths. Finally into a strange, new world of water, into the wild sea and the wild waves, into the calm and beauty... He remembered sailing, past a grassy shore, past flowery plains, and into the undulating waves and the calm air. He saw it now, inside the edge of his imagination. He saw it between the border of memory and mind. He remembered fishing for minnows.... He remembered running back home...

"Footprints...", David squinted. Multiple, side by side, going forward, unaffected by the lake. Each imprinted into the lake, each inside the water, moving with the waves.

Darrell paid no attention, staring at his reflection in the lake. But Osmond turned to catch a glimpse.

"Footprints. Then, the journey ends soon." Bernard nodded and leaned over the boat. It shook, rocking back and forth.

"Yes, soon we'll see him", David pointed, leaving one hand to drag along the water. "Right there, you can see. Past those waves, over there, in the water."

"I remember, now...", Rickman pushed the boat forward with the paddle. "He walked, a crowd behind him. They paid me many coppers for each ride. And this boat filled with thirteen people, all packed on all sides. Everywhere, they were. Like sheep, like ants, like crowds of dull people. But bright with colors, but all the same..."

The boat continued to follow the footprints, shaking a little as the lake turned chaotic. As the water dipped into whirlpools, as the waves smashed against the cliffs, foam erupted into the air. The wild, wild, sea. David dipped his hands into the empty water, empty of life, empty of plants, water extending forever, empty, for now. David pulled his hands out and lay against the boat. But the sea thrashed outward as the boat moved forth. Waves spilled onto the boat, forcing him to stand.

The shoreline dipped below the sea as it sailed out of the two cliffs. Toward Pnoaphales, a humongous mountain of green, blue, and red. Covered in jutting cliffs and populated with caves. A valley ran around the mountain. But, the mountain seemed insignificant to the sea that covered everything with blue and white. Surrounding Pnoaphales stood hills, they glowed green and white, spring air ran through the grass. Two monoliths loomed upward and leaned against one another in supports.

Small was the boat, to everything. Wailons swam below the surface of the water, swallowing entire groups of fish with a yawn. Every single fish, a person, to be swallowed by a wailon. Many fish, many people. But no consideration for a single fish. None at all.

Beside him, Darrell continued to stare at his reflection for the rest of the journey. He lay empty of everything. He seemed like a ghost in between life and death. He just stared, looked into the water, his focus ran past the fish and the floating kelp, past everything. His mind had gone from the world.

"The fish have arrived, Bernard. These silvery, sleek animals. Great automatic things, with silver limbs and silver lungs.", Osmond looked into the water, sketching the fish as they continued past him.

Bernard dipped a finger into the water.

"All swimming past us, silver scales, glowing... If I had a net or a fishing line. Maybe if I had a basket?"

"You'd never catch these fish. With a rod, I caught kelp. With a handline, I got rocks. With nothing, I caught nothing", Rickman pushed the paddle again, then he swirled it in the water. The fish ran out from under the boat. Away from them. Swimming deeper into the lake.

"You've scared them!", Bernard looked into the water, " I'll never get one now! Come on, come back, come back! Come on, all swimming away from us! And you've ruined Darrell's view too!"

"No, bother. Never looks up from the lake, your friend."

"Well, we'll see then."

"Then try, and see."

"Darrell?", Bernard asked.

Darrell didn't answer, sitting in contemplation, not talking, just staring at the lake.

"What about the fish?"

Darrell continued to look.

"Darrell?"

"What?", Darrell turned, "What is it?"

"The fish. What about the fish?"

"The fish...", Darrell said, "...I don't know. Nothing about the fish...no....nothing..."

"The fish. Haven't you noticed that the fish... The fish have been... Rickman has .... He's scared of....", Bernard gestured into the lake.

Darrell nodded, shaking his head, resting his hands.

"No.... Not much... not many. I don't know about Rickman. No, I haven't seen anything."

Darrell continued to stare into the lake. Looking into the shimmering water, looking into the sun's reflection, looking into the deep blue.

Evening came, the moon appeared, shimmering, and leaving a column of white on the water. But the currents distorted the moon's reflection.

"The day ends quick, evening already!" Rickman pushed the boat forward with another push of the paddle.

"Need to hurry then, need to hurry...", Rickman muttered.

Osmond nodded.

"The night comes with its dangers. Animals, the chaos of magic, many things. Far from Avera, they ward off the dark with the grotesque. Each hung on their doors to ward off the Abysian creatures."

"Not that, a serpent wakes at night and devours wailons, fish, all things. So large and titanic. When I first journeyed out with a grand boat... The boat was my father's, and my father's father, and so on, and so on... Then I encountered it. Foolish, was I, to sail at night. That encounter left me with this paddyboat instead..."

"Snake? Serpent, rising above waves, leaving land ravaged." David waved his hand in the water and stared into the water. A dark shape moved below him.

"Yes, but we'll get there," Rickman pushed the paddle deep into the water. "Yes, alright, we'll get there! Just wait, wait, just wait...."

David pulled out his hand and saw a wave erupt from the lake.

"...How'll we know?! How'll we know?! The snake, the snake comes at night... Why didn't we go earlier? Why, why, why?!", David pulled his hand out of the water, grabbing it like a fish out of water, wringing it dry, "The snake is down there, and it's dark, getting darker still!"

"Nothing to fret, nothing to worry about. The snake arrives when he's hungry, and I've seen it, examined it. For I've sailed these waters for many years. And, we won't be late, a small island lies ahead. We'll stay there for the night, then wake in the morning. "

"We-... Okay...Alright. Alright, then... Alright...", His mind soothed itself with its rhythmic chantings. He said it again, quieter, repeating the words," It'll be alright then, alright... alright..."

"No worries'', Rickman pushed the paddle, again the boat glided forward, "No worries at all. Go to sleep, for we'll arrive in the morning. It'll be a long night. A long, long night."

David relaxed, leaning back, calming himself, into sleep, tired from the day. He closed his eyes, sleeping, into oblivion. Gone were his thoughts, gone was his energy, gone were his burdens, gone were the weights he carried.

He slept. Light entered. The Prophet, standing in front of him, every detail imprinted itself into his eyes, every edge, curve, line, glowing blue, red, and gold. Yet again, the same dream, all the familiar details, again and again, dull in its colors and shapes. He waited for it to finish, waited for it to stop, waited for the ending. He watched as the Prophet turned a little, not showing his face, but shifting. Shifting as light burst, filling his vision again, then...

"Wake up! Wake up!", Bernard shook him, "We've reached the island!"

He stood up, in the night air, on a small island. Populated with trees in the middle, hundreds of vines crawling on the ground, crabs sidling along the sand, and a sandy shore with cones of rock emerging out of the sand. They'd taken the boat onto the shore already.

He turned to look at Pnoaphales. Only one more day, then onto Pnoaphales, lined with precipices and columns of rock, with clouds surrounding the top, carved by the rain, touched with snow. All of it, inconstant in the environment, with trees in deserts, areas of grey basalt, and hexagonal towers of granite.

The lodestar shimmered beneath the moon, with rays lighting the island with white. He strode toward straw-woven blankets and a fire. He stared into the deep blaze, watching it flicker and waver. David lost focus, and fell asleep, falling into slumber.

...The morning came. The sun moved out of its hiding place, out from the clouds, out into the air, where it lit up the sky with red and yellow. Then the morning arrived, morning air, morning animals, morning sun. The forest revealed what it'd hidden: a lake, and a series of vines that hung along with the trees.

Heat crept along David's spine, forcing him to awaken. The fire had gone, the boat was in the water. He ran to them, who waited for him. He clambered onto the boat, and they set off. Into the water, following the Prophet's footprints.

The boat continued, past the island, nearing the figure of Pnoaphales. Streams trickled into the mountains, dug in flat curves, and stretched into the sky. Soon, the Prophet and his immortality would arrive. Immortality. To feel anew, fresh, he could see it in himself. Living forever, with everyone the same. No worry about time. He could relax on a bed forever, but he could do anything without the worry of time. Time wouldn't matter. No, never time. Days wouldn't pass that fast because his immortality would fix all of that. Soon, he would meet the Prophet. On the mountain, death forgotten, living without fear, without his burdens, all things fulfilled.

He stared into the water, watching for the serpent, but found hundreds of orange fish swimming in groups around limestone boulders. Some poked their fins above the water as Bernard fed them crumbs of bread. Some swam underneath the boat.

The boat continued, past the fish, and into a cluster of islands, each round and without plant-life, but filled with sand, leaking green and blue into the water. They passed by each of them, and into open water, where the fish turned sleek and silvery. The waves of the lake intersected upon each other into diamonds of water, moving the boat side to side.

The wind grew stronger, forcing Rickman to push the raft harder with his paddle. Down it went, forcing the water to curve downward, and a small wave appeared, collapsing into the lake afterward. The boat moved forward, displacing sheets of water and foam forward, again it went as Rickman pushed down.

David touched the surface of the lake, then left a wet fingerprint on the boat. It dissolved into the wood, gone and absorbed. He wished for a fishing rod or a net. It'd be fun, a nice thing to do, to try and re-invigorate a memory long-lost. He could try to catch the fish below, but the thought of the serpent made him hesitant. So, his finger moved in a line across the surface of the lake, moving with the boat, intersecting with the waves.

The afternoon arrived and the sun crossed the sky. The fish faded into the lake, into the depths, and the light dimmed away into the red. Pnoaphales loomed, larger than before, each detail sharper, with trees of various height and various colors, yellow spruces populated with various fruits. Pnoaphales held junipers bent backward, with their gnarled, twisted, rough forms, into the ground. He could see birches without bark, all light brown, short and squat. They'd skewed their course away from the Prophet's path, away from the footprints, and into a different side of Pnoaphales

The evening arrived, with the stars dotting the sky, and a purple fog fringing it. Above that, the sky turned pink and dark blue in a gradient, continuing until it reached the moon. From there, only silver remained.

The lake turned dark, remaining that way as they lay on the boat, looking at the stars. Pnoaphales seemed close, only a few more pushes of the paddle, and then onto the shore. Only a few more hours until Pnoaphales came until he'd meet the Prophet. Gone from the Nalrath, and its horrors. Gone away from the Plague, and its terrors. Onto Pnoaphales.

David shivered in the frigidity of the lake. The sun's heat had faded away, the moon had taken it away, replacing it with cold instead.

He looked down and watched it glow blue. It lightened, sky blue, reflecting his face, then lighter and lighter, electric blue.

It could've been Galtrand, glowing and pulsing. It could have been this.

He stiffened as a band of red, curving, moved past them, underneath them, glowing. He stumbled into the middle of the boat.

"The snake! The snake!", David pointed down into the lake as waves of water pushed the boat back.

"No matter", Rickman pushed the paddle again, faster, and again. "As long as we hurry, we'll make it. No matter."

"The snake's down there, let's hurry, or... or...."

"No, no, we'll reach it, a few more, a few more paddles, a few more"

"But, we..."

The red band extended out of the water. A head reached out, eyes appeared, and he shrunk away.

"No, but-", the boat shook, rocking, it turned, and he fell into the lake. The water stung, and the sea swept into his eyes. He thrashed blindly about until bubbles erupted from his constant sinking.

Falling into the cold water, he tried to go up. His legs kicked, swimming upwards. His head erupted out of the water.

Water extended miles away. Waves of water whipped him around. His legs thrashed and he managed to keep his head afloat.

He kept himself moving against the waves. He'd never swam before, but he was keeping afloat. He breathed in long bursts, away from his wheezing of before. He turned, his arms moving with him. The boat had gone, and the water had glowed brighter, filling the sky with blue. The currents raged, he heard the sound of water, displacing itself. The serpent was in the depths. His legs kicked, but the current pushed him backward. The water stung his eyes, and he squinted. Something blue, it rose from the ocean foam and up.

The snake. Large and the eyes almost as big as the moon. Teeth, the size of a column of rock, but he only saw the head. The glowing head of a serpent extended into the depths of the lake.

He tried to swim away, but his clothes dragged him down. He tried to take them off, and let them drop, but he felt himself sink. The water ran up his nostrils, his eyes ran red.

The serpent rose and massive waves a hundred times taller than him rose. He bobbed in the water and tried to swim away. But the waves pulled him into the sea. The shrieking of wind and clouds erupted in his ears. He thrashed and tried to go up, but instead, he flipped upside down. The serpent rose slowly again. David saw what was around him. Cold, desolate, ocean. No ground. It got darker while he sank. He went up, but the bag weighed him down. He watched the serpent swim closer.

He tried to paddle upwards. He took off his bag, but it wouldn't come off. He struggled and stopped.

The serpent's mouth opened and revealed the two fangs. He kicked away, his legs forcing it's way up onto the surface. Bubbles rose as the water filled his lungs. The darkness enveloped him, and he tried to swim away. But, the serpent moved and he tumbled into it.

He thrashed and tried to take his bag off. But, it stuck to him. Light, a lantern, red and orange, a flame.

"Bernard!" Water spilled onto him from everywhere, into his mouth, into his eyes. He spat it out and tried to dry his eyes with his sleeves. "Darrell!"

No one...It was useless now... The water grew warm, with the lantern, he saw red all over. He looked up. His arms relaxed into the water and sank.

An arm reached out and grabbed him. People. Four of them in the boat, battered with dents, smashed, and damaged from impact. He reached out and gripped the driftwood. A lantern balanced in the middle.

"David?"

His eyes blinked. It was Bernard, Osmond, and Darrell. The water lapped up, and onto the driftwood.

"Yes, it's-", David sputtered water,"-me. It's me."

"The snake's swallowed us and now we're here", Bernard looked around, into the wide expanse of blue and red, "Now we're here..."

Rickman looked away from him, holding a fragment of a paddle close to his chest, the remnant splinters diverging from his chin.

Darrell's face filled itself with a scowl. He'd gotten into the middle of the boat, staring into the floor of the boat.

"Now, we're here. In the most vulnerable spot, here in the darkest of places. I've seen the soldiers' wave swords, all of them. Remember that uniformed man? With that insane leer, challenging and challenging, with that battered helmet and the symbol carved everywhere. He was my captain. Cooked most of the food, bandaged many of the wounded, bought most of the weapons. And I killed him! I killed him! I stabbed him through, and left him to die!"

"He was mad", Bernard said, "Mad and insane, gone forever, he'd been there for years, growing a beard."

"I remember he'd lost something... Something... He set out to find it and disappeared. Nobody found him after that. Then, I killed him. He was helpless in the mind and I killed him... "

"He attacked us with every fiber bent on destroying us... Changed and gone."

"Helpless to the forces, to the Nalrath! Why did I go on this trip?.... This horrible, horrible trip."

"Nothing wrong with the trip, we'll get out. No matter what, we'll get out of the snake."

"Not much now that we're in this serpent. Then the driftwood will get waterlogged, or we die of the cold."

"Then, we wait. The Prophet will arrive soon. He stands atop Pnoaphales like a ruler."

"The plague's better than all of this. Dogs beat. Horses shot. Thievery. But, it pales to drowning in the unknown, where none shall know of our deaths."

"Calm yourself. We wait and sit...", Bernard answered. The water made the driftwood bob up and down. The driftwood floated along the inside of the serpent. The lantern flickered. David shivered. It grew colder.

He could see glowing, up ahead, an aura of yellow and red, and the waters were shimmering with the same color.

A fog seeped in from the snake, covering them in a shroud of red. Down upon the wide belly of the snake, wider than him, wider than the boat, as big as a cave, wider than the biggest ship.

He felt small compared to the utter magnificence and grandiose of the serpent, with its belly of fire. The fog covered the water, crippling them of their sight. He couldn't see. His hands waved over the fog, almost getting it away. But it remained.

Getting warmer now, he looked below him. The water bubbled, with heat. Deeper into the snake, the hotter it got... He wiped his forehead and looked into his hand. It glistened with sweat. He couldn't think straight, his eyes fluttered. He leaned against the boat.

A wavering reflection looked back at him. He watched it go away as the boat moved backward from it. Again, the boat split the water, the waves went away on both sides. Again, the boat moved. Rickman pushed the paddle into the water, grunting, and then did it again.

"Let me help. I have the strength to do it. You've been paddling all day", Bernard stood up.

"I was dumb when I didn't listen to your friend."

"But we'll get out of the serpent. This, I'm sure of."

"I can paddle still."

Bernard nodded and sat down.

"Fine, but tell me when the time comes and we should move the boat together."

"That, I will."

Rickman continued and then stopped.

A whirlpool of red had formed below them. Rickman held the fragment of the paddle close to his chest and then placed it down. He pushed it forward, past the whorl. The boat jolted down, and then up as it swam the curve.

Shapes formed ahead of him, covered by the fog. As they moved closer, he saw islands. Each of them was swallowed by the snake. Mounds of sand, piles of them, islands of rock, all clinging to the belly of the snake. Each covered with the green of kelp, the shells of oysters, and barnacles. Fish swirled, swam, moved under the boat, each shining their scales at them.

The small islands shifted as everything began rotating. The boat turned, steadying itself on the waves, turning as the serpent swam. Then waves arrived, tall, like snow-capped peaks. A series of waves ran down the curved wall of the serpent's belly, increasing in height as it built up momentum. Foam crashed onto the deck, almost sweeping David overboard.

He hung on. The boat shook, curving, bending. Moving still, continuing, but shuddering violently. He heard something crack, the noise of wood splintering, splitting into halves. He bent his head down as the roar of the waves engulfed his ears. He leaned against the floor of the paddyboat as another wave shadowed them all. He hung on as his body curved, colliding with the wall of the boat as the wave engulfed them.

The boat ran up along the sides again, colliding with the serpent's belly, into the water. He turned with the boat, going underwater. He regained his hold, clambering onto the boat.

David wiped foam from his face. He spat water out and looked up to see Rickman still paddling the boat, Osmond hanging on, and Darrell clinging to the side.

Bernard had gone. He turned around. A hand clung to the side of the boat.

He grabbed it, hauling Bernard onto the boat.

His head slammed backward. The waves rose again, higher, sweeping the boat upwards along the waves. They launched into the air, turning with the serpent's belly. The boat twisted into the water. Quiet, all quiet, as the waves crashed from up high into down low.

They were going down. Down. He fell with the others. From the sky, then into the sea. He saw his arms flail as the ground grow closer. Falling! He looked around rapidly, turning through the air. Water lashed out. He looked down, spinning through the air. Fog faded past him. Down he fell. Falling! Falling!

Into the warm water, the impact stung him as he sank. He floated up numbly afterward. Facedown. Looking at the serpent's veins, throbbing, pumping. Everything below lay as a flashing blur

A piece of wood, debris, floated past him. With dark arcs, valleys of water, and smells of dry leaves and salt. He hung onto it. His numb hands barely held it...

He weakened his grip on the plank. His face went underwater, and he rose upwards. He almost went down, but he stopped himself. His muscles ached. He dreamt of warmth.

David looked up at the red flesh of the serpent's stomach. Looking up as he traveled along the serpent's belly. Looking up as blurs danced across his vision. Looking up as water leaked into his ears.

A horrible, horrible journey it'd been into the lake. Just as Darrell had said. If he'd known before, then he would've survived. No more fishing boats, no more water, no more of the world of water, no more of the mysteries in the sea he'd wanted to see. It'd left him crippled on a piece of wood; it'd left him waiting for death; it'd left him helpless to the sea. Killed them all, left them as corpses, left him to boil alive inside the serpent's belly.

But he wanted it from empty wishes and empty dreams. Empty things, his youth, his youth as hollow as a rotting log. He'd wished... Useless... Useless youth... He had remembered fishing, but had never gone into the water...

He'd gone because of his youth.... Useless... Useless youth... He'd wished... But he'd continue for the Prophet... Something else.... He needed something else.... Something new. Something....

The heat made his skin peel, he saw it. Wrinkling his fingers. Then, turning white as he tried to squeeze life into them.

He tried to launch himself onto the plank again, but it sank underneath the water. Heavy, sinking with him. Sinking.

His head dipped under the water. Bobbing up and down as he floated. Down onto the snake's stomach. His ears popped; his hearing whizzed away; blurry, everywhere. His hands reached forward, but water everywhere. Expanding past him, everywhere, water, water. His lungs burned, burned with blue fire, burned in the water. It numbed his tongue. His body turned, rotated in the water as he tried to get to the surface. But he reeled in the water.

Vicious fire wracked his body, it crushed his bones, taking his breath away. His breathing grew labored. Each one like a slab of stone pushed across a sheet of bronze, scraping the shine away until only dullness came through. His mind filled with dancing lights, dashing colors, each traveling across his vision.

His arm reached out onto the surface for a hold, a wall, a ladder. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Dead, a corpse, bloated from the water. He sank. Heavy, everything was heavy, heavy... Everything seemed hot as the sun. Inside the flames, he was, burning inside the inferno.

Things floated past him, above, wooden chests, woolen bags, everything. Silhouettes against the light above. Bobbing up and down, past his writhing, past his sinking, past his drowning.

His body burst with adrenaline, it rushed through him, energy, making him shiver. Still dark, but with increasing light, a point as bright as the sun. Fading away though, fading faster, distancing itself, gone, only the dark. Pitching, yawing, leaning, tumbling. Nor did he see, none, he thought. With heavy hands, he brought himself, he did, into the...

His skull ricocheted off something, something heavy, hollow. Hands grabbed his shoulders; he felt himself get carried out of the water.

Water ran down his arms, his eyes flashed open. A red stomach, wrinkled and throbbing with veins. He stared.... Then he spat water from his lips.

The board of wood went still with him, hanging onto his hand. He dropped it into the boat.

Bernard, Rickman, Osmond, Darrell. All of them alive, neither bloated, nor dead and pale. All watching him stir.

They parted, Rickman paddled the boat against the current. Bernard murmured a welcome to him, a soft greeting. Then, he went up, pulled by Bernard. He swayed a little, his head turned back, twisting. He steadied and looked ahead.

The light had grown, expanded, enveloped the water with yellow. The red had faded away, replaced by white. His eyes squinted for a clearer view.

He turned to face away from the light, into the journey ahead, into the capacious waves. Rickman's paddle moved forward, the boat turned, bumping into the snake. Rickman tried to move it onward with a larger push. But the water rushed past him, slamming the boat against the snake, squeezing it. He heard something splinter. Rickman's paddle, the handle, gone. Only a fragment left.

The boat shook in the water. He lay down against the boat, blurry, grey, getting darker as his eyes closed. Light fragmented, shattered, as his eyelashes mashed against each other.

Then into sleep.

He woke again. The boat shook. Rickman and Osmond paddled the boat with planks. The paddyboat shuddered as it rushed onward. He checked his bags, looking in each of them, checking them.

He shook it, looked again, but it was gone. Gone forever, his Book Of Stories. He shook the bag twice. But... Gone was his Book Of Stories. He'd kept it for a long time... For a long, long time... For years, through his entire life, through the days he'd lived... And now! Now!?

He lay against the boat now, feeling it rock back and forth, looking into the water.... How long would it take for them to sink? How long had it taken for the Book Of Stories to sink?..... Wet, faded, gone...

The others tried paddling with planks of wood, weathered and beaten by the water, and onwards they went. Little by little, but the current pulled them deeper into the serpent.

"Hurry!" Bernard had the crucible in his hand again. It glowed, smelling of smoke and ashes. "Again!"

"Paddling out then!", David gripped the boat, "Paddling along!"

"Again!", Bernard turned to him. He yelled over the waves, "David......Awake! We paddle. .... And then, I'll provide a final push! Alright then... Alright then.... What'll he... What does he... ", the boat shook, launching itself over a wave. "Hold on! Hold on!"

Bernard held the crucible tight to his chest.

Another wave, higher, curling, moving. The boat swam up, Rickman and Osmond paddled. Water covered them. The boat moved through the wave. Droplets sprang up into the air, then rained into the boat. They skimmed across the water.

Shards of wood dropped onto them. The tatters of a sail floated down. An unlucky boat.

"Hold on! Paddle with it! Paddle!", Bernard shouted, gripping the crucible tighter to him. The boat rumbled, shaking again, then shot up. After it skimmed another wave, it fell, dropping down.

Shaking as it reached water. Rickman pushed the paddle forward. The boat turned a little. He pushed it lighter. The boat tilted right, past a tight curve.

Another wave, forming smaller waves to run alongside it. It curled, lowering in height.

"Hold on!", Bernard shouted again, "Hold on!"

It rushed through them, the boat spun. Water filled the boat.

Light rushed onto the boat. Light, silhouetted by teeth, two long fangs. At the snake's mouth, now. At the snake's mouth!

Two waves came in, the boat tumbled through them, Rickman paddled again, one after another, one.... Two.... three.... Four.... The waves piled up behind him. Five.... Further... Another one....

Bernard launched himself forward. He pulled the crucible's contents out. It glowed red and blue, Gotund and Galtrand. Vibrating and emitting light.

The water moved backward, as it rushed out of the snake. The boat balanced above it all.

On the serpent's tongue now. Planks scraped flesh. David tried to move the boat with outstretched fingers, finding no hold and no grip. The serpent tilted its head back. He turned to look up. Light, the outside, the sun, the sky. The boat moved onto two smaller fangs. Caught. Caught between two. The boat shuddered, tilting left and right.

Bernard squeezed his palms, closing his eyes. Clenching his teeth; then he screamed in pain, wounds ran up his arms, lines of red. Bernard tightened his grip, and the boat moved, but not shooting, not launching, staying still.

For a second, red burst in wisps. David expected the boat to shoot forward, into the air, like a fiery chariot in the sky. But it stood, remaining. Bernard screamed and yelled the words out. They echoed through the chambers of the serpent

But it failed. The snake closed its mouth. The fangs interlocked. He heard the bow shatter. The boat fell back down. He tumbled into the back, reaching his hands out, but his head leaned too far back.

The boat slid back down into the water. Water sprayed in thick waves overhead. David closed his eyes, letting himself grip the boat tighter, traveling through the waves again. Falling! Falling! The boat shook while smashing through foam and sea mist.

"Bernard!", Darrell stumbled into the middle of the boat. "What'll we do now?! It didn't work Bernard! There's nothing now... What'll we do now?! What'll we do now!?"

Bernard didn't answer, looking at the red streaking along his hands.

"Bernard!", Darrell shouted again, "Bernard listen to me! What'll we do now!?

"Bernard", Osmond said, "What'll we do?"

Bernard sat down, resting his hands beside him. He didn't speak but looked down at the floor of the boat.

"Go forward", said Bernard, empty of expression. "Just go forward"

David turned and faced the sea.

He saw something great. It enveloped them in darkness, and let waves rise in the air. Foam rose to touch the ceiling, and it dived into the sea again. David caught glimpses of a fin larger than the boat.

Osmond looked closer and steadied himself as he stood up. The creature rose again, erupting, and waves gripped the side of the boat and tilted it into the water. A large wave rushed into the boat. Osmond shrunk back, and the boat steadied. David moved closer and saw eyes bigger than the moon. They watched him and passed by after the creature sank deeper.

The waves died down, and David lay back on the boat. Osmond tried to look deeper into the water, but the creature had gone too deep to see.

"Wailon, then... Too large, and not too small.", Osmond nodded and turned away.

"There's nothing now... Nothing to do...", Darrell faced away from them, hands clasping at his eyes.

"We'll get out...", Bernard nodded, "We'll get out..."

The boat grew dark. Bernard lay back with eyes closed. Osmond turned away and lay in the middle. David slept, and Darrell too. Soon, there was nothing else, but the stirring of the sea. David closed his eyes, going into dreams...

Red light rushed through his eyes. He saw creatures pass by him, but not enough for a full view. Above him, rocks ran in jagged lines like lightning flashing in the sky. David fell past everything, into a hole that opened wide into the Abyss. David turned, blurs went past, and he saw nothing else. David's body tumbled off every side, and he landed on the ground. When he tried to stand up, he was pinned down by something. He turned, but ended nowhere. Instead, he bent his neck upward, and strained himself to see Salugren...

Salugren... Snake eyes and thousands of snakes beside it. The thing hissed at him, holding an orb that glowed. David tried to crawl away, but he screamed as fangs crushed his hands into halves. Salugren pulled him out of what held him down, and everything emptied from him. He floated above, light and hollow, and followed Salugren as the creature stood above serpents and snakes. Their fangs acted as steps, and Salugren slithered forward up pillars and constricting serpents that covered the tower they climbed. Many of them lay with blind eyes and gashes in their scales. Much more twisted and writhed in a long pile that stretched like a bridge. He was pulled forward, and felt something snap...

David woke up and saw islands that lay in rows near him. Chests, shattered wood, and clothes floated past him. There was the scream of rasping wood. He tried to get the heat away with a wave of his hand. When he did, it continued with more and more, suffocating and covering his eyes with mist. David waved more of it away, and it blinded him with red.

David looked at the plank in the middle and picked it up. Osmond yawned awake.

"C'mon, let's paddle", Osmond grabbed a plank. David did too.

So, they paddled further up the ridged throat of the serpent. David coughed into his beard but paddled with all his might. Darrell took a paddle, but Bernard only sat looking onto the floor of the boat.

For hours, their boat bobbed with the waves, and darkness spread across them until they paddled in the dark. None of them talked. They gripped their bags against their chests while David paddled near Bernard.

He kept himself awake by covering his face with water. He ran from sleep and continued with the paddle pushing forward. Osmond fell asleep, then Darrell, then Bernard, until it was only him that moved the boat.

The morning came with glowing red, and David hadn't slept. Bernard woke up first, with his bag opened, and shuffling through to look at his vials of Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand.

Darrell and Osmond took up David's paddles as he lay back and looked at the red. It went on and on... On and on... On and on... On and- David shook his head, shuddering, and keeping himself awake... Then David closed his eyes and sighed, resting his hands upon the sides of the boat. Then.... Then...

Light filled his eyes, and he floated above snakes and snakes. They encircled him, wrapped around him, constricted him. David felt his lungs tighten as some wrapped around his throat and beard. He coughed out words, but none reached the world. More snakes fell from the sky. David tried to get out, crawling and climbing but found no handholds, no exits, more snakes. Fangs bit his hands and tore through him. He saw nothing else, but the red fury of pain. There was nothing else as the snakes snuffed the light away from his eyes. They grew dull and Salugren...

David woke up, shuddering, pale with fear, and surrounded by crashing waves. Bernard held a crucible and mixed it with a mortar and pestle. The boat groaned as it rode over a wave. Darrell steered and paddled, and Osmond did too.

"Remember! Remember!", Darrell shouted.

"It'll work fine," Bernard muttered. "Just wait..."

David's quivering hands grabbed a plank. Bernard held the crucible up to his face, and David heaved forward, paddling up the serpent's throat. More debris floated past them. Pieces of wood, vases, pots, and a chest. The boat spread them out with its shattered bow.

David saw the light again, and Darrell shouted words as the wind billowed and fangs stretched out. He saw the sun blazing overhead, and the serpent opened its mouth. Bernard looked up, and muttered some words without a stutter...

David hid from the light, and Bernard shrank back as red filled his arms. His veins throbbed, a light appeared from his eyes, and he yelled out a warning and something else. Bernard stumbled forward, and the boat sat on the serpent's tongue.

The boat quivered, the water streamed forth, the serpent bent down slowly. Then, a streak of red pushed them forward, and Bernard tried to steady the boat, but it dipped into the water and rebounded into the air.

The boat launched itself past the snake, moving into the lake, and it fell into the water. It bobbed up and down in the lake. Not on land yet...

Out of the mouth. Nighttime. They paddled the boat, the shore lay near. Glistening with sand; full of lush.

Bernard tried to point forward, again he tried, again and again. But, his arms gave way and he collapsed. David looked behind him.

The snake had risen, with sunken eyes. It snarled, hissed, fangs appeared, and then a row of incisors.

It glowed red. The red of flames, the red of blood, the red of the Abyss. A deep crimson, he could smell it, blood, like coppers, blood in the air. Blood, the same color as the serpent.

Its mouth bulged, tightened. It curled outward, growing taller. With waves running out of its sides, each growing taller as the serpent advanced toward them.

David pushed the plank into the water; down it went. Again and again, waves forming behind him, collapsing into the lake behind him. The shore seemed near, very near. Soft sand and sweet sleep. His arms sagged behind him. The boat continued, gliding onto the shore. Bumping into the sand.

His feet touched the land.

Onto the sand, they went. Bernard collapsed, and lay there. Osmond stood next to him. David sat in the boat. He grunted and pushed himself up.

David licked his lips. Sand stuck to his clothes. He rolled onto the soft sand. Cold to touch. He rolled in it, the perfect bed. Away from the serpent, away from it all.

They dragged Bernard onto shore, out of the boat, to treat his wounds. Then they set up a fire. He sat near it, thinking and tiring himself.

The Gates, the Nalrath, and the lake. When he reached the top, everything would change. He laughed. No death, all happiness, and no worry. He grinned. Nothing to worry about... Nothing at all... They'd survived the serpent! Why not a celebration?! And, why go back? Nothing good happened away from Pnoaphales. His hope lay in the Prophet.

He shivered. Now, he wanted to be inside a home. Near a fire, watching the logs collapse from the heat. He imagined this and shivered in the cold. Some of their bags remained. They'd been lucky to have survived the snake. But soon luck would evaporate and they would remain in the harsh desert of reality. Wasting away in the endless valley and they would then fall into pits of fear and rot away... But why care about that? Above an absurd, deathly world, he saw the mountain of life, and death lay in front of the path of life. On top, the Prophet stood! At least Bernard had hope.

His mind crawled deeper into the tunnels of his mind and curled up inside a small pit. He dozed off, forgetting the demons that plagued him today. Forgetting the Nalrath... Listening below. A hulking monstrosity that lumbered with its twitching ears. . David curled closer, watching the fire turn red. He wondered about the mountain and the future of the climb. Maybe he would never reach the top... No... Because the mountain still stood, beaten by weather and rain, standing tall above all.

If immortality existed, then he would feel happier. He wanted to see death gone from the world. He wanted life for all. He worried about each moment. Life existed as a great, happy, long thing. What use was death when life was greater? Only the gods knew, but not Protennessen, he'd abandoned those gods. Maybe the Prophet knew such things...

He'd visited the pillars of Avera in his youth, and on the ceiling lay paintings of battles. In the sky, the gods watched death unfold. They watched and never helped. Only watching...

David yawned, contenting himself, warming himself against the fire, growing groggy, and then he closed his eyes.

The morning arrived. He woke up in the morning air. Smells of pine and palm wavered in the air. He rolled out of the grass and onto the sand. The water rushed past his head. He lay there, against the waves of the lake. He blinked twice, removing the sand that had crusted around his eyes.

He yawned and sat down on the shore.

His eyes dimmed at the sight of the sun. He could see it, with its great flames burning around the sphere. The brain of Protennessen. An amalgamation of fire, forming an outline of orange and red. Made with thousands of clouds and stones, bursting with tendrils of gradient heat. Black, orange, and red leaping onto shards of orange bursting from the sun

All Protennessen. And the rest. The sun had watched. Had all the gods watched? Had the Prophet seen as he fell from the waves and crashed into the lake? Had they watched as his skin peeled and his body crumbled under the pressure of the serpent?

They had watched and saw them. They saw and didn't care. They'd never cared for Darrell and his sadness, nor Bernard, nor Rickman, none of them. He'd prayed for all of them.

He'd prayed for life, not death...

But, he'd prayed to all of them, and they'd never answered. They'd seen them all fall from paramount and into the snake. All watching their boat skim over the waves and fall into the throat of the serpent. They'd done so, sent the serpent outwards. Out from its home and to them. Sending them upon a journey and inflicting upon them the Abyss. The horrible, horrible Abyss. From the fathoms, it was alerted by Alzabron.

Then they came, with teeth and flesh. Hunting them down, forcing the serpent upon them.

He faced the lake.

He could swim back, survive the snake again. Swim for miles and miles until he ran back to his village. But, a useless journey forward and back.

He could swim though, into the ocean, float to shore, pale as a corpse, but still alive. He could live through it and jump into it again. He could. He could! All he... All he needed to do. He couldn't though. He couldn't... none... none at all.... He couldn't swim. He would die in the water if he tried.

Then, he would reach it! Climb it, finish it, get to the top. He would find the Prophet and reach him. No way back, only forward.

His eyes dimmed. The sky grew grey as the clouds eclipsed the sun.

He'd done nothing, nothing he'd known of, nothing he'd thought of. He respected all of Protennessen. He'd upheld the morals of the gods, living with the monks. But, yet, this... The snake, the captain. Sent by the gods themselves.

Horrible, horrible Protennessen. Why Protennessen? Why did he mention, why did he worship, why did he rely on Protennessen? Only the Prophet could fulfill everything. Only the Prophet. Not Laphanists, not Protennessen... But only if he knew... Why?.... Why?.....

A mistake. Maybe, he'd faulted. A mistake. Unknown to him. A mistake that angered the gods, and sent their wrath down upon him. Yes, yes, that was it, a mistake. Only one mistake, gone in the past. What mistake? What had it been?

The others woke and he stood. Hobbling a little. His legs trembled a bit, dipping below as he walked. David trembled, his feet shuffled. But he could stand, crooked and swaying like wheat in the wind.

Bernard stood with two bandages wrapped around each arm. Each one, torn from Rickman's shirt and Osmond's bag.

Rickman rose from the boat, a fragment of his paddle near him. Osmond tumbled from a tall hill into the lake and stood up immediately as water ran up his face.

Soon, they'd all woken. Covered in sheets of sand, dusting their faces with white.

Their bread tasted like grit, mixed in with the sand, and soggy from the water. He ate it, in small pieces, each a quick bite and a quick swallow.

Pnoaphales beckoned him forward. Streams running, twisting, going around the mountain, through the big bluffs, and balancing boulders. All of the mountains sat upon pillars of rectangle rock below. The mountain shone red, deepening into blue as it peaked. At the top, an aura of white glowed, shining rays of light down upon them. Clouds ran past the summit, dispersed by ridges of rock.

Mid-afternoon, with the sun humming, and the wind whistling. They'd packed up their things, readying themselves, preparing themselves for the sights ahead.

As Rickman pushed his boat out onto the shore, Osmond came upon him and they talked. Coppers exchanged hands. Then, they went away and Rickman pulled the ship into the river.

He'd persuaded him, somehow, he'd persuaded Rickman to do the impossible and journey up the mountain. Even when the gods had forbidden them, even when only the Prophet had gone, even when... No way back, to continue, and to continue... But to continue! He would finish, he would continue, he would reach the top! No way back, only forward.

The boat landed in the river, spreading itself onto some cattails. The boat groaned and creaked as each of them stepped in. It tilted forward as Bernard came in last. Then the barbs of each cattail scraped along the wooden hull as they went down. The water rebounded with droplets from the lake. Into the boat, David leaned down, looking down onto the floor of the boat. The water didn't touch him.

Down the paddle went, it pushed forward, in the same direction as the river. The boat rushed into the currents, and Rickman relaxed his grip. With the river, up the boat would go. Past the islands, past the snake, past the lake, past the tributaries. Into the stream, following its meanderings.

They ate lunch on the boat, surrounded by forests, deserts, and taigas. Bread, soggy with water, smelling of beer and barley. Crunchy, gritty, all from the sand. David drank water instead. Water in the oilskin, better than bread.

Their boat sailed to the mountain, the great mountain. The Prophet stood there, on the top. Into Pnoaphales, he would climb and climb until he reached it. The gods couldn't stop him. No, not the gods.

Around them, the weather turned. From cloudy, then rainy. Peaceful rain, as it bounced off the river and ran into their boat. The rain pooled over the valleys and hills. Down it went, forming streams. Down the slopes, carrying silt. It dropped into their boat, spreading mud along its floor.

He thought of the Plague. Sent to the towns and villages after the fire. With unfamiliar sights and unfamiliar smells. People crowding around marketplaces, and then the pile, the pile of bodies. With limbs bent and head limp, pale and covered in buboes. All with the smell of death, spreading through the air, yet nobody noticed. Nobody cared about the victims of the plague.

Once full of life, but now corpses piled up into a perfect cone. And then, at night, they burned it. It lit up the village with red, and the bodies glowed. They glowed as they fell apart, they glowed as they turned into embers and charcoal. Collapsing into smoke and fire.

Why death? Why for all? Angry Protennessen, smiting them all... But what had they done to anger the gods?...

Past a desert now. The river thinned, and Rickman stood up and paddled forward. Sand scraped the wood and leaked into the boat. Winds of sand blew past him and caked his face. He leaned down. David wiped his face and shook his hair. Still raining as they passed the desert. The smell of earth and dust went into his nose. But, mixed with the rain, it smelled of rust and coppers. He ran his finger along the side of the boat, coming up with a finger covered in brown.

The river widened. The currents regained their energy, and the boat moved forward. David thought about many things, continuing across the depths of his mind.

He thought about the sea. The depths, containing the horrible snake. With jaws snatching him into the depths of its stomach, those cold eyes. Empty, beady, cold with ice, devoid of feeling, devoid of life, filled with nothing.

But both good and bad on the mountain. At the mountain, his dreams came to life and danced in front of his eyes. Arriving in colors, glimpsing with his eyes. All coming into being. On Pnoaphales, David was safe from everything. They were all safe, Osmond, Bernard, Rickman, even Darrell. All of them were safe. No harm, no terror, no worry. Onto the mountain, onto the pinnacle of the world. Onto the peak of beauty. They'd all see great things together; they'd see sights never witnessed by the human eye.

He thought about the Nalrath. Red and with ears, chomping its way.... Not the Nalrath, he'd seen the Nalrath, he'd seen the serpent, he'd seen the captain, he'd seen the Abyss, he'd seen it. He'd seen it on the tablet, he'd seen the Abyss! He'd seen the red, and the chaos inside, all smashed now though, all smashed... But now they neared the Abyss, neared the chaos, neared the writhing, neared the masses of flesh, neared Galtrand and Gotund, neared death, neared the.... The .... Place.... Neared it now...

He looked around. No people. Not a soul. Nobody searched for the Prophet, just him and the others, just him and the world. On Pnoaphales, they stood, and none else.

He looked up at the mountain. Humanity wanted development and life and thought of ways through technology, yet they could never conquer Pnoaphales. They could never conquer its slopes, bluffs, cliffs, pits, and nothing, not even magic. For magic, it was created from.

The wind hummed as they continued. He looked around, the trees had squatted down. The tips of the fir trees had disappeared, replaced by bushes of leaves. The clouds glowed a light orange. The sky turned a dark blue. The sun blazed with orange, red, and light blue. David squinted at the sun. He watched as tentacles of light reached out from the sides.

He thought of the end. When he'd set out from the men of deer and Laphanists. With his family, he'd gone. Away from the Callous War and the great days of fun. But away from the grassy fields and grazing animals. All lost in his memory, and prevalent in dreams.

He had gone to the city and witnessed the Plague and the people. The smell of wine and mud. Smoke rose in the air, furnaced coughed, and filled his lungs with smog. People sold things and shouted things. Grime covered their faces, and mud stuck to their knees.

He looked at the boat. Darrell focused into the water, same as before, slouching, head bent in thought, murmuring to himself, whispering. Focusing on the captain, contenting himself, regretting himself.

"Darrell?", David asked, "Darrell?"

Darrell didn't answer. His words echoed through Darrell.

"Darrell?", David moved closer. He stared into his eyes. Deep eyes, full of blue, surrounded with shards of black, inside a ring of white, "Darrell?"

"What?", Darrell turned to look at him. Staring at him with the same eyes, "What? What is it?"

"It's... It's...", David struggled for the word, almost nodding, to say the word, to agree, "It's...It's.... It.... ", David tried again, to say the word, the specific word, "...No, no, it's nothing. Nothing."

"Alright then", Darrell turned his head back down, bent it, and continued to stare at the river, neither a frown nor a smile on his face. Just a stare. A stare into the water. A stare that continued past the water. A stare into the core of the world. David looked down and took off his sandals, patting the sand off them.

The rain stopped, changing into sunny again. He felt it bathe his skin and looked up into a blue sky filled with clouds.

He thought about his youth. A useless thing, he'd thought of it before, and now gone. A burden had fallen free from his back. He'd reminisced and felt the shivers of nostalgia, but useless, a shackle, now unbound. He'd wished for it, wanting to go back to the monks, but all gone, and he'd wanted it still, he'd wanted to explore the crumbling cathedral, he'd wanted to see himself young, he'd wanted to see himself flying with grace and ignorance, he'd wanted to experience it again.

Gone, thankfully, gone forever. He'd wanted to fish, he'd wanted to touch the water, but useless. A useless little dream used to keep him alive. Useless... He felt the word echo through his mind, again.... And again...A useless dream.... A useless dream...

Bernard talked to Osmond. David listened. Osmond told a story. A long, rambling tale about his journeys and travels around the world. He listened and heard Osmond pause before continuing with his words.

"Built an interesting paddyboat, they had. Covered in a light layer of magic, although not dangerous. It wouldn't destroy the boat if it touched water because of a sphere of glass, surrounding the magic and the boat. This magic wasn't dangerous. Not as dangerous as the sort one sees today. But not as safe as the magic the Magi practice. Nonetheless, it could go underwater. With air and all of the necessities. They offered me a try and I went down into the reefs. I drew the sights while I sank with the ship."

Osmond pulled a notebook out of his bag. He flipped a few pages and showed drawings of oceans. Fauna and flora decorated the detailed sketches. The pictures showed long scuffed cliffs covered in moss. Fish swam about, and strange wriggling things swam with them. Osmond's drawing grew on single subjects.

One showed a creature hunting. Slick scales covered the body, long claws extended past its head, and fins waved in the water. Osmond continued to flip the pages. The deeper the paddyboat had gone, the stranger the creatures turned.

Osmonds drawings held wide-jawed creatures with white eyes and spiky fins. Things that resembled crabs, and more. Oddities on every page. Multitudes of curiosities. Eventually, the drawings stopped. Intricate writing replaced them.

"We went up, and I managed to capture these drawings."

"Odd things. Very odd", Bernard said.

"Quite, I couldn't capture the last one. Darkness had enveloped the ship. But, I remember the size. Larger than any of the sunfish. This one was larger than the paddyboat. Blue and a row of sharp bones that stuck out along its ribs. A hooked nose that seemed bigger than me. But, I don't remember much else."

"A wailon then?", Bernard asked.

"Yes, yes"

"That's nice, I've never seen a wailon."

"I never sketched it though. It'd look strange if I tried-", Osmond looked around, "Have you noticed that the grounds have turned into sand, while trees still grow?"

"Your right", Bernard looked around, "Trees and sand. How?"

"Right", Osmond said, " It almost turned into night and I've seen a bridge up ahead. When we pass it, we'll rest."

They walked further up the trail and onto the bridge. The fog dissipated and they were on a stone bridge. It looked old but seemed sturdy. Osmond walked up to it.

"Right."

They strolled onto the bridge. It was weaker than it looked. Each step made the bridge rumble. A lake rolled past underneath the bridge. He continued. The bridge began to rumble and he ran. Darrell fell, then Bernard, and Osmond too. It was only him now. He could make it. The coast was there. Go faster, and one jump. He sprinted faster, but the bridge fell below his feet. The wind whipped his heads and limbs. Cliffs of rock sped past him. He screamed as icy water hit his body, but he was alive. 

"The Gates of Reality. Clouds won't fall and turn into stone. But, the ground will shift and the trees will change. The further we go up'', Osmond nodded, "-the more reality weakens, now that we've passed the Gates.... The Nalrath, Salugren, or Salgon could be below us..."

"We'll hurry... The Abyss is behind us now. The encounter with Salugren was luck!" Bernard waved a hand into the air, "And reality weakened because of Galtrand. Floating around everywhere, here, see?"

Bernard stood up and pulled his crucible out of his bag, scratched, but usable. Then he waved it around. He steadied himself as the boat shifted and shook. David followed Bernard's hand. A pearl of blue in the air, running past them. He watched Bernard reach higher, and then, as blue streaked into the crucible. Bernard shut the lid and showed it to Osmond.

"I don't see anything." Osmond frowned, "Then why want to wave it around?"

"That's not it. Wait...That's it! There's something in there!" Bernard pointed inside, "See? Even glowing."

"A single glow, but nothing in there", Osmond tapped his chin as he examined the contents of the crucible. "Show it to David then. Ask him what he sees."

Bernard tilted it to David.

"A blue rock", David saw it shake. He nodded absently, "Glowing, smoking. It's a blue stone."

"Ha-ha-ha! There we go, you've got your answer then."

"I have then", Osmond shook his head, "but there was nothing in there. Look inside, and you'll see nothing. "

"The shrouds are the only reason."

"The Magi Shrouds! I'd forgotten", Osmond shook his head and sighed, "Perhaps now, We're far, far away from the Abyss..."

"Seems to be..." Bernard closed his eyes and leaned against the boat.

They went past rocks, trees, deserts, summers, winters, streams, and lakes. Chaos unfurled before them through unworldly things. But the boat passed it all. Sailing past trees the size of small mountains, taller than him. , the trees grew smaller than blades of grass. He waved his hand over some, saw his shadow fall onto them. David picked one of them up and held it to his face. A tree with every detail. With leaves, branches, trunk, bark, and everything. A tree, not big, not huge, but small.

Osmond and Rickman watched the view around him. Osmond drew in his notebook. Blue, crumpled, and large. Darrell sat looking at the multitudes of trees. Pnoaphales nearly eclipsed the sun. The remaining light David let stream across his face.

After the sun went past the world and grey covered the world, he cleaned himself with water and blinked. His eyes saw only blurs of light. David squinted and focused. Certain colorful points stood like twinkling stars. Others weren't there at all.

Green steaks were the trees going past. Quiet red glowed from Rickman. David shut his eyes and listened. But something covered his ears. It replaced it with a single ringing noise. It whined within his mind. His head pounded as blood rushed through it. David shook his head, blinked his eyes open. He wiped more water across his face. But, below him, his hands weren't there for him. Blurs, like everything else. David gripped the bag and tried to think of other things. Only temporary. It wasn't the plague...No...

He scooted over to Rickman. Everything whirled, the world around him, shaking, whirling. Blurry, blurry. The boat, the boat sped, rocketing past.

"Stop...", David stumbled. Around him, the world turned, "Stop the boat..."

"Don't worry. We only have some time until we stop", Rickman nodded.

"No...", David collapsed into the boat, and nearly tumbled over the side. Rickman didn't notice while the paddle turned in his hand.

Bernard ran to him, lifted him onto the side, then turned, calling out to Rickman.

"Rickman?", Rickman didn't look, "Rickman!"

Head pounded... Colorful skies... Crystalline colors... Nothingness... What was impossible in reality was possible in his head...

"Alright," Rickman didn't turn, but stopped the boat. "Then I'll set up the tents, and we'll camp."

They arrived at a rocky shore. Thunder erupted through the air and ravaged the trees. Rain and wind swept the leaves in small twisters. Trees wavered and leaned toward Pnoaphales. The soil, mixed with droplets of rain, dripped down the hills. David stumbled into the grass and scrambled over the moss. They set up tents, boiled water, made soup, and reheated their bread.

The fire blazed, increasing in its inferno as he moved to it. But, too close, and he felt as if he lay in those flames. While he sat, Darrell drank more wine. He left vases behind him and small jars. They made dull echoes as droplets fell upon them and the wind made them spin. David looked at Darrell. Hope twinkled in those eyes, but haggard lineaments ruined his beautiful smile.

Above them, stars covered the sky like shattered silver. Underneath those shining stars, they talked for a while. While he sat, he felt small bursts of warmth inside him. They filled him inside and left him content. The blurs sharpened until he saw the pointy treetops and drained vines. He tapped his ears and heard the sounds of pattering rain and soft voices. The wind blew at the fire, but smoke rose through it all, and the fire continued to blaze.

They slept early. David managed to drink another vial. He uncapped it, seeing the liquid drain from the glass. He closed the cap, buried the vial underneath the mud. He slept... Sleeping... Away from the world... Into his mind... He hid under the tent canvas and dreamed of worlds... Dreams....

A series of orbs, each dream, came to him. He explored each of them, seeing through omnipresent eyes. He fell into the jaws of an infinite creature and rebounded off the ridged sides. Into the Cave Of Other Worlds, with orbs stacked above another. He saw another. Inside, he went, into the grass waving in the air.

Hills covered the earth, and he heard a heartbeat. Then, seeing it in full view, enveloped in purple veins. It expanded with blood filling and flowing through its ventricles. It twitched with each thump, and crimson ran through the hills. He ran from it, but David was carried by the waves into further orbs. He saw infinite images of worlds unknown. Hands placing bricks, towers extending higher, crowds yelling, wars occurring between another, and more... Broken shards with broken images shone the brightest... Faces, rocky pillars, deteriorated things, old edifices, vines that webbed along walls, and more…

He woke up. He lay against the grass dripping with dew. Something seemed to pinch his ears, but it faded away. He touched his ear. He ran his finger along the scar. It beat with another heart as the blood rushed through his ears. It went numb in quick successions, with pain rushing through his ears once again afterward. The scars, cut by those soldiers, would remain for his entire life.

He turned his head upward, leaning against the grass further. He tried to remember the first dream, struggling to catch a mere glimpse... He'd forgotten now... David sighed and watched the morning light plaster the tent with stripes of reflected light. The vials lay on the floor, and he picked them up. He moved shards of light from the vials, turning them and watching the light move with it.

David stopped, and drank some more water, then rested against the prickly grass. The sky receded from orange into blue and the sun became a red sphere that engulfed the sky. The fire blazed fiercely, seeming insignificant compared to the sun. He ran near the fire and warmed his palms. Snow fell above him, streaking the world with white, and clouds formed overhead.

"Unlucky timing", Osmond said as the snow began to cover the trees. Clumps of it fell on the fire, with steam rising as it did.

David nodded, "We'll continue. The weather will change, and it'll be fine."

He coughed, with his breath turning into vapor. He touched his forehead, and bent his head to face the clouds. The heat from yesterday had grown, and sweat froze while it dripped off his skin. Cold and hot, at the same time. A sickness... Maybe...

Pnoaphales stood in view, curving into the sky, and covered in snow. The fog made it hard to discern. Bernard stood up, the last one to wake, trudging through the mud, and near the fire.

"Nice day, without lightning in jagged lines", Osmond smiled.

Bernard nodded without looking up. His face glowed with the fire, radiating red while he crossed his arms limply and he stared at them.

"C'mon then. Let's go", Darrell beckoned forward.

They walked to their docked boat, which bobbed up and down. Rickman held the paddle and pushed it into the water. Lilypads floated down the stream, birds hid in the bushes, and the sky scraped the treetops.

The morning came with nothing but the red sun and orange sky. The hills cast shadows upon them while they walked. The sun rose and hid behind a shroud of clouds. After that, darkness covered the world as afternoon turned into night. They'd made some distance by then and were making their way across a slow stream when they saw the skulls.

Nobody, no life, only the dead themselves. Here they were, skulls stacked each other. Not the plague, no burn marks, and no ashes. They faced the opposite way, going back home. Snow enveloped the tops of each one. Grey, each stacked above one another.

They paddled away from the dead...All dead, all looking back... What had he sacrificed? For they had died... He would never survive. The Prophet disapproved, and same with the Protennessen... He could pray.... Maybe...

He turned to face the others. Bernard walked quietly, and Darrell mumbled. Osmond talked, smiling sometimes while watching the sun. The blurriness had gone, and he heard the running rivers.

Bernard stared at the walking Rickman, stopping for a minute, then grimacing for a few minutes and mumbling to himself.

"The paddle... Splintered upon the edges", David asked, but Bernard didn't nod.

Instead, looking down, Bernard rubbed the fabric of the bag between his fingers.

"The trees, near Rickman, are growing and growing...", the trees had grown taller than mountains and blocked the sun. They towered over them with loose bark that peeled away with height. Termites infested each of the looming trees

Bernard opened his bag, pulling out the crucible, examining its contents. Then, once again, Bernard stared at Rickman.

David turned to Darrell, who stared into the water.

He rapped his fingers against the wooden sides of the boat. Then, he stared at Darrell, who was no longer a tall soldier, but a crouching old man.

"Darrell?", David said. The words echoed past Darrell, who continued to drink from an oilskin.

"Darrell?" Finally, Darrell looked up.

"I'm fine", He answered. "The snake, and the soldiers. They still live there, hunting those pigs and worshipping the Nalrath. Isolating themselves from society. Imagine the other things, the serpent was the first!"

Darrell laughed, choking a bit on his wine, and stopped.

"It's not about either. It's about what's ahead."

David shook his head.

"Darrell. Relax, and lean against the boat. There's nothing ahead, only the serpent..."

"The serpent", Darrell laughed again, "The serpent! The serpent! You seem to like relaxing. I don't... Nobody does... Fools do this, do you know?... I've seen them... Lying in the Plague piles!"

"Always fools... Always the fools", David muttered. He turned away and stared at the forest ahead of him.

The boat continued past a crawling mass of vines at night. David tried to see what Bernard saw. Through those eyes, he glimpsed a ring of trees, a quiet glow, and the paddle. It dipped into the water, slowed, and moved the boat forward in a light push. The glow expanded as he squinted his eyes, like a ring of fire, and outline in a detailed mural... But nothing else...

While the boat bobbed in the rapids, he imagined a telluride, flying through the air... What about the Plague? Nothing for a telluride... He saw it in the azure sky and the great air... Disappearing into space... Through the blue arc in the sky, passing through the clouds... What else but a telluride?... The clouds above him, the ocean behind him, and land below him. An upside-down world...

Sun appeared over the clouds, with rays touching his beard until it warmed him. The trees in the place touched the sky like legendary pyramids and diverted the clouds.

They stopped at a small clearing full of wildflowers and soft grass. The stars came out, and they watched them twinkle for a while. David looked at each of them. At the top were celestial, cosmic, supernal spheres. And, at the bottom was the small portion of life that existed. Insignificant to the massive occurrences overhead. Maybe there were people in those stars. People without the plague. People that always smiled. With their little civilizations and buildings, they sometimes went on adventures of their own. Never growing old, no death for them...

They ate, drank, lay under those stars, and slept. Underneath... beautiful things...

He had some dreams. One, of the Prophet, splitting apart again, three shapes, and into colors flying into the air. More dreams afterward of watching the world above the stars. Of eating a feast. Of warming himself over a fire...

The days ran by and then a week passed. The events of the last week seemed behind him. But, he seemed to grow weaker during the week. He couldn't walk without a limp. His eyesight began to fail him again, and so did his ears. Bernard continued to stare at Rickman, observing, mumbling, and rubbing the fabric of the bag with vigor.

On the tenth day, Rickman disappeared, docking the boat there, and leaving them behind to fix his paddle. They sat there in silence, yet again. Nor the wind could fill it up. David leaned against the wooden sides, with the boat creaking, and it moved with the currents... He waited for hours to pass... Thinking about farms, houses, the world, the universe, and making dreamscapes inside his mind, stylizing them until perfection... He made a hill, a continent, then a planet...

It all faded away when, in the evening, Rickman came back with two paddles. One with splinters, and another with rough scratches, carved into a wooden spoon that ladled water forth. But, the sun had gone beneath the sky, and the moon floated above like a curved ray from the sun. It leaned into a red-like streak, then brightened into a white aura.

Bernard stood there, nodding, and took both paddles. Rickman sat on the floor of the boat. Osmond fell asleep with an arm hanging above the water. They all slept in the grass, with no tents, and no food. David blinked, sinking into the wood, arms limp, and slept, restless.

The morning came with another day, another moment, when sleep faded away after dreams hadn't appeared... Osmond rowed the boat, Rickman rested, and Bernard looked down at the fine flame maple grains on the planks.

David watched him disappear where Rickman had gone and come out in the evening. Rickman returned, sitting by the campfire. Everyone ate flat-cakes while David ate some of his rationed rabbit meat. Spices and cooked rabbits scented the air. He tossed bones and weak ribs into the fire and watched them burn as he chewed at a meaty leg. Thick smoke from the logs funneled into the woods. Rickman ate nothing while sitting there, staring at the fire sometimes, looking away to rest his eyes, but nothing. David leaned back against a log and relaxed. He sighed and inhaled a deep breath. Darrell sharpened a rock.

"You must be starving. I have some bread. You must eat something, journeying out into the forest. Maybe, a nice cold drink of water." Bernard poked at the bones in the fire.

"Nothing", Rickman sighed, "It won't matter if I've eaten, drunken, or not. I don't see why I should."

"It's fine if you plan to save food, but you should eat."

"I've already eaten."

"Eaten grass and dirt, I understand."

"I haven't eaten that...", Rickman nodded, "No, I only ate... Something else... Why do you say that?"

"Nothing at all. An impulsive guess."

"I see...", Rickman stared at the fire.

After that, they slept again in the grass, near the fire, near tents. David saw nothing, but darkness for hours. He woke sometimes in the night, thinking, and staring at the empty sky.

The morning came with a blazing sun, with earthen hills that surrounded them, and a ring of clouds stood in clear sight. Rickman stepped out of the boat, stretching out his arms. Bernard waited as Rickman went away, then he followed him closely, disappearing into the lush. Darrell followed behind with nothing in his hands. David watched them both beneath the grass. After that, Osmond woke up and cooked bread, letting the fumes rise into the air as he flipped the loaves over a flat stone.

Bernard rushed out of the shade, gasping for air, and reaching out to them.

"Osmond! David!", said he, pointing to the forest, "Rickman! Rickman!"

"Slow down, calm down, sit down, and relax. Rickman, then, what happened?", Osmond chewed on the bread.

"I followed him, stared at him before, and I went into the dark, strange forest, where the trees shrouded me from the sun. I hid behind bushes, and stepped over ridges and cliffs." Bernard paused and inhaled a long breath. "Something followed me, I'm sure. Something from Rickman after I saw him drop into the depths of a cave. I thought he'd fallen to his death, but when, and then, there was a fiery glow... This means many, many things... Many, many things... But, what we must do is something else!... Listen, and look at me..."

Bernard looked up, wide eyes, and pointed back into the forest.

"When he comes out, I'll run out, from behind, with a sharpened knife... "

Darrell ran out of the forest, leaves with dirt on his hair.

"Stop! Stop!", said Darrell, "Don't listen to him! He's mad! Delusional! Lies and lies! All believe the lies... What else, but lies?"

"Rickman fell into the pit, went away, leaving fiery glows upon the world...", Bernard nodded, staring at each of them.

"Then, what did Rickman do?"

"Darrell tells lies himself as with hypocrisy. Look at his eyes, look at the gleam in them all! Rickman- He's-"

"What else, but delusions?! What else!?"

"They are not-!", Bernard ran forward, but the trees shook, and he ran away.

"Come on! Bernard! Bernard!", Darrell spat onto the ground, pointing forward, "There he is, the coward of Pnoaphales, and there he runs. We'll wait and see if his delusions appear as he says! But lies are never the truth."

Bernard disappeared into the trees, and Rickman appeared, with another paddle and an oilskin full of water.

Rickman crouched down, picking up the leaves, and examining them. David strode to him, but Bernard broke from the trees and into the air, leaping above, with a knife glinting.

"You absolute-!", Darrell jumped up and grabbed Bernard's hand.

David choked mid breath and sat there. He scrambled backward, his gut tightening with fear.

"Stop!", Osmond shouted. Rickman turned around. Bernard tripped as Darrell grabbed Bernard's leg. David saw him trip, and the knife floated through the air. It clattered to the ground. Bernard managed to scream.

"Stop it!", Osmond yelled. Bernard choked out a gasp.

"He was- And!- Remember- You saw him-!"

"What?"

Bernard stopped, turned around, seeing the looming Rickman.

Osmond shook Bernard, "Darrell was right! Bernard! Bernard!"

"He's still alive..."

Bernard backed away as Rickman stepped forward.

"Gone into the cliff, jumping and leaving a fiery trail...", Bernard quivered.

"He only jumped with a torch!", shouted Darrell.

Rickman strode past them all and sat in the boat.

"Rickman?", Osmond went past David.

"It's fine... I can see why you argue about me jumping down into a ditch...", Rickman nodded.

"Not a ditch, a cliff... A cliff that extended past the Abysm's head and into the jaws themselves..."

"I was getting wood", Rickman revealed a bag and David looked inside.

"No... No...", Bernard shook his head, "You had no axe, no knife-"

"Fallen logs", Rickman nodded.

"You attacked him for nothing! Delusions!", Darrell said. Bernard bent down and buried his head underneath his shoulders.

"Yes, I see...", Bernard turned away quietly into his tent. He didn't come out for the rest of the day.

Days continued to pass. The sun spat fire along its edge, and the weather changed. Trees morphed and the ground erupted with hills or fell into deep pits. Sometimes lakes formed where they stood, or the ground grew hot with fire and they would rest. Lakes dried up into deserts. The dirt sprouted roots, and they would rest, sitting and cutting them off. One by one.

Osmond showed more pages of his notebook to him. Dreamworlds and fantastical seven-legged creatures with two heads. Islands and Statues of broken Gods. People and people. Crowds and cities. Osmond told more stories while Rickman led them forward. Osmond told more stories while Bernard and he listened. Darrell did too.

His thoughts cluttered his mind, in disarray, in chaotic form. Time passed by in blurs. He saw the world through hypervigilant eyes, yet remembered nothing. And the days ended and ended.

They saw the clouds on the 11th day, and they took a break. David enjoyed the sun laying in its fullness... The sun, above everything...

Osmond carried his birds with him every day. He never seemed to be without it. He fed them a portion of his food when they took a break. The cages were flimsy. They shook with every step, and the birds pecked at them through the endless cycle of day and night.

Carefree like a bird... Why would he want to be like a bird?... But to live a life as a bird. Sailing through the air, and seeing the sights... But his wings would collapse and everything would collapse ...

On the twelfth day, the morning was the same, and the trees had shrunk to the size of mushrooms. Some trees fell as the boat bumped against the shore. The mountain hadn't shrunk though. Their progress appeared to be none. Pnoaphales seemed to have grown. Like a spear sticking out of the ground. Poking out of the sky and reaching out a metal tip through the ether.

The afternoon passed by with ease, nothing else, passing by the same trees and the same sun. If he looked back, he could see the world. Past the river, as it ran, past the tiny trees. He saw the river dip down into thousands of worlds, connected by the Galtrand. Each of them held unique creations. Of trees in sand, of marshes with flowers, of foggy forests.

The night came with sleep. They slept on the boat this time, faster and quicker. He'd gotten used to the blurriness and deafness. The world didn't reel this time, neither did it spin. He'd gotten used to it all. He dreamt the dream again. The dream of the Prophet, with the temple, and discerned the faces near the temple. There stood three statues thrusting bronze swords upon the ground and standing tall. Clearer this time, so he could see a beard, knotted into a cloud-like shape, in the middle statue. The third one stared at him. The first one angled his head up into the sky.

On the 13th day, he woke up during a dream. Dreams of terraced cities and flooded houses. He dreamt of growing trees and filling lakes. Of things that passed his mind, and of the Abyss's heart and the Abysm's heads. They'd traveled far into the heart of forests and jungles with stalks of wheat covering all sides of their boat. Osmond talked of further adventures, and non-existent things.

After he straightened and sighed, he looked around.

Foam splashing onto the boat, water everywhere, leaking onto the boat. Waves covering the boat, they were somewhere, someplace, but where? Down, down into a pit, he could see it far ahead.

With two cliffs surrounding them and rocks blocking their path, Rickman tried to paddle backward. Trying to paddle left or right, but crashing into a rock instead. The boat shuddered and creaked.

Then it turned, splinters rose in the air, floating down into the water afterwards. The river had sloped down into a pit, and down they went. Into a pit, the water rushed, falling, into the pit. Thundering down the slopes.

Along with thousands of other rivers, he held his breath. Thousands of them all moving downward with their boat. Rickman desperately swung his paddle backward, but the water swept them. Bernard almost tumbled out. He grabbed him while he held onto the boat.

Bernard woke, Osmond stirred, and so did Darrell.

The boat creaked with its weight as Bernard stepped onto the other side of the boat. With Rickman, Osmond, Bernard, Darrell, each of them standing and holding onto the boat.

He looked at Rickman, something flashed. Lightning, then the reverb of thunder, his eardrums echoed and beat against his mind. He shuddered, and closed his eyes, then opening them, seeing Rickman's face distort... What was that? It was a face... A grey, pale, face.... Teeth lining on edges, Rickman's face, and arms pale, grey, and pallid. He shrank away, water curled around his eyes.

David blinked again, displacing water from his eyes. He saw Rickman again, same old Rickman, Rickman, Rickman, Rickman....

The boat creaked once more. The edge of the pit grew closer. Then the boat shattered, splitting into two. Bernard reached out a hand, Rickman tried to paddle, but too late...

Down his side went, splitting into the pit. Splinters dug into his hands, air rushed past his lungs, butterflies erupting from his throat, bile from his throat. He yelled, screamed, scrabbled. The remnant of the boat skimmed the water and sank into the water. The water, the horrible, horrible water. His hands recoiled away, but he could feel it go up to to his legs.

A flash of silver passed by him, scales, eyes, not moving, staying still. Shining with moonbeams, reaching into the water. The boat bumped into it, shedding some scales. A plank of wood bounced in the air. He held on tighter to the boat. Going past it now, then water rushed into the boat.

The waterfalls merged into a cusp, and he fell into the waves. It crushed him, snapped his bones, tore him apart. His body tumbled up and down, arms with no feeling nor energy. Nothing in them. Carried by the waterfall, and tossed onto land. Tossed, and left on the shore. Cold, cold.

The land, now stationary, not moving. Smoothed pebbles, with streaks of white, dark grey. Cold, cold, he struggled to open his bag but managed to wrap himself in his clothes.

His bag, still here, not left on the other side of the boat. Food, water, and clothes. But no Bernard, no Osmond, no Rickman, and no Darrell. Into this desolate place, without anyone, but with everything, all the things...

His eyes closed, and he fell asleep, lying on the cold stones, near the waterfall. Into unconsciousness. No dream, no light in his mind, nothing. Complete darkness, no thoughts, nothing.

He woke up. On the shore, near the waterfall, which lit up with grey. Around him, everything glowed. A dome of blue, red, and gold. An aura of light, too bright for his eyes, surrounded him. It shone in beams onto the ground, but never touched him, stopped by the cliffs around him. The dome heated everything. His lips cracked and his skin peeled. The water bubbled and turned into mist when it splashed into the air. The smell of metal and rust permeated the air; he wrinkled his nose.

He shivered; then felt his muscle contract; his bones snap and crackle. It rushed through him, like teeth gnawing at his body. A constant aching, radiating through his body, made him itch, it made him weak. Spikes slowly tearing into him. He reached a hand forward, into the light, but shrank back. Into the darkness again. The light had torn into him, burned him, added more pain. He looked at his hand, now red and scarred, and spat on it. He let it dry. He tried again, to clean it, to ice the heat away, but it remained. He opened his bag and he ate some bread, the last of it, only a lump of hard bread. He ate it all and rested. Waiting for the heat to fade away, and the dome to darken.

The night came, and the world around him darkened. He stepped forward, colder, his feet were bare, he was wet. He tried to get some heat into himself. Rubbing his hands together. Every breath formed into a small cloud and faded away.

He almost tripped, and his foot dipped into a pit. He stumbled forward and looked into the pit. Blue, dark and long. It continued past the Abyss, past him. It went into the core of the earth itself. He walked backward, away from the pit, but his legs gave way to nothing. He balanced, and turned around, around him were more pits. All filled with dark blue, radiating light outward onto the ceiling. A shard of light shone like a torch through a sheet of glass. He stepped around it and neared the dome of light.

A faint sound near him. He cupped his ears.

Something scurried away, near him, close, left or right, he didn't know. David crouched down onto the ground. The sound echoed, a silent Tick, tick, tick, like the pitter-patter of claws. Then it faded. He stood up and turned around. No footsteps, no scrabbling, not a sound, silence. The world had bottled it, deafened it. And now, only his heartbeat rang out. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Faster now. He could feel the cold getting to him. It numbed his fingers, toes, and face. Nothing, just a sound that echoed through the caverns, no life, nothing. All alone now, by himself, near the dome, on the rocks.

He existed in a world of nothing. Near tawdry creations, he walked. Inside nothing, shaped by an oblivious world, alone, by himself. He lived on an earthen sphere, watching the fiery sphere, standing underneath the glowing. He lived by himself, without reason, without comfort, without anything.

He could feel no happiness, no sadness, no horror, no fear, nothing. Because he lived alone........ He could go anywhere... Somewhere... back.... Back to his village.... He wished he could... But nothing, nothing for him, nothing with him, nothing in him... Nothing, not anymore.....

He slept, shutting his eyes. Underneath the ceiling, nobody near, nobody with, nobody, nothing, nothing...

He missed them all, Bernard, Osmond, Rickman, Darrell, even Darrell, poor, poor Darrell. All searching for nothing, he wished for something they could all hold, he wished for the Prophet, he wished for Protennesen, he wished for the gods, but they watched, watched as ants scrambled around an ant-hill. An ant-hill nobody could see.

He woke again in the shadow of a boulder. He turned around and saw the dome glow. Glowing above him, heating everything. Red everywhere, the heat... blurred... everything. He squinted. Past the dome, a river, a lake... Full of blue water, no, no, he should avoid the water, around it then, around that. Then above that, a cave...

He crept along in the shadow of the boulder and then waited. He counted, waiting for the Galtrand and Gotund to weaken in strength. He waited for the heat to die down, tapping a finger against the ground. Sweat ran down his face.... Another minute, another second...

He ran, it burned him, searing his flesh, welting his skin. His feet flew off the ground, into the air, he jumped. Into the dome, into the red, blue, gold. He flew through it and felt nothing, nothing at all, but then he landed into the water. Not the edge, but the water.

The horrible, horrible water, eating away at his skin, burning him, tearing at him, eating him. Millions of flies, swarming around him, eating him alive. Hundreds of ravens, tearing away at him, eating him. It ran through his arms, up into his skull, he tried to get away from the water. His arms flailed, water, water! He didn't want the water, he didn't need the water, the horrible, horrible water!

His hands held onto the surface, and he pulled himself up. He shook himself and wiped the water from his face, again and again, grey, dark, grimy. He gasped for air and looked up.

The cave, there it lay, he reached the handhold, slippery with water. He gripped it, almost slipping, looking down, nothing there, his feet lifted themselves. Up they went, up into the air, one by one, scrambling, over the rocks, over the ledges, onto the cave. The ledges crumbled below, he stepped forward, no light, none at all, but grey light emitting from the pit, beaming through the waterfall, into the cave.

He strode into darkness, listening to the drumming of droplets and the droning of the dome. Light entered the cave through quiet beams. The ceiling turned into a mixture of colors, red, orange, and gold into a curving rainbow. The circle of colors ran around him. The ground turned into mud. It sloshed around his sandals as he trudged through it. Blood pounded in his ears like a clamp squeezing his head together. Thump. Thump... Thump. Thump... Thump... His hands shook and he licked his dry lips. All he heard was the sound of a throbbing heart. He needed to run. To run away. To run.... But something else made him slow down...

Tick...Tick.... Tick... Like the clacking of claws. A portion of ivory skin glowed. Then, he saw a head gleam in full light. It crawled along the floor, extending with cracking spines, and slithering past him. Five eyes blinked, staring at David. He backed away, tripping past stone and rock. It bared its teeth and opened its mouth fully. Teeth extended into a gaping abyss like a hole going into the throat. Like the fangs of a serpent, but forming a flowery pattern.

Why fear the teeth? Why fear this! He walked to it, stumbling past it, with a smile upon his face...The future held new things. What else, but a fate like this! He examined the teeth, and light entered his eyes.

He dreamt of fields of flowers, traveling, journeying through the sky. Nothing stopped him. Now, he saw the world. Deermen and Laphanists crowding around him, walking along a path into the grey sunset. He walked along with them, dipping his head into the darkness. He saw stars. Like glimmering pointing teeth. Twinkling. Teeth... All teeth.

The bald creature faced him with five crab-like eyes. Its chest curving inwards and lined with knuckle-like bones. He wouldn't, no.... He ran for his life. His heart thumped at a frenetic pace. Faster! Faster!

He ran into the darkness again but began to fall and fall. Weight fell off his shoulders.

Now, darkness.

Blurs ran past him. Bernard revealed 9 large pins. Cone-like pins that extended into round cylinders. Sharp, with Bernard rolling them between his fingers. He held four in his hand, but he couldn't run. They glittered and shone against the grey light. Red streamed down, as Bernard pushed each of them down upon him. He ran from his place, into the infinitesimal sun. It burned him, gnawed away at him. With his eyes fluttering open, he glimpsed the creature in its final form. It opened its mouth while crimson oozed away.

He shuddered and ran. His footsteps pounded to his heartbeat and echoed through the cave. Each growing faster as he ran into the cave. Deeper, darker. Deeper, darker, he couldn't see himself. Deeper, darker, the creature pounded its hands onto its chest and moved toward him. His stomach bled with the marks of teeth. Limbs swinging, legs racing. His feet continued on their own accord.

He leaped, two legs in the air.

The cave split into two paths. Left, his feet moved, fleeing from the creature behind him. His feet continued. The creature, fading away from view. Past the creature, past the cave, into light, away from the waterfall, away from that, into white.

Around him, ledges, caves, walls extending into the sky, he passed them all. Some rocks, stacked above each other, had rings of red, brown, and orange. He must've fallen deep, past the Abyss, past the Nalrath, into a world of red rock. Further from him, the pit narrowed and turned into a ravine. A wide pit, where the grey faded into black. He looked backward, at the creature behind, into the blue mist, no sound, no shadow, nothing there. He walked forward, to scale the wall, to climb up. Into another cave then, and scale that cave, then get out. But moss and grime, coating the walls, slippery, he couldn't grip it well enough to climb. Another day, then.

David lay against the moss and looked into the sky. He opened the bag, seven unshattered vials, the rest, cracked glass, absorbed by the bag. He took one and drank it. His head buzzed, shivers ran down his neck, eyes closed, light in his eyes. Then dreams, full of dreams, empty of nightmares.

A feast of olives, apricots, peaches, nectarines, cherries, roast ducks, roast chicken, roast lamb, no bread, all food, steaming, smoking food. He ate with a fork and spoon, chewing, sitting on a chair, eating on a table. Great food from Avera, food from Wailen, good food. Sitting near him were Bernard, Darrell, Osmond, and Rickman, relishing, eating food, feasting on duck, chicken, and lamb...

His eyes fluttered open, awake in the pit. His feet were lifted above the ground. Then flying, out of the pit, away from the water, above the cliffs, above the lake, above the snake, above the valleys, flying up the mountain, up the clouds. He looked below, rocks jutting, water streaming, villages standing, above ships, above boats, above people. The peak of the mountain loomed above him. Onto the mountain, he stood on the peak, and there stood a temple, lined with three statues.

Inside he went into it, and then saw a figure, a silhouette, a person. The Prophet. Standing there, then splitting, light filling his vision, covering his eyes with white.

He woke up. Underneath the grey sky. He uncapped the oilskin and drank water. David sat for a while on the ground, thinking, resting, then he hurried over to the rock wall. Gripping the rock, trying to put one leg onto a ledge, a cave above, one leg after another. His foot gave way to nothing, his hands slipped, he stumbled backward. Onto the ground, he went, colliding with moss, acting as a cushion. His arms fell, he collapsed. David let out a long exhale. His eyes dimmed.

Later then.... Now, later, .... He would do it. Later on. He could do it .... Away from the Nalrath.... Away from.... He didn't need to go.... Later.... Now.... Now... No, he needed to climb it! Away from the demon that haunted the cliff, and up the sides of the cave.

He stood up, aching, wobbling. He steadied himself upon the wall, and he readied himself. Looking at double images, spinning with him. His arms grabbed the ledge and he hauled himself up. His legs tried to reach another ledge. But they spun along with him, trying to reach a ledge. He climbed further upward. Hauling himself up again, his legs swung forward, then again, and again, until he reached a cave.

He looked below, higher up, with the wind brushing his ears. He turned to look into the cave, full of blue, going higher. He stepped forward, up the slope, hiking up. It led further, into the light.

He moved forward, stumbling a bit, but steady for the entirety. The light turned red, he squinted and hauled himself up. Onto the top of the slope, he turned to look around, red and blue shining in every direction.

Projecting his shadow onto the ceiling. He turned to face forward, and saw the scales, shining, gleaming, like a snake. But a hole, circular, going through the snake, and into red, with flesh and scars, the stomach, red and rotting.

Creatures in it, scrabbling, tearing at the flesh, and eating. He looked away, and ran back down, dashing through the stone, nearing the entrance of the cave.

He looked up, through the mist. No light, all dark for him, his eyes were shrouded with darkness. It emptied his eyes of light and filled it with Abysian darkness.

He walked back into the cave. Then crouched and hid in the shadows. The bag opened and then closed. The vial opened. He circled the rim of it with his finger, then he drank. It burned his throat, and he coughed when he finished. But in the end, this didn't matter. It'd fade away . Not now, but later...

His eyes shut, and the light faded away, the darkness replaced it. He relaxed his head and his arms. They lay back while he slept. His head buzzed while his mind lulled him into sleep. His heart thumped amidst the silence. Thump.... Thump.... Thump.... Thump....He waited for his dreams to arrive.

Light beamed into his eyes. Blurs of color, and sound, then into his dreamscapes.

Bernard, Darrell, Rickman, and Osmond. In the desert. Moving past them. His chariot turned, it shook, then swerved. They rode past cacti and trees, past rivers and reeds. The chariot went onto Pnoaphales. Their horses galloped faster until the top shone brightly. Casting white into his eyes, beams of light. Blue, red, and gold onto his eyes.

His legs stretched forward, onto the rock, out into the light. He stretched outward. He stood, then out of the pit he went. Into the light, out of the grey, out into the sun. He glowed under the sun, golden from its rays. He let it engulf him. He felt the heat rise and the sun expand. It covered the sky with orange and yellow. His legs swung forward, one by one. He strode, miles and miles, all passing by in seconds. Onto the top, he stood, resisting the wind, facing the sun.

Into the temple, he walked. Each step was an echo. His mind ached. His eyes stung. His legs weakened. Ahead of him, the Prophet, again and again, still standing, still watching what was outside. Still near the window, standing. Now, the Prophet shifted, then split, his body ribbed with cracks, then splitting his neck, over his eyes, splitting still. Into the air, beams of light, everywhere. Purple light, the result of gold, blue, and red combining.

With that, red expanded and divided into tiny circles. They expanded across his vision like a fractal zoom. They went further until it went into infinity and the colors began to blur. He tried to open his eyes, but he lay pinned underneath thousands of eyes. They blinked around one massive eye that overshadowed the rest and floated above them all. David tried to back away. He couldn't. All he managed to do was move his eyes. They swiveled and rotated into his eyelids, but they were pulled up by an unknown force.

His face froze, he lay frozen, not numb, but life had emptied from him. He stared at the giant eye instead, that looked at him, with a central pupil increasing in jagged crystals. The creature widened its eyes, blinked. Eyes floated around him. The sounds of blinking echoed through the... Where did he lie?... and continued like ocean waves smashing against the sea.

He tried to shut his eyes and get away, but he saw thousands of arms appear holding a thousand eyes. They crowded around each other, trying to see him as a crowd around a Magi. They leered at him, with a horrible, hateful stare that penetrated past his skin, and reached his mind. Red filled his vision with streaks of white but faded away afterward.

A thousand eyes smothered him, covering him, and he almost gasped out, but nothing occurred. Two arms pulled his eyes out of their sockets. They placed them in an eternal view of the Abyss. His eyes balanced above crumbling pillars. One eye dropped, another fell the separate way. David saw everything double, but then those images intersected and faded into one as his eyes collided once and bounced away again.

Then, a thing arrived, walking on fleshy legs, and eyes replacing the heads. Salgon again. They stomped over him, covering him in mud, burying him. He saw nothing, but the continuous red, and saw himself sinking down and down. He imagined boulders, mountains, great things, but only dirt packing, constricting, squeezing his eyes, and…

He woke up.

Dawn hadn't entered the cave, nor had daylight. It might have been day or night. But, he stood, and drank the water he held. He lifted himself and walked into grey. Up the rocks, climbing the wall, a long, long path it would take. He wondered how long it would take until the Prophet would take him away. He wondered how long it would take until the Prophet came to him. But, never coming, never arriving. The Prophet had saved none of them. If only he'd gone with the rest, he would've died along with them, gone into the Afaration, into the world above Wailen, into the place after life. But there was nothing he could do... He wanted to rest, he wanted somewhere to sit. He could. But not now.... Not while gripping these slick walls.

His feet touched a ledge. He stood there... Tired, very... very.... Tired, nothing to do, no food, just water from his bag.... He smelled something faint... Earth and dirt... all over..... Nothing else.... He drank more water... Trying to get the smell away, but it came again, through his nostrils, into his mind..... Again, more water, his lungs burned with fire, he smelled a dark, pungent smoke everywhere. The smell of uncleaned streets, fire, and plague. He coughed and drank more water, twisting the cap. He sat down, looking up into the darkness. Nothing else above....

Again! He'd get out of the pit, and onto Pnoaphales. He'd go! He'd get there, he'd go! There, Bernard, Darrell, Osmond, and Rickman stood there, waiting for him, pulling him up. Then! Out of this place, out of it all! Everything! He'd get there, he'd get to the top! Nothing stopped him, nothing could, nothing would, nothing will, nothing never, nothing! He'd get out, get himself to the Prophet, get himself to Protennessen, bring the others back to life.... He'd get them out.... He would. He could.

His legs swung forward. The bag hung on his back. One by one, scaling the wall, moving up, getting out of the pit. The grey turning lighter.

, he'd see birds, butterflies, beauty, nature. He'd see the world again, and go into the sun. He'd feel rays of light bathe his skin. Then he'd sit underneath it and rest. Take a nap, go to sleep, and rest.

His feet struggled to reach the cave. He let go and landed. Dark again, no light, nothing to see. He walked into the blue glow, and curled up, opening his bag. The vials glowed blue with the light of the cave. Only five vials left, none else... He'd save the rest then. None to drink for tonight.

He closed his eyes and slept. Light emptied from his eyes. Then....

He woke up. Brighter, and red, gold, blue, filling the cave. Glowing sparks flew up from the cave floor. A shadow cast along the floor. Footsteps echoed toward him. He heard muttering, whispering. David listened...

"Salgon....Salgon...Salgon....Salgon....Salgon....Salgon", it muttered and repeated these words again, "Salgon....Salgon....."

The sound echoed louder, and two glowing lights came from the dark. Glowing red, blue, and gold. Scurrying near him, David slowed his breathing. More footsteps, and footsteps echoing. The muttering grew louder, the thing walked near him...

He looked at it, no ears, with a symbol. Carved on its forehead, leaking blood, glowing along with it. From the Abyss... Sent from the Abyss... There it went, sending another one.... Not at a time like this.... Not... No.... He closed his eyes. To wait now.... Wait for now.... Wait....

Demons. There they went. They followed the thing that spewed forms of Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand out of its fingertips. Onto the floor, forming domes, and beside him, followed the creatures. Each of the gray creatures moved with it. They listened, saw, and scrabbed past him, claws glinting. All of them stared at the great thing in the center. He opened his eye to a sliver, and saw Salgon. The eyes swiveled to face him, and he closed his eyes.

Feet moved toward him. Salgon had seen him. He quieted his breathing.

Salgon... Salgon.... Salgon.... Salgon.... Salgon... Salgon had done this.... Salgon.... Salgon... Salgon...

Feet moved away. Salgon hadn't seen him... He sighed in relief quietly...

They moved away, a crowd behind him, continuing, in grey masses. All blurry, moving past him, as he shut his eyes. Away, they went, he'd survived, survived again, and away they went. Words echoed past him.

"Salgon...Salgon...Salgon...Salgon", the demons chanted in raspy voices. He heard his heartbeat slow, and his breathing quicken. His eyes fluttered open. The bag was still there, everything was still there. Gone, they were moving east...

Around him, red, blue, gold, glowed. All in domes, below the ceiling, the ceiling of silver scales. His eyes averted the site. All red, blue, gold, burning him, tearing at his skin...

It'd be alright, past the domes, past the creatures, up the cave, then onto the mountain. He'd get to the top! He'd get out of the cave.... He'd get there.... He'd get there...

After the echoes died down, he stood up, drank some more water. Two gulps left, two left, he'd save it for them for later. Now, he needed to get to the top, ...

Rumbling... Erupting from the ceiling, dying down, scrabbling.... Some noise.... His hands gripped the stone, up into the next ledge then, rumbling more.... He needed... to get .... There.... ... When... he'd get there.... He'd find... the Prophet.... Then.... Get back...

Onto another ledge, more rumbling, from the sky, from the ground. Running, some steps below, coming out of the cave. Two people, out of the grey, a lantern of light. He looked down, squinting, focusing on the light, the lantern swung. It creaked, then some talking, rushed, slurred, too fast for him to hear.

"Hello?", David shouted, "Hello?"

Down it went, the sound glancing off every wall, every nook, every cranny, into the air, echoing down.

"David...David?", Bernard's voice radiated throughout the cave, "David?"

"Right here!", David shouted. There they were, not dead, not dead! Onto Pnoaphales, not alone, never alone, going forward! Finally forward, finally forward. "Right here!"

"There we are then. Ha-ha-ha! Up there, then. Let's climb!"

Rocks tumbling, then two people, Osmond and Bernard, there they were. Standing there. Not alone, finally together. Then onto Pnoaphales, then onto the mountain.

"David!", Bernard said.

"Bernard! The Prophet himself.... Alive still, all of you! Then there's still a chance.", David said.

"Yes, but then, except for Darrell and Rickman. The others, we haven't found."

"There's a chance still", David nodded, "Still a chance that they're alive. You've survived. So..."

"No, David. They split paths... The river rushed forward, then it smashed against the rocks, then- well-then, then- we haven't found them since."

"That's fine, we'll still find them... By chance, any food? For days, I haven't had food. Just water."

"Yes, we have some," Bernard pulled some bread out, "Here. Bread."

He took it, and ate it with relish, bit by bit, enjoying each chew. Ravenous hunger had appeared, ignored it before as the hunger had broken his mind, and exhausted him. Now the food itself, it'd heal him, yes... He chewed and tore, eating away at the bread.

"One more climb then, again.", Bernard scanned the wall, "Up there, let's go."

"The domes... The domes...Natural or manmade?", Osmond muttered.

"Osmond, Osmond. One more climb, no time wasted."

They climbed again, gripping the rock. Leg's swinging forward. No ropes to hold them. It turned darker, from grey into black. They rested on a ledge, and then, standing up, they climbed forward.

Into the cave, they went. Then Bernard put out the lamp, and they went to sleep. No vials for today. David's eye's closed, away into sleep...

He woke up. Morning came, arriving in light grey, with some sunlight peaking through. They went for another day. Climbing forward for Darrell and Rickman, moving forward for the rest. They saw some of the sun, but only lines of light. The pit grew brighter as they climbed higher. Below him, the ground glowed, all from a new dome of blue, red, and gold. And, as they climbed, he saw the sun. It lit up the pit, fading into dark grey the further the light reached. Each cave they rested in glowed with grey instead of blue. All things lost their color as the sun glowed brighter, replaced with grey instead.

The afternoon passed with ease. They climbed, drank water, ate bread, and rested. Then, the sun went away, and the moon rose into the air.

When the others fell asleep, David drank another vial. It swirled down his throat, light sprang out of his mouth, glancing off the walls. He closed it, and his eyes flew into complete darkness. His mind relaxed, his breathing slowed, his heartbeat echoed through the cave. Thump...Thump...Thump...Thump.... It merged with the sound of snoring and dripping water. Plink...Plink....Plink....Plink......Plink..... Nothing, not a sound, not a thing, nothing...

.

The sound deafened inside his mind. Inside his mind, he voyaged. Across black waters, across dark fogs, across his mind. Waves of yellow, green, and red burst from above. His mind flashed with white. Jagged lines blasted through the air.

His vision was filled with red. He saw wrinkled flesh. His mind echoed with a continuous pounding. Thump... Thump...Thump...Thump. Each footstep echoed with minute noise, resembling the spin of a windmill, turning with the wind, ticking while it spun.

The tunnel emptied itself of light and stretched itself forward. He journeyed into the emptiness. Ahead, the tunnel spread itself before him, its walls constricted, the ceiling shrank, he felt lightweight, the tunnel wound its way downward, like a collapsing tower.

His feet scrambled backward, his hands gripped flesh, but he fell deeper. Into the depths, his body went. Vision fleeing, hair floating. David collided with the walls of flesh. His feet tried to grip. He turned while falling. Grey and black fringed his vision, and his eyelashes crosshatched over his eyes. Then, he steadied himself, and shook his head.

An earthen jungle blocked his way. Hills lay like sleeping figures. Mountains merged with the ceiling like pillars of the earth supporting the ceiling. Cracks ran alongside him, branching themselves out.

David stepped into the jungle of rock. The pounding echoed louder inside his mind. Thump.....Thump......Thump....Thump....

Around him, the ground shook, his eyes received red. Faces appeared, blurs, mists. Suthgren, above him, hissed with fangs, showing raw gums, incisors lining its face. Below it, Salgon blinked and stared with a diamond-shaped pupil. A sunflower for a head, blooming with petals. Salgon stared hungrily and unsheathed a row of small teeth from its lips. The Nalrath tried to grab at him and shook its ears with frustration. The Abysm shook its scales and slithered through the walls. It left cleared paths of land behind it.

He walked through these apparitions. Rocks built from stacked basalt tumbled before him. Lambent light shone forth from the sky. Blue pooled beneath him. An aura of white covered him.

His legs bounded over columns of stone. His feet tumbled over rocks and pebbles. The world emptied itself of red and yellow. His hands swung aside, flying, floating over the grass, flying over the ocean, flying into the sky.

Over the ether, over the earth, over the sky. Orbs of light emitted from the sky. It formed a world of light. He flew into the stars, while its light shattered into space. He flew into the sphere and saw everything.

The face of Protennessen, the stars, the worlds, the galaxies, the universe, the Prophet ahead of him, not turning. Light splitting and diverging in the darkness, three shapes, indiscernible, temples, and then.... And then....

He woke up under a sky of black. Near them, light shone from the sun. Bernard and Osmond stood outside the cave, eating bread and cooking soup in a crucible.

"Soup's fine!", Bernard swished it around his mouth. "Ha-ha-ha! Tangy and soft, warm and nice. It's nice!"

"Soup? You call this soup?", Osmond looked into the boot, "No, looks like the Poor Peasants Soup."

"The Good Soup, you mean."

" To me, it looks like the Poor Peasants Soup."

"The Good Soup."

"It's the Poor Peasants Soup, the boot makes it so."

David walked to them and then sat down.

"No, the Poor Peasants Soup; it tastes like it. I've tasted it before. A bit salty, a bit crunchy, and a lot disgusting."

"The Good Soup. It tastes like a good soup!"

"What sort of soup?", David said.

"The bad sort of soup", said Osmond.

"You mean the Good Soup!"

"No, I mean the Poor Peasants Soup."

"We should hurry. Two more days of climbing, and we get out.", said David, appearing behind them.

"Ah!", Bernard yelled, then stopped. "Scared me! Yes, two more days, it is."

"We've packed up. We carry our bags forward and climb out of here."

David, Osmond, and Bernard climbed out onto the rocks. They climbed with ease. Neither slip nor fall happened. The rough moss grew abundant near the sun. They lay like second layers of rock. Sturdy and strong, they were.

The afternoon came in the form of an orb of fire. Glowing, covering the entire pit, everything glowed orange with the sun. The caves revealed themselves and lost their shades of blue. They glowedred and yellow from their centers. Around the sun, it lost its hues and faded into purple, orange, and pink. As they continued, footsteps pounded on stone. Rock scraped against heel as someone burst out of a cave. Bernard whispered something to Osmond, and then faced the footsteps.

"Hello?", Bernard's words bounced down the cave.

"Bernard!", a face emerged from the darkness. Pale and old, Darrell, Darrell stumbled to them and waved to them. Darrell! There, with a pale face. That meant, they'd meet Rickman! They'd get out of the Pit, and onto Pnoaphales. With patience, the journey would finish and he'd return home immortal with immortality in all others. They'd all live without death by their shoulders.

"Darrell!", David shouted back a reply. He waved his arms to remove the darkness from the cave and fill it with white, but it remained, like a shroud over their eyes.

"Stay there, we'll climb over", Bernard's hand gestured with his words, and they climbed over to Darrell, with hands gripping and feet steadying. Then they reached Darrell.

Darrell showed himself to full light and revealed a gash across his chest. A deep wound, full of crimson, dark and rotten, smelling of flies.

"Some bandages maybe... I need a bit of help, been waiting for days, and there was nothing... Tear a shirt, maybe a towel, maybe the bags.... The wound is fire.... The acid it spits scalds me... Hurts... ", Darrell mumbled, trying to lift himself to meet them. His arms hung from both sides, with a wound in his skull.

"Sit, Darrell. We'll bandage you, right away. Just wait, while I get my bag", Bernard gave him a strip of cloth and tried to clean the wound with water. Darrell lay back and slept as Bernard soothed him with whispers. But doing so with a stutter in his words, a long pause, and trembling hands. Darrell muttered words to Bernard. David heard through muffled noise.

"I fell and fell. I don't remember how long, but when that boat split. I had fallen, then onto cool stones and oozing rivers. I walked for a day as I drank from that stream. When another day came, I walked again... I was angry.... That time.... Angry and angry... But when one... pale... creature came attacking me, a demon, and I was hit... Torn by it.... I ran, and survived.... I was peaceful... Isolated.... Alone.... I almost collapsed, but I continued... Then I saw everyone, and I joined the rest..."

The sounds of Bernard and Darrell faded as David slept. Tomorrow, Darrell, then finding Rickman, and onto Pnoaphales. They'd get out... Yes, , they'd go and seek the Prophet, with all of his glory and power.

His eyes shut, and his eyelashes covered him with grey. Then white, and the dream passed by him again, with the Prophet, and then light filled his vision.

The morning arrived with the sun glowing gold. The pit smelled of stew as Bernard stirred and poured the mixture. Then they climbed, and they climbed further as sunlight entered the pit. The caves burst with white and yellow. His eyes sparkled in the new day's light. Yesterday, Darrell. Today, Rickman. With a broken paddle in hand, walking to them, then onto Pnoaphales.

The afternoon sky changed into blue, and cloudy layers covered the sun. Red flashed from the pit, as cardinals flew past and fought each other. Twitters and chirps echoed down into the pit. Rough moss grew in surplus, covering the walls with green. The smell of earth rose in his nose as moss slipped from his grip, and his legs stumbled to reach another foothold.

As the sky turned purple and the sun blazed red, the sound of a thousand footsteps arose from each cave. Darrell stood up, Bernard did too, but Osmond sat and ate food.

"The sound...", Bernard looked around.

"Right there, look... Look...", Darrell whispered with no echoes arising.

Shadows covered the glow of the caves. Human heads, but bald and mutated, oblong in size and shape. Over the sound of scrabbling, came the whispering, muttering, clicks of the tongue. David pressed himself tight against the wall. His throat burned; his knees ached. But he hung on, with his heart pounding across the cave like the sound of an omnipresent hammer. His breathing was ragged as he breathed.

"There's a path ahead!", Osmond turned and stepped behind them.

His eyes looked down, resting on a ledge, but seeing the creatures... moving east... Swarming around each other to form a dome with teeth shining in the thin moonlight. He kicked pebbles down but stopped as his limbs froze and his breathing slowed. Tension, thickening the air, slowing down his perception of time... Slow.... Slow movements... Slow crouching... Darrell, Bernard, Osmond, all turning away, not looking, except for him. He saw Moreasts.... Crowding over each other in the ragged positions...

"Salgon.... Salgon...", Darrell's voice echoing in the dark. With Osmond saying nothing as they continued to run.

Now, the cave glowed blue. Another dome grew, with a circle rotating into a sphere, and Salgon, with eyes beside his body, commanding the Moreasts. Heat rose in the air, wavering in the air, rippling, burning him, and he pulled himself away from them, not screaming... No, blisters and rough skin had blocked them... The blue dome moved forth, glowing, heat rising more, with invisible flames tearing at him, gnawing at him....

His legs ran deeper into the cave, going up a ramp of rocks, tumbling into the infinite yaw of the Abyss. His hands reached for handholds, finding none... His legs stumbled, tripping over one another, but he regained his strength, pulling himself onto milky grass that went unevenly into the pit... He followed Darrell, Bernard, Osmond's footprints, but they zigzagged and covered themselves in muddy patches...

All but Bernard and Darrell... Bernard stood there, behind him, and Darrell behind him, only Osmond had gone, staring at the creatures and Salgon himself, who glowed with moonlight, basking in it, maybe with a smile.... Darrell carried nothing but a stick, a frail, falling apart, bark peeling at the sides...

His blood chilled, Salgon moving closer, lumbering, covering them with shadow.... He stepped backward, and Bernard muttered something, pulling out Galtrand and Gotund, trying to do magic... trying... Bernard muttered words, words of something he hadn't heard...

A bright flash of light leaving red across his eyes, fading away. He blinked, almost getting the afterimage away... Bernard carrying nothing in his hands, no Galtrand, no Gotund, performed the magic, now pulling him into the forest.... Darrell running with them, not looking behind...

He looked behind him, and saw the creatures in masses, clearing away the forest, and eating away at nature.... Baring jaws, and leaving gashes upon each other, but they continued in fervors, numbers and numbers, an army larger than any other... Bernard had only cast light, a large flash, but none else...

Their feet pounded as they climbed past the lush and neared a grassy valley. It shuddered as the ground rumbled with Salgon and the creatures chased them. They rolled down, stumbling a bit, and they regained their steps. The valley curved like a rocky wave. It overlooked them with a shadow and covered them with darkness. But, when they hid in the shade, Salgon saw them and they continued running.

Their feet climbed the grassy slopes, almost to slip and fall, but they gripped it with white knuckles. David looked down and saw Salgon moving closer. He tried to pull himself upward onto the final cliff, but he fell a bit closer to Salgon and his army.

A face showed itself, then... a person... Rickman, with nothing but a bag, no paddle, and ran to them.

"David! Bernard! Darrell! Osmond's here! And... And...", Rickman stopped, seeing the army, and let his arms pull them up..., "C'mon, C'mon!"

They ran from Salgon and his army. David shut his eyes and moved his feet blindly forward. He stumbled through weeds and grass. His feet pumped, he moved underneath the moonlight, then darkness, then moonlight, going between the two. He saw nothing, heard nothing, only a small wind.

They ran for hours and hours before they reached a tent. David collapsed onto the grass, Bernard sat, and Darrell straightened. David's eyes dimmed, he closed them, lying against the ground... Sweet Sleep...

He woke up again. Was that the Moreast? The glittering teeth and the three beady eyes looking at him. His chest grew tight and he looked around. A tented ceiling stood over him, along with the others. The eyes. With a stare of hunger, ready to eat, and beady with no emotion. Devouring anything with relish. Stretching back its lips and revealing teeth that whirled outward. Tilting a misshapen head. Looking through a world of green and purple....

Rickman had saved them... He lay alive! Then, they'd get to Pnoaphales! David stopped and pulled at his ragged beard. He remembered something else, though, something about Rickman... But they were out and on the mountain. They'd get to the top.

It had turned into winter again, and the snow began to cover the tent in light layers. He looked around and saw his things. The bag, the sandals, and the vials...

The vials? He looked around for Rickman. Rickman hadn't seen anything. He buried them inside his bag. The vials,

had survived,

He had survived through death... But, he would die on the mountain... Something would overtake him, cut his ears off, and feed him into the Abyss. But Pnoaphales! Pnoaphales! He would reach the glittering mountain. He'd survived everything, the army, the serpent, the pit... But what to do? What to do?

One more day. If they didn't finish the journey within that time, then he would go back home.

He walked out of the tent and saw the others. Osmond, Bernard, and Darrell. Sitting around a fire. He ran towards the warmth and sat there. David rubbed his hands together.

"Give thanks for Rickman", Bernard's teeth chattered and he scooted closer to the fire.

"He dragged us out of that-", Bernard paused, "-place. A whole world inside the cliffs and he dragged us out."

"Yes...", Darrell nodded, "He saved us. He saved us! The Prophet saved Rickman, saved us all!"

Bone, muscle, flesh ached in unison, calling out in pain, but he grunted and continued. He wished for sleep and dreams. Happy dreams, with warm light and soft beds, with every wish fulfilled. He remembered many, many dreams. But, as time continued, he only wished for more.

He wished for dreams, making more in his mind. Dreams of small things, of great things, of everything. Yet, they lay still in his mind while he wished for them to spring alive. David pulled himself further, heaving himself up into further darkness. It extended into infinity, no light, and nothing else. He wished for flight, for speed, for the Prophet to reach a hand outward. But he saw nothing, only the infinite cliff.

"I wear it to hide my leg", Rickman twisted something deep inside his tunic and pulled a large wooden leg. Iron bands held it together, and David could see where the stump for a leg would sit.

"In their...", Osmond pointed while leading them. They stopped at a large glass egg that reflected orange from the engulfing sun. They walked closer and looked at the collapsed trees around it. A large crack ran up the sides and a piece had fallen out. The egg glowed white. Osmond reached out through curious eyes and crawled into the egg. For a few minutes, silence ensued. Then Rickman went to investigate, but he, too, disappeared.

"Rickman, Osmond?", He shouted. The egg shook, but he couldn't hear any voices. He crawled into the egg. Darkness covered every corner and he reached out his hand. Trying to stand up, he managed to grab something. He walked forward, and into the light. Into the beautiful thing located ahead. A thing of pure glass. Maybe he was going to the top... Maybe…

They sat around the burning fire. Their eyes shifted, going past the flames, and into the fire. David huddled in the cold, looking at the shifting rivers and lakes that blocked their paths. A log floated past him. It would make a good raft. A good raft that would carry him away to warmth and comfort. But it tumbled into the eddy's and waterfalls, rolling in the streams, and shooting into the air before being broken by rocks.

"I'll get some more firewood", said Darrell, who strode into the forest.

'I'll go too", David shivered and shuddered.

He trudged through leaves, and picked up fallen twigs. Above him, the trees shaded him from moonlight. He stepped on moss, and bounded over the river through stones. Darrell walked nearby, breaking off branches, and adding them to a pile nearby.

"It's fine", Darrell nodded, "Salgon isn't near here."

"Salgon, and the Abyss... They're near, but I shiver only because of the cold."

"When we get this firewood back, you'll get some warmth"

"Then, all I need is time...", David shivered, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Here", Darrell gave David his pile of wood, "You take this, go back, and set the fire. I'll get the rest of the wood myself. Then, you'll get some warmth."

"Alright", David took it, and walked away. Darrell said goodbye.

He bumped past the stumps, stepped over fallen trees, and walked into the full moonlight. Osmond took his wood, and set it ablaze. They cooked bread and soup over it, and David warmed his hands over it, and rested his head against the grass. Darrell came back with a pile of logs and set them into the fire. Then, they all slept.

They woke up for another walk up the mountain. They'd taken a shorter path that Rickman assured would go faster. The ground grew loose and turned into sand. Regular weather, no grass, no trees, while the sun reflected rays of orange. Paths of red brick led them further into Pnoaphales. The heat turned into an inferno, overwhelmed them, whilst it distorted space with an invisible haze. They stopped and ran under the shade. They lay under the boughs and drank their water. The sun shone above, and blue skies lay above them while the sand roasted his toes and the wind whipped into his eyes. The trees swayed and leaned in slow waves that shook their leaves. They drank water to keep themselves cool as they waited for the sun to dip under the world.

Rickman stood up, stepping to the cliff they lay near. Beneath, he heard the sounds of fire blazing. He saw pallid grey cover Rickman's face. He turned away, closed his eyes, and opened them again. Rickman towered over the tree, no longer in human shape, and lumbered to them.

"Rickman", Darrell backed away, "Run for your lives! Run! Run!"

David ran from the sight, but saw that cliffs surrounded them all around. Rickman lifted Darrell, and threw him into the Abyss. Darrell collided with the rocky walls, tumbling and tumbling. Bernard flew through the air like a dove, and glided into the pit. Osmond went headfirst. Rickman pushed David as he yelled for help.

His vision faded away. He reached out but saw a red outline where Rickman stood. The thing that moved with many claws. Veins that pulsed out of its skin. Pallid tones, and empty eyes. It stared at him. That was all as light seeped from his eyes. He heard the sound of flames grow closer. Heat boiled his skin and his head bumped against a cliff wall, and…

He woke up again. This time, falling past skeletons. Each hanging above ledges, swinging red bones, creaking, while he fell lightly into the Abyss, and light above him in a jagged shape, sand falling with him. An entire cliff. He fell into the Abyss, past death and into the Abysm's jaws. The light faded from his eyes again.

David woke from his slumber and looked around. Above him, light streamed from the outside. It shone from the sinking sand, which revealed a small hole. Clacking, clicking, erupted from outside the cave.

"Darrell?", David asked. He grunted as pain hurtled through his spine and exited through his fingertips.

He stumbled into the light, and saw fires burning in daylight. Ahead of him, thousands of creatures crowded around them. Creatures that scrabbled, crawled, clambered over to him. They unsheathed teeth from wide mouths, and bared them outward at them all. Demons crowded over them, and surrounded him all over.

Bones stood in piles around him, sticking up from the ground, and forming rapports and supports. Broken planks and jutting rocks formed the walls. Smoke rose in thick puffs to the ceiling. Creatures worshipped things above towers, bowing and bending. David saw a city of demons. Demons crowded around, crawling along the streets, and roads of shattered planks moved underneath the ceiling. They changed their faces and warped their expressions into ones of anger, fear, disgust, surprise, and further with their eyes shifting, their jaws opening, and their teeth shining in it all.

David limped back and ran past them all. David ran, hopped, and jumped over boulders, pebbles, as the demons ran toward him. He went further into the Abyss, stumbling, tripping, and falling into one final pit, where he flipped through the air and tumbled onto the cave floor, and…

When he woke up, he saw pale green mushrooms. Blurry shapes walked near him, and he heard his heartbeat, but none else.

"You're awake", Bernard nodded. He lifted David, and lay him against the wall. "Manuel has saved us all."

David nodded a little. He squinted, and saw two broken cages standing near them, Osmond's birds, and then a sandal, outside of the ring of light. He stared at it, Darrell's shoe, it was Darrell's shoe. He shook the dirt off of it, and crawled forward. Another shoe passed it, and then a body outside. A body, caked with dirt, lying motionless...

Osmond held both of his birds, two of them beside the cages, lying motionless in a heap across the ground.

"A week, and they're dead!", Osmond held one of them up to the light, "Dead forever, chirping in vibrancy. All dead... all dead..."

"Darrell's dead...", David said,"Darrell... Darrelll..."

"It's a shame...", answered Bernard.

"Darrell's dead", David shuddered, "His soul has gone, and he's dead! He's dead...."

"It's a shame... Gone to the Afaration, but not in the Abyss..."

"He's dead, he's gone! Bernard, he's dead!"

"It's a shame..."

"Now, there's nothing we can do. Nothing! Nothing we can do!"

They both stared at the motionless body. Rickman had killed him, pushed them into the endless night, where things lived outside.

"You're awake! All of you were lying across the bed of sand, snoring and snoring", Someone walked toward them. He turned around. Not a pallid, eyeless, creature. Although, weak and hobbling. He watched the old man stand under the light, staring at them. With a beard. An old man. He heard the old man step forward. He turned to face the old man fully.

"You dropped from the sand into the Abyss," He pointed upwards, "Nothing great about falling into this pit of despair, but you've been lucky enough to fall into the light."

David stood up. He looked at the ring of light. He stepped forward with unease but walked over to the old man. He sat down in a slump, staring at the ground.

David went into the old man's hut. A small water pump stood beside the entrance and a warm fire by the wall. The door opened behind him.

"Your friend's alright now," The old man said," Perhaps, stricken in the heart by something. Have some water."

The old man pushed a bronze cup of water towards David. He drank it and put the cup down and lay back.

"How did you fall into this place then?" David drank from the cup again.

"I fell while at sea after a nap in my boat. The sea carried me into the Abyss when I awoke. Then I built this house with the remains of my boat. Now, I live here. There's water and there's food. A good life, and a good home."

"There's a city near here", said David, "full of demons that shift their shape. They are the people of the Abyss. They become the people, shapeshifters..."

"I'm not a shapeshifter. They're tall and strong while I remain weak."

"Manuel is a frail old man", Bernard walked inside the home, "He could never hurt anything..."

"Here", Manuel gave him another bronze cup of water, "The heat in the Abyss becomes unbearable 'till this house seems made of fire itself."

"Wait", Bernard stepped outside, "Let me get Osmond."

His thoughts meandered and then dissipated as his eyes closed and he slept. His dreams hammered in his mind, releasing themselves as he slipped into his dreamscape.

People. The demon and his pallid skin. Sharp teeth. Crimson. The changes. At the beginning when all the towns were big and rich. As he traveled and wandered around, looking at the sights of bustling marketplaces. But, now, filled with the Plague as bugs crawled in water and the cart for the dead rolled past. They scrambled as grainy images formed in his mind. No sound. Through the depths of his mind, he traveled. Flying with imaginary wings. Below were indiscernible figures. Up the trees and into the mountains that extended past the cosmos. Trying to reach the sky. Above the ground, dragging him below. But, he looked down and saw he was going up beyond the ground. He was wobbling in the air, going up and down, and sideways.

Crimson pools. Raw red. Gnashing teeth. Rusted iron. Water. Through the disjointed dreamworld, his eyes saw. Lungs with air. Cold. The dark. All fear. Swallowing him up. Into the depths of red. With salt that stung like whips. Pallid skin and teeth...Dizzying. Chaos. Like a sinking ship. Seeing through those sailors. Short lives. Sailing, and sailing. Boiling water flecking through the air. Wood that bubbled down. No light. Nothing to illuminate. Into the void. Never to be discovered. Screech, and animal screams. On a boat floating through the dark waters. Above nightmares, but below reality. He wanted to wake up. To see light. The boat bobbed below a sky of water, intertwining with other streams of water. That's what he saw, but it appeared through streaks of light. Flickering in and out. In and out. Out and in.

He woke.

He lay on a bed, stretched with a leather rope. Lying above a grid of thick strings. Underneath a wall of white clay. He sat in darkness, and relaxed. Rocks tumbling, and an indiscernible wind above. Sound plodded snail-like as time slowed. Fine liquid time, tumbling further into itself. Again, and again, and again. The words comforted him. Going to sleep now.

Through his ears, he heard something break. Splintering wood. He woke up and walked out of the doorway.

"What was that?", he half-whispered, "What was that?"

No one answered, and he looked into each doorway. Osmond. The old man at his chair. Bernard's room. He stopped.

"Bernard?"

The bed was fine, but Bernard lay face-first on the floor.

"You okay?"

Bernard flipped over slowly.

"Yes...yes, I'm alright. I'm having those dreams again. "

A helpless look. A sort of flickering emotion. A look of shock. Bernard looked at me, while I stared at him.

"Happy dreams, I fell over the bed by accident. Nothing broken, I'm alright."

"Alright, then."

He went back to bed and fell asleep into the Abysian darkness again. Hopeing that his life would shape into what he wanted. Hopeing that tomorrow, he would reach the mountain and go back home.

The morning arrived and the night faded away. Glimmers of the sky peaked into the pit, and snow-covered the area. Into the Abyss, into the dark pits, and a world of heat and strange things. David slept and slept.

He woke up in the middle of the afternoon on top of the bed.

The day passed quickly. He'd taken the time to rest and relax. The house seemed large, with most of it dug into the ground. They drank cold water. He'd never known water to be so refreshing. Like liquid diamonds, and soft clouds. Glowing blue inside a world of night. The pump that drew out the water was old with rust. But, he drank and drank. The weather changed from ice into the fire, but the wood continued to burn. David grew content knowing that he could see the sun from the pit. But, he could also see the skeletons. He threw rocks at them, watching them shatter into shards of white.

Bernard slept little but drank more of the blue water. He continued to smile and talk to Osmond. The notebook had survived, and they continued across the depths of Osmond's journeys. They talked outside, walking on the ring of light, teetering over the edge of darkness. Then Osmond went inside, and Bernard was left alone. David watched Bernard try to climb the pit. Rocks tumbled below into the ground.

"Why are you trying to climb?"

"To get out!", Bernard grunted and reached a hand onto a crag. It tumbled outward and landed on the floor.

"Don't climb! David said, "You'll wake those.... Things! And, then the slabs collide and you'll end up dead like the rest that tried, foolish people. Do you see them?"

He pointed up, and Bernard looked up at the skeletons, hanging from every crevice. Lined in rows, each in their death throes, forever grinning at the above. Living in death, with no purpose but to act as ivory statues.

"Then, I'll be the first one to reach the top!", Bernard grinned at him, "Getting out is the priority even the Prophet must hold. Death comes from the pig that sits, but the pig that runs survives lean instead of fat to live another winter."

"But, the pig that runs is forced to sit, and then forced to eat like a glutton. It's best to sit then run."

"Then, I'll run!", Bernard replied, "Run faster than wind, sky, light, or Quand. Run up the walls of our cavern and remove our throes."

"Then, you shall suffer more pain, even more than now. You will be thrust down by the forces of Quand, and leave a mess in the ground. It's best not to leave a mess for the cleaners."

"Don't mock me with your words!" Bernard held a rock steady, "As long as this rock holds, then I know I will reach the top!"

"Then, when the rock falls?"

Bernard gripped the rock harder.

"Then, I'll throw the rock at you!"

"You don't have the will."

"I have the will! I have the will to climb! And so, I have the will to throw this at you!"

Bernard looked at him, and then held the rock. He gripped it to climb further upwards. Lifting each foot up and up until he held on to another rock. Then, the rock fell and he slipped down. Landing on his feet.

"Ok...", Bernard muttered, "Then I'll try later on, when the weather is better. When the Galtrand stops its mess with reality, then I'll climb."

Bernard left him alone.

David sat underneath the pit looking up at the sky. Grey clouds, orange clouds, blue clouds, and more. Trees, grass, weeds, and rain. The weather seemed to grow distorted every second. Like a storm of fantasy. It ripped the remaining tatters of reality and let it fall. Then it garrotted, smoked, charred, minced, and smashed. Leaving a pulpy mess where the fabric of reality once stood. The moon glowed over the clouds. Lighting them up blue for the eyes to see through. The beautiful sight was ruined by ugly grappling trees that had formed. Blocking his way.

They finished their cakes, and David finished his rabbit meat. Some of it had gotten lost during the fall. Still up there with the dead body of Rickman. The blue water was poured into each cup. The old man had some of his own food from Avera. David had heard a single person in Avera was ten times richer than someone in his own town. He'd never seen anyone from Avera though. But the rumor was true. Averan food was plenty of roasted duck, olives, and fresh fish. Although, the food, the old man had said, was from a waterfall that ran down the Abyss. Sometimes crates from sunken ships would wash up. Exotic fish, curious enough to go down, would appear.

Some of the fish, the old man put inside wooden troughs to farm. Osmond filled a few more pages of his notebook after he heard about this.

The old man didn't have any company. He'd lived in the house for years and years. Watching the world from a dark pit. Inside a prison that kept him in the darkness. Talking to himself in an attempt to have company. Watching those Abysian things outside of the ring of light. But living a grand life, with exotic food. He'd landed in his youth, and would die old. Most of his life was spent inside a prison. Now, they would spend their time in this place. Growing old until they died. No one would know. He knew that he didn't want to die last. Who would bury him? He would be the one to rot if he died last.

They slept at night. The fire kept them warm from the chaos outside of the pit. From burns to frost outside, but fires inside to comfort him. He fantasized about power. To fly. To gain infinite wealth. He wished he could've had great strength, and killed the snake. To-. The snake. The bald man and his teeth. He had thought about it all day. The Nalrath. The snake could be conjured and the egg conjured too. He knew it would be possible. But, the gibbering thing, with snaggle teeth. Rows of it. Grey and old. Curved like misshapen bronze. No, not the Nalrath. Nor a demon. Something else, but a shape that was too indiscernible. The bald man was a demon. The teeth entered his mind. Not the Nalrath. But those teeth, and the pins. He shifted himself on the bed. He wouldn't feel comfortable because of that dream. Those pins. Blunt and bloated. He'd looked at his belly in the day to see if there were any teeth marks. None. But he knew there was. Shiny, shiny teeth. Stains of yellow and congealed saliva. Then it tore into the flesh with the incisors. Tearing and tearing. He knew there were bite marks. Jagged from the teeth. But he checked and it wasn't there. The Nalrath, with its ears, seemed tame. Reeking of death, and hunting like an animal. An animal, maybe. A strange-. No-. No. no.. he didn't know if it was an animal. But, his head grew dizzy and he had a hard time thinking when he thought about the teeth and the bald man. Everywhere itched when he thought about it. Thousands of bugs biting and gnashing tiny teeth into him. He wanted to stop, and relax. But the coarse emotions stopped him. He grew anxious to cover himself in warmth. To get a coat. He stayed in bed though. No, the coat wouldn't matter. And, he didn't want to be reminded of those things anyway. The things watching him outside. He stayed in bed instead.

He slept in the bed again. A picture formed inside his mind. The water and the plague. Water around him in red streams across him, going around him. He saw a great shape. A convex structure that erupted past the clouds. Bodies and bodies. With men of deer and Laphanists laying across each other and more. Limbs lay tangled, and eyelids lay open. Their heads lolled, like something alive. Red smoke wrapped around him. Flies piled around them and tore at cheeks with incisors. Flies swarmed around him, and he waved them away. But they piled upon him, and ate at his limbs....

He'd already woken up. Thinking. David got out of bed to refresh his mind. Another drink of water. Yes. Water helped. Refreshing himself the evils of the mind. Removing them. Ignoring them. He would sleep. He went to bed again. Closing his eyes as light seeped away. Hoping for happier dreams instead.

He slept again. Into comatose, and into dreamland. A beating heart, a great beating thing. Veins knotting upon itself. It throbbed as blood pumped outward and its deep chambers filled. Pumping again and again, lumbering, beating. A frail heart, easy to break, and soft to touch. Brittle in itself and fragile. Purple flew to him, and red flecked across his vision. The heart of the Abysm. He heard scales rush past the earth, and the serpent slither. The ground shook beneath him, and his eyes opened.

He woke up as Bernard shook him.

"You were mumbling and screaming about something."

"I'm alright, having nightmares, that's all."

"Why screaming though? What sort of nightmares?"

"No, just some night terrors I had as a child."

"Alright then."

"Sorry about the screaming."

"Right, now, have a nice sleep."

Then he left, leaving the open doorway. Past the hallways of white. He heard him walk away.

He looked down at the bed. Damp from terror. The nightmare had come back again, over and over. He'd seen it many times during his youth. He'd gotten fearful of swimming afterward. He'd gotten a head for heights though. He liked climbing, but swimming in the depths and the ravaging waves made him curl up in fear.

He slept again. Dreams, ravaged and ruined. He slept in darkness. Stretching himself on the ropes tying the bed.

The morning came again. Arriving just the same as yesterday. The storm of reality had stopped. But, a behemoth of a tree blocked the pit, covering it in darkness. David no longer felt safe. He'd seen them grow more curious, enough to walk around the ring of light. A few of them, watching. But, they had no appearance. With strange twisted shapes on their heads. Made of many segments of connecting flesh, but he only speculated on this. He'd seen glimpses.

The tree groaned and creaked and the pit echoed with the sounds of wind. Howling over their heads. Casting a deep shadow over them. A regular storm. One that destroyed and whirled past. With rain and wind. Leaves tumbled in and into the Abyss. Down they went. Falling.

The day dragged. Nothing to do but sit, think, eat, and sleep. He thought more about the outside world. Dreaming about getting out of the dark place, and climbing on to the top. Grabbing the handles of an infinite rope and climbing along. Then reaching the top, and finishing. He imagined a world where he could destroy the demons above. To help others reach the top of the mountain. To destroy the Abyss, and reach the top. Although there was no way to destroy the plague. He felt like he wouldn't see the end of the plague. A thing from the Abyss, maybe. Used by the demons to kill and to ravage the world above, when they couldn't. But, if he could remove it all. A lot of things would be better if he removed the Plague. To cure. To finish, and then to stop.

The blue water helped him think more clearly. He saw the world from a fresher view. But the weather conveyed the opposite. Dark and gloom reflected the crystalline surface of the water. Rings bobbing outwards onto the sides of the glass as the wind pounded against the walls. Yes. But he could be content with his thoughts. Entertainment in the cold world. Nothing else warmed him up better than his fantasies. It helped him continue and live. It helped him bear the world, and endure. Time passed fast while he thought. From the morning into the evening. But an hour with his thoughts would help him any day. To sink into his mind and think about the world. It made him happy.

The old man cooked food and went down the pond. The pit was bigger than he thought. The ring of light extended past the walls and edged into the Abyss. In this area, a pond and a thundering waterfall lay. Boxes of food, gold, and books. But, the old man put them in the basement, making them fester in the dark. During the day, the old man fished. He talked with Osmond and Bernard as they fished with him. He stayed home because of the cold. But, he could peer through the window and see them.

When he couldn't think, he slept in the beds. But soon those grew irritable, and he would try to go outside. He wouldn't though. The wind stung his skin and reminded him further of the snake and its depths. The lines of teeth like rows of houses. Its head was bigger than any island. Hopeless to run as it engulfed ships, ignorant of the destruction. Scales that flashed and blinded the eyes. Then it shone its glitter. The ships would come, and it would destroy.

Why destroy? He didn't know. But, carelessness came as it wandered around for food. It had its own morals. To hunt and kill. Removing souls from the world, and harvest the crop of souls for the next day. A useless thing with too much power. It would only sow chaos into the world.

Living in this darkness was going to kill him, he knew. He hated the storm that churned overhead. The loud waterfall and the things that would kill him if he ever stepped out of the ring of light. To live with the rest for the remaining years of his life. But then again, there was always the good part of dying alone! To live in darkness and grow pale skin! How great! The greatest life anyone could live. Then, to have sharp teeth and live like an animal! How wonderful! He would lose his voice and go blind!

He snickered at the thought. But, they would stay down here. For a lifetime, if they didn't get out. But, it was calmer here. They'd only climbed half of the mountain. To scale the rest meant certain death. They'd been lucky with the snake. Then the egg of glass. He ignored the thoughts. They came up often while he thought. Distractions.

The night came and he welcomed sleep. The Abyss glowed with the mushrooms, and the pale things were in near-full light. The fire glowed orange around grey. The pale things outside watched the house. They slept. Sleeping until the next day, where they would sleep some more, until tomorrow. That was when they would sleep some more. Time ran past. Days didn't matter. Not until youth faded and old age came.

The next day was full of sunlight from the pit. Reaching yellow rays down into the Abyss. Bouncing off motes of floating dust. Although he only saw blurry lights, he'd woken up with blurry vision again. He ran to the sun and sat in a chair underneath it. Resting underneath the light. But he couldn't hear a thing. He knew, however, that sunlight reached into the pit. Better than the storms of yesterday and before yesterday. The others would be fishing again. Yesterday, Osmond had shown him one of their catches. An oblong grey log of a fish. Blind, no pupils. With rotting scales and lines of grey along its body, he hadn't eaten any of the meat.

So, he sat in the chair. Watching the sun from below, mourning his loss of freedom. To go sit in the soft grass. Or, relax in the shade. But now he sat in a damp pit as lightly made the Abyss glow orange. The pond projected shards of brown onto the ceiling of the cave. The others fished and put what they caught into a water-filled bucket. Then they would cook and eat them. David could see flickers, but he knew they were there. Always there. Fishing, and fishing for more of those ugly fish. He'd caught salmon in nets with fins that could leave a stinging slap on anyone who touched them. Large and a nice meal when caught. But these were full of tough bones and had teeth that crowded along sneering jaws.

So, they fished while he continued along with his thoughts. Thinking about flying boats and how he'd talk to the Prophet. About reaching the top and feeling the familiar feeling of giddiness and fun. Like water cleansing dirt from cloth. A freshness that would burst through him. He would feel alive again. More confident, like in his old days. Worries of the plague would go away. Burdens of sorrow that weighed on his mind would be lifted from his back. The light of day would rise and the strange darkness that filled his mind, gone. He sat in the chair, leaning back to enjoy the bronze sun. Perched above the Abyss were smaller bushes and the lush of nature. Birds that flapped below shades of azure. Through the spectrum of color and above the divinity of nature. Above a fading moon that floated near the circle of fire, bringing life to everything, even in the Abyss.

He sat in contemplation for a while; then the moon came into view; shining with splendor came the stars. He went inside, dragging the chair behind him. The smell of candles entered his nose and he walked into the old man's home. Three torches perched on three circles of metal rail. Below a table with the old man, Osmond, and Bernard. Eating their catches of the day, and other foods from the storage. After they ate, they went to bed, drinking the crystalline water from the pump again. Emptying his cluttered head, and calming him down. Feeling at peace in the deep pit. Soothing the mind into calm. He went upstairs and stretched himself on the bed.

"C'mon", Bernard beckoned. David waded into the water, and his feet sank into the flesh of the serpent's head. They all followed into the Abysms mouth. A serpent's head watched them all, with fangs that hung over them like longswords hanging on a twine of string.

Osmond followed and trudged through the ridged flesh of the Abysm's throat. A river ran through and around them, reflecting tiny slivers of red from the outside. They entered the Abyss, full of islands, with a ceiling supported by rocks. Underneath, the eternal and infinite ocean writhed and foamed. The rocky red ocean stormed with chaotic waves and sudden breaks from the stalactites above. Giant waves swallowed some islands while their crashing echoed throughout the Abyss, mixing with the screams of scraping rock and constant bubbling.

He glimpsed at the shadow ahead, stepped toward it, and it came into full light. David shrank back. Salugren. Snake head, wrapped with thousands of snakes. From the light, further shadows were uncovered. An army of giant serpents, jagged lines bled crimson, and their ribs shone against the light. Their jaws opened to show hundreds of smaller skeletons. Around him, demons lay in the throes of death. They lay in piles, once alive... The smell of rot blazoned across the air through smoke. A carved symbol lay on each of their heads. A red ear. The sigil of the Abyss. The sigil of the Nalrath.

Watching lights flicker from the doorway. Dashing shadows away as light filled the space. Then the light dashed away.

He stopped himself from rising and watched as the shadow filled its place. He calmed himself down and felt his body fall from tenseness. Footsteps edging along with the clay as grit and sand scraped. Watching from the bed lined against the wall, moving closer to the clay, and breathing slow, paced, breathes. It calmed him, each small sigh, that told him no one could be there. Only the slow breathing. He held his breath to listen. Pausing and cupping his ear, listening as the light ran from a grey silhouette, he listened. The waterfall outside distracted him from other sounds, he heard something else. Like stone clicking against rubber. Small and faint, but the waterfall thundered across the sound. Rocks clicked against each other outside, and water thundered as droplets smashed against pent-up sand. Eroding the solid spires of red rock, and distracting him from the figure. He saw a hand reach out and he held his breath as it came in.

Whispering, he couldn't hear it, but he knew it was talking. The light flickered as it walked toward him, and he curled up in the bed, tangling his legs in the rope, breathing faster as it strode toward him.

"Hello? '' the figure said.

"Bernard", he recognized the voice."Why are you here?"

"Shhhh!", Bernard said, "The thing could hear us, be quieter. Listen to me when I say this."

Pausing, Bernard leaned closer, staring at him.

"The old man, Manuel, he's an entire being composed of something else. He's not a human, nor anything else. He never blinks and sleeps by sitting on a chair, staring into space. We must escape this place, the Abyss, and get out before the old man does... Before he kills us."

Bernard looked at him. A hopeful look at David.

"Do you agree? That we must escape? Because I've prepared and made a plan."

David looked at him.

"No. No, I do not agree. Why? How do you plan to escape this place?"

"We'll journey out into the Abyss and find ways out?"

"Your hubris will be your downfall. How could you be so dumb, and so stupid? Like a donkey, you continue to go forward, only to feel the whip. You jeopardize your safety to go out into the Abyss and escape? You'll die!"

David stared at Bernard, who stared back, confused.

"Then, do you want to die here?", Bernard asked, "Where demons surround and fear purveys? A donkey that stops going forward is kicked and then left to die, and you will too."

"Then, I won't die like you will when those things come out and prey on you."

He sighed. He'd already become suspicious of the old man, but the better to stay here. Evil crawled outside of the Abyss, and he would die like a fool if the old man wasn't a demon. The things lived outside, along with the body of Darrell, and the Nalrath. A world of insanity and disorder lived outside the light.

The old man slept in a bed, he knew, he'd given them pleasures, luxuries, and they had all prospered. Grown and matured. But, they'd live in the caverns, underneath spikes of rock and the red of the Abyss, but it was calm. Outside was insanity, but inside was the circle of isolation was utter calm. Better to live a calm life, then adventure and thrills. Adventure and thrills were the entertainment of fools. Fools always died young.

Bernard walked out of the room with a sigh trailing across the room, echoing in his mind. He could see his over-ambition scrawled across his face. Like the nomads that wandered to escape from the fate of the Plague as it chased them with red horses that pumped their legs overseas. Carrying the scythe to chase them until they grew tired of wandering. He knew he was lucky to not have caught the Plague. But even he would suffer from the universal fate. A fate planned for all mankind. Then the corruption would spread and he would get reverted to firewood.

He unwrapped himself from the rope and slept. Having no dreams, but sleeping with a strange crampedness. He would wake up and sleep again. Waking and sleeping in the night until he woke up.

Another day as the morning shot through the sky and fizzed out into many sparks. The sun rising as a leviathan star, shining with red fury at the forests below. The growths of nature paling in comparison to the star. He looked up as he walked outside, watching the Abyss encompass the red light.

David went inside to eat a breakfast of fresh grapes, crumbling cakes, and more. The table held lavishes that encompassed until the edges, trays, and trays, even as the dominating sun continued climbing, even as red shone through the walls of white. Candles on terraces of clay trays climbed the walls. Filling the room with a mixture of yellow and red as Dawn touched from its golden palace and into the world. Shining its armor for all to see, and casting rays of light upon all.

They ate the food and saved some for lunch. Then they fished and he sat inside, watching the view from the highest room. Seeing Bernard and Osmond play like children as they fished in the pond of the clear blue. Catching fish in the nets and putting them in the buckets. All of them still oblong and grey, growing in the seeds of the Abyss. Their kind would continue to fester as the Abyss stayed, as life populated it. Life populated everything, and life had ways. None mysterious.

The only thing that prevented the day from growing more prosperous was the pump. It had stopped the flow of water, leaving them with glass jars containing water in the basement. But, it tasted bitter and strange. He thought it tasted like air, no substance to this water, no minerals, no distinct taste, not the sweet water from the pumps, but something else. But, when he grew thirsty, he drank the water. Osmond didn't, nor did Bernard. The old man didn't fish today, he had said he didn't when two perfectly good people liked fishing more than he did. Then the old man took a nap under the sun and drank the water that the rest despised. Seeming to relish it more than the blue water in the pump. He watched from the house at the Abyss. At the rings of light dividing upon the borders of man and otherworldly. Catching a peek of the things that lived over there. He'd begun to draw them on sheets of paper, drawing in meticulous detail as Osmond had. Five of them he knew existed. Naming them one,two,three,four,five and each with large differences. One had tusks jutting out of its jaws and spikes emerging from its spines. Many rows of teeth surrounded a layer of skin on the head, spiraling inward into the jaw. No eyes, because it was blind. All the rest were blind, too. Two had many antennas. Three had many segments of legs and arms. Four were long and armored. Five had fangs.

He watched them stalk Bernard and Osmond, and David examined them with a morbid fascination. Padding along the ground, but the others didn't notice; maybe this was why the old man hated fishing. He watched them back away as a cloud floated away from the sun and light cast rays out onto the pit. He watched as they caught more and more fish, oblivious to their surroundings.

He drank some more of the bitter water and tried to bear the taste. Choking it down as he watched the view outside the window. Examining the movements of each thing as they crawled towards the two of them. The old man, sitting on the chair he slept in and watching them pull in fish.

After a while, he grew tired of the view and walked down the stairs to the old man. He watched the old man stare at Osmond and Bernard. The old man stirred from his dormant state and stared at David.

"Your ear..."

"What about my ear?", David asked. The old man stared at him.

"A scar, you have a red scar, can I heal it for you?"

"My scar?"

"Yes, I can heal it with some oils in the crates."

"I'm alright", David shook his head, "The scar is fine, doesn't need healing at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

Then the old man went dormant again, watching the others from outside. Left in his thoughts, a sense of wonder filled him again. A somewhat feeling of aliveness that he'd felt years ago. He leaned back in his chair and thought about riding a chariot that flew into the sky. The ring of fire that would trail behind him as the horses pounded to dust and then sky. Into the sun and past space the wheels would spin, and the thrills he would see. Past space and into the clouds and beyond where hidden cities and civilizations lay in stones unturned. Candles in the glass lining the towers, and gold everywhere. This was where the sun turned in the sky and where the moon would go in the night. In the place, the Prophet lived, and souls frolicked. Where his dog played, and all of them would explore the depths inside the city. Then they would explore the treasures inside the clouds.

He woke up from his daze and watched the sun turn the sky purple and azure. Bernard had gone inside, and the old man up the stairs. He had wasted time again, sitting in a chair doing nothing, but there seemed nothing to do. Not for a while, years maybe, sitting in this chair and watching them pull in grey logs of meat. At home forever and ever.

Bernard sat in a chair far away from him, watching Osmond fish and fish for more fish. Watching Osmond wade out with the net, and catch more fish. If their food ran out and they were forced to eat fish, then he would try climbing out of the Abyss, but until then...

Bernard got out of the chair quickly. Running out of the doorway and to Osmond. David looked at Bernard and stood up. Walking out of the doorway and to what Bernard had seen.

"Osmond!", Bernard shouted and ran to the pond. Osmond had left his net and line behind, walking straight into the murk of the pond. Into the pits where monstrosities swam. Jagged teeth-baring out in jaws. Osmond could be sinking deeper into the pond. Where light didn't shine, and water was the ground, the sky, and the air.

To be there suddenly. In the darkness and cold, where water surrounded everything and things lived underneath the surface. Bernard had dived into the pond already. He saw the water lap up waves onto the rock and Bernard reach out a hand. David walked to reach his own hand out. But, Bernard sank again, and David couldn't see him. He reached out his hand, hesitant to touch the water, but reaching a finger in. Bernard caught his thumb and David gasped in pain. Reaching his other hand, and grasping the hand, and pulling. Pulling with effort as he struggled to pull Bernard and Osmond up. He saw a head emerge and feet grasp onto the rock. He almost let go but continued to pull them up as water fell like wax off them. They climbed up, and the old man ran out of the house.

Bernard gushed water from his lips. Osmond wheezed and murmured something through veined eyes. Sputtering water and spittle, Osmond looked up.

"Water, from the pump", Osmond shivered, "Get me water."

"Only water from the jars'', The old man said, "When there's water in the pumps, then you will get your water. But for now, water from the jars."

The old man made a small smile at him.

"Get me the water", Osmond reached a shaking hand, "Please, just get me the water!"

"But, there's no water. I can't get water from the pumps, just the jars."

Osmond wobbled and looked at the old man.

"Manuel, get me the water, just please get me the water."

The old man stepped back.

"Get me the water!"

The old man, David realized, the old man and the water. He tainted it with something to keep them there. The glass jars were regular water and the pump was tainted with sugar or honey. Oozing from the pump and glowing blue.

"Please!", Osmond shouted. Osmond hobbled to the pump and rattled the handle, over and over again. It dripped some out and Osmond grasped it in his hand. Sipping it, then rattling the handle again. But, not a drop came out. No elixir of life for Osmond anymore. The glass jars would suffice as mud would to honey. He needed more of that water, too. Not anymore of the glass jars. Tainted with poison. The water wasn't tainted. The thoughts weren't true. He needed more of that water, the delicious, blue, purified liquid. Needed more. Delicious, it was. To rattle the handle, and he scrambled over to the pump. Pumping his arms up and down to grasp a droplet and sip it. The sugar, the wine, the honey, the great liquid. David's infinite thirst quenched forever after he drank it. No avail, though. No water from the pump. Coughing up dust from metal lungs.

"I have the jars here", the old man said, "Have a drink."

"No", Osmond pushed it away, "that's no good. I need the pump water, the water from the pump, not the bitter water that you're trying to give me. "

"Go to sleep, then this craze for the water from the pump will go away. The water in that pump is full of rust and nothing else."

Osmond went up the stairs with some reluctance, watching the pump as he walked up to each step. Then onto the bed, and the rest followed, except for the old man. Onto the bed, he went and slept. He seemed tireless. Very restless tonight, but sleep would fix this soon. Closing his eyes as the torches flared red in front of a purple sky. Many streams of color, and the candles, corpuscles of light in the face of it. He relaxed as the threads of rope groaned, and Osmond turned nearby. As the light dimmed away, he felt nothing. Walking across the metal razors, he could see. Grey and shiny, and small. Each like a fingernail stretching outwards. He walked and walked. And, woke up.

He knew that the water would make it worse, but he wanted more. His body wanted to get out and pump the water out, but he stayed, grasping himself against the bed. He would go to sleep and wake in the morning. Into the mind, he stepped. Into the bindings of sleep and the fantasies that would appear. Large blobs made of flesh, full of holes and scars, and red. Crimson with eyes that bulge and veins contributed to its existence and forced it to live. Wobbling eyes looking away from him, but some, and he watched from his feeble mind. Seeing the things float above, and one-touch, he thought, would kill it.

He woke again, this time with sickness in him. Dizzy, he was turning, and he felt disgusted and dizzy. Strange and weak, a limp feeling, no movement. Tense and tight, and uncomfortable. He wanted to curl in a tight ball and roll away. To roll away...

But, no. He didn't need to get out of bed. He shouldn't.

He closed his eyes and slept again.

Crabs the size of tall clouds jittered and moved. Bugs looked down from the skies and sipped the clouds, sapping them of all their mysticism and leaving them empty. Crabs foamed from their jaws and bugs stared through the broken eyes. Each with beady eyes, and a hungry stare. The behemoths crawled past him. Each of them was bigger than whales and left footprints resembling craters. Imprints bigger than the moon and smaller than the sun. All ignorant of him below and chattering in their indescribable language. Hairs on them all, scraping their legs over every surface. All in ignorance of the splendors of nature, and the sun. They lived to eat and breed. Chaotic in thoughts. Very chaotic indeed, as they lowered their feet upon him. One pincer above his head, and crushing his...

He woke from his sleep again and watched the candles flicker outside. Holding himself against the bed, and feeling sick, in discomfort. He rolled over the bed and felt the bile rise in his throat. A fit of discomfort filled him. He didn't feel well at all. But his exhaustion saved him and propelled him back into sleep. A comatose that made the time pass, but woke him again. He wanted to go out and get the water from the pump. But, he knew it wasn't there. He grunted and almost yelled, but knew that it wouldn't be good. That it wouldn't help anything. He held his head and shook it, making his hair matted. He held his breath and tried to calm the discomfort down.

Sleeping, he saw the light fade as the desert winds came and he found himself walking in the heat. Trudging across boiling sands, and blocking his face to protect himself from the flurries. He trudged as his throat turned parched, and he wanted water. The blue crystalline elixir from the pump. The thing that he desired the most, and he needed. Like a syrup of gold that melted into blue, and blended into a cup. He wanted to drink in brevity. To drink as it washed over his lips. In the sand, to calm and experience the fresh, new, world after a few sips.

He woke from the short sleep, desiring a drink from the pump again. His throat filled with the desert wind and air, he walked out of the bed and ran. Almost weak, but with some dedication to go forward, and run. But, he woke again, a lucid dream. The same as before, and rolled off the bed, to run forward and go out of the doorway. The same as before again. Waking again. David tried to yell and woke again. Another and another stage of lucid dreaming. He pinched himself, and blood seeped from the wound. Flooding everything with red. Seeping onto the floor.

He woke again and saw Bernard appear. With a jar of water, the clear blue water, he grabbed it and drank the contents. It wet his lips and he drank, gulping it down.

"We have to get out of here, you see? Even the water is tainted."

"No, no. I can't run now, the safety, and the peace."

Bernard stared at him again, a stare of lost hope, and then a twinkle.

"If you go, then I'll give more water."

"Give me one then, give me the water, give me it, give me it", David said. Staring at Bernard, "Do you have one? Give me it."

Bernard pulled another jar out, and David drank it, gulping the contents down.

"Alright, let's go. With haste. And, get Osmond too."

They woke up Osmond and Bernard tempted him with another round of water. They got their things in the bags. Carrying two in each arm, each of them. Osmond had rings of age around his eyes and kept rapidly blinking his eyes. Bernard led them both out of the house without waking the old man. They walked past the pond where their footprints lay, and towards the ring of light. Bernard drank some of the water while they walked. But resisted drinking all the contents of the jar.

Now, they stood at the edge of the border. Bernard took a step forward and pulled a candlestick out. Lighting it up and casting an orb of light unto their surroundings. David saw that there were some creatures about and attempted to go back. Turning to see the fading house. But he looked at the jars of water Bernard had. The blue alluring water, tasting like the glory of youth. The slowing of time,and wondrous freedom. It made him grow small wings and fly.

Somethings scuttled, but around them as the light flickered. Bernard held two candlesticks and held the bag close to him. David watched the creatures around them, recognizing 1,2, and 3. The rest, unfamiliar sights. Osmond huddled underneath his bag and tried not to look at what was above. He held the notebook and his bags.

The candles went up and David saw three rivers, rushing past them with ferocity. Razoring the walls of rock, and slicking the ground. He saw the waterfall up above, and understood what they had to do.

"Swim, we cross by swimming."

"I don't know how to swim", Osmond said.

"Neither do I", Bernard answered. He pulled something out of his bag, a rope.

"But, I've prepared"

"Alright then", David said, "Then how do we cross?"

"I'll throw a spike onto the other side, and we hold the rope. Shimmying our way past."

"We'll still get pummeled by the river"

"The rope is strong and will hold, and we will take our liberties. Stay close together and hold on to the rope as tight as you can."

So, Bernard threw the spike and landed it on the third try. Then it was time to cross the river. Bernard left a candle to ward off the darkness and the things. Then they went into the water. Warmth crept up his arms as he grasped the wet rope. The water tasted like the water from the pump, like liquid energy. Liquid luck. Liquid wonder. He wanted to envelope himself in the water, and wade in the river. Letting it carry him across the river...

But, he continued in an automatic mind. With hands that grasped it in a willful way. He wanted to slip into the water though. Leaning back as the water's thunder faded away. Into the deep blue, where nothing lay. Like a warm bed with straw instead of rope. He drank some of the water, as it dripped like nectar down his lips. Ambrosia, the food of the Prophet, an unutterable sweetness, and he felt the taste blossom onto his tongue. Honey water, sugar water, but sweet and sour, tangy, and salty. Like eating soft clouds and sweet flowers. But, not sweet, nor sour, salty, tangy. A taste never felt before, a taste he craved with his entire self. Warmth crawled further up his arms and he stopped. Osmond had stopped. They'd all stopped. There was no need to continue. No need to see the chaos along the Abyss, and face the red of death. To stay there, and continue to drink and drink. It would be better than to see the random heart of the Abyss, and further watch the creatures walk alongside them. As they walked they would see more of them, all random, as chaotic as the Abyss itself. Terrifying creatures of extreme height, and then the Nalrath would hunt them down and tear off their ears, and feed the rest of them to other creatures in the Abyss.

It was better, much better than the isolation one would feel as they traveled. To journey meant exhaustion and wandering, then death. Comfort and care as they drank the water from the river, and warmth, they could live here forever, and nothing would matter. Here was happiness, and to go further and backward meant more suffering. Facing those things wouldn't help anything, to face fears meant stupidity. To face fears would have no effect on anything, his life's work, another mess paling in comparison to the multiple others who faced the same, as long as his fear didn't kill him. Then... then more and more strange pain... he could sink down. It would bring him great comfort, great, great comfort, great...

He was afraid of the sea and the crashing waves, but now he would be afraid no longer.

He looked at Osmond. Osmond sipped, cupping the water into his hands, and drinking. Drinking and drinking. Gurgling the water inside his mouth, and drinking.

The rope grew taut, as he was dragged along by the river, but he held on a little bit with a finger, as the rope dragged them along.

It had already snapped, but that was fine, as long as it dipped into the water he could eat it. Like candy, it would be, like candy, like tendrils of sugar crafted by the gentle hand. He grabbed the rope and tugged. Pulling the rope to try and snap it, but he was dragged out of the water and onto the cliff. He was out of the water, completely out, and he looked down at the rest. A bit of thirst for the water, but he felt horrible, sick, he'd drunk too much, and he watched as Bernard and Osmond continued to drink, each hanging a finger to the rope, he pulled the rope with the little strength he had, and pulled them both up.

They crouched at the rock as he did, and watched the rope whip along the river. Blue and alluring, but not with the flakes of rust the pump had, although the same.

Refreshing from chaos, but then the same as chaos, this was no source of happiness, only a facade for something worse.

Bernard looked forward, and squatted along another river, with fog. This would be the second river. It glowed gold, and underneath the water, mist. Orbs of clouds that ran along with the river, each with tendrils that whorled around the centre orb, again and again, rotating endlessly. Each a small world but without the populace. But with clouds, fog, mist, rain, and weather packed into a sphere.

Bernard looked into his bag

"I have enough rope to continue, but we keep our heads above water. One touch in the lips and the river kills us."

"Launch the line", David crouched along the riverbed, "And, make sure we do this one at a time."

"That'd be slower", Bernard said, "We waste time and then the old man will wake from his sleep and hunt us down."

"But then we die here or die there, which do you choose?"

"Two then", Bernard said, "Two at a time, and one here."

"Alright", David pointed forward, "Throw the rope."

So, the bronze pick latched on to the cliff, and David clambered on the rope, then Osmond. Bernard watched from the coast as the mist parted. David gripped the rope, and pulled the rope forward, and backwards as he pulled his other hand forward. Forward and backwards as the soles of his shoes touched the water. Each time he grabbed the rope and pulled himself forward, his toes dipped into the river; then a cone of water formed around his feet, collapsing as he moved again. Gold shone from the river, and each globe of mist whirled past his feet. He'd gone long past Osmond, who was examining the river and the spheres underneath. Undulating with the calm river, moving up and down, and down and up, each with the monotone motions. David continued forward, keeping his head up, and reached midway.

He rested, and looked at the overarching roof above, extended over the pinnacles of rock and columns of rough that crumbled to hold it up. Like a temple, but of the opposite, and taller than the manmade or the natural, bigger like the infinite sky. David took rough breaths, and loosened his grip a little, then glimpsing back, he continued.

His head arched upwards as he reached forward, with each hand sidled past each other. The towers of boulder moved as he moved, as did the columns, and the darkness above and below. Moving with them as the aura of light shone from the lamps to guide the way. The cliff nudged his ear and he hauled himself up.

Standing on the triangle cliff, he watched Osmond climb. Osmond was looking down, at the river, and David could see why, why he was watching images in each orb, strange and new. The dreamscapes of the mind, but also the unimaginable. Each image flickered past one by one, some slowing to show a beauty. One, a crashing ocean with a mountain rising from it, foam seeping down, and another, rocks from above and below crashing with immense power again and again. Then another, and another, flickering past like paintings on a wheel. Bernard leaned close to the cliff, and Osmond looked down a bit, loosening his hold for a moment, but continuing.

"Osmond!", David called out, and reached a hand for Osmond. Osmond didn't look at him, his head lolled as his hands reached sideways, again and again.

One hand lifted, and David pulled the rope, and then reached a hand out for Osmond, who loosened his other.

"Osmond. Osmond! Take my hand", David reached for his hand again, but Osmond looked down. Engrossed in each globe of cloud, and inattentive to David's cries. Staring down at the river, each orb passed under as the river scraped the cliff walls.

The cliff was a gaping hole in the world, going past the Abyss's reach, where other things roamed, or nothing roamed. Empty of life and full of the same rumbling rivers and pinnacles of red rock. Smothered with heat, and devoid of the rays of reaching light.

"Osmond? Osmond!", David shouted. He clambered onto the rope. But Osmond dropped his other hand. Carried away from the ropes and into the river, Osmond dropped into the chasm and swam to the globes, fighting the water and attempting to grab an orb.

David looked down and dropped from the line, into the river. Wind streamed upward, past his falling body, and the cliffs gave way to the rushing river. Each wave beat against the rocks and enveloped him in water. Dashing him closer to the rocks each time. Waves covered him, and carried him past Osmond. A wave rose again and he paddled upwards as his clothes weighed him further down. He saw a long rope fall from the sky into the pit, waving side to side, almost dipping into the water.

"Hold onto the rope!", Bernard yelled from above. The voice echoed down the cliff sides, and increased as it rang down the rock walls, "Hold on to the rope!"

David swam as the waves grew aggressive. His head dipped into the silent world of water, then he peeked his head out of the river. Sinking and undulating beneath the waves over and over until he reached the rope. He saw the pin-point of Bernard's head and watched it shift as Bernard pulled the rope. David looked around and saw Osmond, who floated near an orb of mist. Osmond! Still floating, almost drowned, floating like a waterlogged ship, sinking like a rock. With hair floating to form an aura of dark grey.

"Osmond!", David loosened his grip on the rope, and dived into the river again, towards the orb, and his face dived underwater. His arms reached unto Osmond as the currents dragged him down and along, attempting to tear him to shreds and leave him in lumps of red and grey. His arms were heavy as his clothes grew dense and pulled him into the depths. This reminded him of the serpent again, and the horrible teeth. If the serpent hid underneath the waves, then this time it would kill him. But, it wasn't there, but the orbs waved underneath. Osmond had a foot inside one of them. Permeating the layers of the small world, and preventing him from leaving.

David pulled, but his body had already turned weak from exhaustion, and his strength had gone. Bronze weights formed along his arms. As he lifted, more formed. Each arm bore the weight of cities and continents. The weight of the sky and the universe, with each planet pinning his shoulders, and he felt the earth underneath become inconsistent and incongruous.

Solid, from liquid into solid. The water had turned into gold. The floor was crowned with tall spikes of silver, each spike topped with copper, bronze, and rock. Then earth, and air.

The structures held the same repetitive rhythm. Further lying to be viewed by nothing. Like the monolith-like mountains in the ocean, created and then to be sunk beneath the waves, viewed only by nature itself, as a temporary beauty.

Created by all of Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand, but never the Soul. He watched each spike, and walked by each of them. Then the ground turned into liquid, and he awoke. The waves pulled him downwards, and he spat out some water, but more of it came like a spider that formed its web in his throat. Eventually, it would complete its cycle and suffocate him. He kicked his legs and tried to gasp for air, struggling to reach the top. Osmond, with eyes closed, floated past him, and he stopped to grab him. He pulled both him and Osmond up. But he couldn't reach it, Osmond was a boulder, a continent, a planet, he would weigh them both down into the endless dark, killing them.

Something waded above them, Bernard. He had jumped down and landed in the river, to carry the weight of two. David waded toward Bernard, and tried to signal him, but he sank into the depths, down into the murk where nothing lay, devoid of anything, although soon, his and Osmond's corpses. He waded upwards, but another orb passed him, and he felt the ground sink into the needles of stone and rock. Thrusting into skin and past his feet, and the immense pain that wracked along his body, and he felt it drive through his skin and up his spine, and ... and...

He woke up from his nightmares, and saw the light fade from his eyes. He swam up again carrying Bernard. Each paddle, each breath, counted to his survival. But, the sinking and the constant panic he felt as he tried to reach the surface, it'd been long, so long, since he'd taken a breath, but he would dream again and again. No sense of bliss, but in perpetuity, again and again. Living as an amalgam built from the soul. Although, this wasn't ordinary water, golden and full of the terrors one would awake from. Filled with the dissatisfaction of the real world. The exhaustion that one buried beneath dreams.

He paddled, nearing the surface. Nearing the surface! Past the surface into the air, into the world, into the place of awakening. Above the orbs, and where Bernard paddled. David looked upwards, and continued paddling further with Osmond.

The water erupted in waves, and he looked up, seeing Bernard sink past him. Bernard had calm as he sunk down into the nethers, going past the Abyss, where something else lay. Into the pits, caverns, and hollows with the walls of red.

He lent an arm and tried to pull them both up, but his legs tired from exhaustion and his eyes refused to lend themselves to him. They shut instead, and his body ignored the mind, stopping him. He floated down into another orb, another world, another dream, another nightmare.

Below him, a red river ran over the cliffs, and faces leered at him, rotting skulls. He swam further and saw skeletal creatures, with fur clinging to their necks, dining and wiping their faces, eating animal ears... Then, something above him, Bernard stood above it all. He barely recognized Bernard. Thin in complexion, and creaking with every bone. Bernard rushed past him, and scrambled, screaming, raving madly, muttering, then going past the boney creatures.

But then streams of red rose, covering his face, and flooding the dreamscape. Although, this time his head was peeking above water.

Bernard held onto a rope with Osmond. He swam toward it, and held on, as they climbed up the rock walls. The rope swayed a little as the weight shifted, and the walls were slippery with moss and water. It smelled earthy, with the smell of silt and crops, although they were inside a cavern.

The mist reappeared as they clambered up the rope. The bronze pick hadn't given way to their weight, instead reinforced by three boulders. They were gone from the river, above the globes, in the air. Above the depths and caverns, and above the river of orbs, holding dreams. The cliff they stood on could be crossed in three strides to the final river. A wide river full of ashen flora and white water, thundering against the sides and channeling into rapids in the middle.

Bernard sat on a rock, and they ate the food they had. Soggy cake, and the water from the pump. Silence. Then, he threw the iron pick, catching the side after five tries.

They all went to hurry. They dipped their waists into the water, and across the rapids, they went. As soon as David touched the water, his senses faded and night appeared, his ears turned deaf, the rope was gone, he was gone. Everything was gone. He continued across, but he couldn't move his arms, his arms were gone, every limb, every tangible area, no emotion. Although, he didn't know whether he was moving or not. He wasn't standing or sitting. Not anywhere, not anything, not any place...

Something returned. Some vision, and deaf vision, hah! They'd reached the coast. The river hadn't stopped them, they had finished! Soon, daylight and the sun would go to them, their eyes would see. Now, finish the mountain, the red gone, replaced with the lushes, and... and... and... He took a breath and sat down on the rock. The daylight, and the aliveness, thank the Prophet, the old man was gone.

He saw Bernard and Osmond arrive and they sat, taking a break. Bernard was shaking and shivering. Crouching on the rock, near the river. Muttering words to himself. Bernard turned to look at him.

"I hope I can fix things now. Look what I've done... I've done... Look what I've done...."

David watched Bernard stand up. Osmond ignored them, content with watching the river.

"I admit it now! Are you happy? Standing above all, why you, the Prophet? Standing above all. I admit it, I have horrible dreams of horrible things. Devouring and eating, and savagery! I admit it! My fantasies are the obsessions of a fanatic. I admit it! Are you happy with yourself? We've suffered enough, I don't see why my friends must suffer along with me. My dreams and fantasies are warped enough, can't stop them.... Can't... not at all...."

His words echoed across the Abyss. David stood up.

"It wasn't your fault. The Prophet cares for none. But all you've done was admit, but we'll continue to suffer. The Abysm grasps us with its jaws and teeth. We'll never survive." David nodded. "It's well that you've admitted. But there is nothing. There are no saviors, no gods, nothing...."

"I've admitted, and now the Prophet will forgive us...I should've said it earlier, before the Nalrath and the demons and the army. Now look at you, all of us. We've suffered enough from my faults...", Bernard stared at the rushing rivers.

"The Prophet has never listened. He'll never listen... His ears are deaf, his eyes are blind, he journeys for himself, not for the people. The Prophet feels others, he senses their presence, but he ignores. It's not a matter to be sad about... Let's continue forward..."

"But, my dreams... I laughed at the dead, I laughed at destruction. I continue to dream those dreams. Horrible, horrible dreams. My head contains, and never empties. I can only bear them for so long..."

Bernard looked down.

"Let's get out of the Abyss, then try to go home...", David nodded. "We'll survive. It'll be fine Bernard... Fine...."

So they sat, underneath the red cliffs, quiet, and then they continued.

Across more caverns, and hopping across rocks, onto the final cliff. Then into the rift and up onto Pnoaphales again. A red mist had formed. Forming an isolated world between the Abyss and the Rift. He couldn't see. They huddled close to another and continued journeying across the Abyss to the final cliff. Below, the caverns turned fathomless, yawning into infinity as they continued across the Abyss. Then the final cliff appeared, they walked across various steps of various heights. The rocks got taller as they got closer to Pnoaphales. The mist parted a little, and they watched as the entrance to a rift appeared. The rift that would take them into daylight, and remove them from the Abyss.

He watched Bernard, who stared down and kicked rocks. Violent?... He had admitted it, Bernard himself... Maybe he should've said something else... He could ask Bernard, he could ask Bernard about what he'd thought about, what he'd wished for... Bernard had huddled, sometimes stared at the lake, not talking, mute... What had he thought? What had he thought?.... He didn't know, but he should try and help...

He turned to face Bernard again, who strode in long steps forward, not sad and frowning, not happy either... He seemed fine.... Smiling a bit, going forward for them...So, they walked forward... Moving in silence, watching and listening, tensing their shoulders as more red stained the ceiling, listening for sound, anything.... But continuing... Always continuing... Hurrying with quick steps, hunched shoulders, listening and nothing else....

He reached the edge of the rift, and saw a pile of rocks connecting to the other side, like a fallen bridge. They stepped across, stumbling, balancing, and then reaching for the other side. Rocks ran rampant across the forgotten spines of rock. Yellow mist seeped into the air....

He turned around, hearing rock falling from their place down into the cliffs. Light ran up the sides. David reached his hand forward, moving a foot down, and then....

They stepped forward, and David heard a crunch.

Echoing through the Abyss, a crunch, a single crunch, below his foot, he looked down.

Bones, across the plains, and more and more and more. Piles of them, so many piles, so many. Some on large monoliths, and some new, but indescribable, all covered in ears, growing them all over. Skeletons all over. Crowding the gas rift. Many of them wearing bronze helmets with horse-hair running upwards, sturdy, and many bronze swords, most of them were soldiers, warriors from every place, people of the Callous War.

"No, no, no, not this", he looked at each of them, and then upwards. Some rocks tumbled down, and something scurried away. He realized that the creatures, things, gone, they were all gone, they'd disappeared, no need for the lamps, the light was appearing already. Red as it replaced the pitch black, and dark like crimson, pooling over the ceilings. The ground shook. He quivered in his wake. Looking at the stalactites fall. The ceiling gave way to boulders and pebbles, tumbling down around them. Something scraped the ceiling of the Abyss, the ceiling taller than any man-made structure, taller than the whales, elephants, Laphanistss, Deermen, humans, tall, behemoth. Below, a figure, the old man.

"It was nice", the old man said, "To FINALLY see some FRESH young faces... Nicer. Much NICER. YES? Yes, but now all alone now. Heh, heh, heh, all alone. HUMAN, I am. I remain underneath ... the... the name. Remain. Heh, REMAINs and remains, heh. Now, the old man must go to the... the.... name, and the...the...it now appears, SCRAPING the ceiling with his head. The... the... name...WALKS, with his ears, LISTENING and listening and... AND... AND... AND."

That was all he said, dissipating into the mist, and removing himself from their view. Maybe watching them from behind the thing coming. The Nalrath, with his ears. Arriving into view, like a building, extending into infinity. Pillars for legs, the head as a glass dome, and arms as builders, each bunching up on a log, and moving to form muscle. Around his body, an aura of light red. He looked at it, and the familiarity made him shiver. Every feature reminded him of something he couldn't place... A grey mass, glowing red, and with a bulbous head. The things had no lips, it had no eyes, it had ears, thousands and thousands, bunched up in tiny groups and moving frantically around its body. Listening and listening.

He stared and ran, and Osmond followed. Bernard stared at the thing, and grimaced, then he stared in defiance of the creature.

They hid behind a monolith of stone. They couldn't see Bernard, but they could see the Nalrath, his looming shadow, covering everything, removing the light and dark with red. They were in the rift, against the rock. Ahead of them, boulders piled one after another onto another ledge that spiraled up the cylindrical pit. They were close to the edge, one slip, and... And...

His eyes slipped close. A shock of pain ran up him. He... he... Pain... painful... he couldn't think... he... dark... Pitched in dark... He woke again in a hurry and scrambled to get the blue water, drinking it, warmth crept up his arm, and light returned to his mind. The pain dissipated. Scrambling to drink the water, and sip the elixir. The pain would go away. The darkness was gone, and the fluid would keep, alive, him. Great happiness with the elixir.

"No! Wait... wait.... No. no. No! no-", Bernard? Bernard... Bernard, first Darrell, now Bernard. Dead, both of them, he listened, and heard the sound of crunching bone, the sound of death, the sound of taste, and food, of nourishment from the soul. Eating something alive? Yes, yes, eaten alive by...

Not Bernard, no, no, not Bernard. He'd saved them, and now dead, killed because the Nalrath stepped on him, and then sucked the soul out of him. Death and chaos had come because he'd tried to reason with it. Why hadn't he stayed at the river? Why? Why, why, why? The chaos had come, and arrived, and killed Bernard and Darrell. It had killed them both! Killed them!

He saw blue light erupt, and he peeked a little, seeing Bernard's body tumble as the Nalrath held Bernard up and drank from it. It drank the soul, in blue parts, and it tumbled into the Nalrath's ears. The essence of Bernard, every single piece... Every single piece.... He was helpless to watch... He wanted Boulders, Rocks, Gigantic Lightning to rumble down and erupt into the Nalrath, but.... But... All he did was watch... Watch as Bernard's limpless body............ It was too much, too much, too much....

He breathed in heavy breaths, holding in quiet tears, but the Nalrath would kill them if it heard them. He should've stayed, or gone earlier rather than stay with the old man, or let Bernard kill Rickman, or never had gone at all to get happiness. Why him?... The prophet almighty, why him? If he'd listened or gone earlier, then maybe... Or, maybe. He didn't know...

He heard something.

"No, I PROMISED, promised that I would get it, you see ...-----... I'm old? no, no, heh, heh, heh, not old, no, no not, but one, no you don't UNDERSTAND, there are three, behind those rocks, you see? Look! No, see! No-"

A body sailed past them, thrown by the Nalrath, past them into the caverns, and into the depths below. The old man, screaming and screaming. Staring at them, sailing into the caverns, grappling to reach for rock, ledge, anything. But sailing, continuing into the-... A crunch echoed into the air- bones fractured, each ricocheting against each other until they snapped. Flying into the ground with a wet thump. 

The Nalrath walked away with lumbering steps, each after another. Shaking the ground, and forcing rock down from the cave ceilings. Walking back unto its abode, and listening some more.

He listened further for the Nalrath, but no sound. Osmond crept forward, and then they walked across each of the monoliths. Hopping over the chasms, over the pit, dug deeper, past all life and beings, nature without fury, but the pillars supporting the floor of the Abyss. Underneath, holding up the masses of creatures above, overindulging in humanity's exploration, devouring the curious. Below them, it glowed a yellow, as swamps glowed, a sick sulfuric yellow. Each of the boulders sheened with the same color, the light almost blinded him as he stepped again, onto the cliff leading up some crumbling precipices into Pnoaphales again.

The ledges, like a stairwell, curved inward, meeting at the top, and casting a shadow into the Abyss. Leaving him in darkness for most of the trip, they'd lost the lanterns already. In the middle, a boulder stood like a tree rising from the dirt. Lichen covered everything and green mushrooms hung along the sides, glowing red and green. Their glow made an aura in the mist.

They walked along the ledge, leaning against the wall of the chasm, staring up and counting each second. He wished they had brought more rope, too late now. Up they went, following the boulder in the center, and the ledges that would lead them onto the mountain. He looked down again. Into the darkness.

He closed his eyes, nearing the collapse of sleep, his eyes fluttered open, and he continued. Doing that now, he would drop from the ledge into the chasms, falling forever and ever in the bottomless pit. Falling with excitement, fun, and thrills into the dark.

His dream about flying like a bird hadn't come true, but if it did, flying above, and then into Pnoaphales, but even birds didn't fly down into the Abyss, and something would come from above and push them down into the deeper parts, further down into the Abyss.

His back ached a bit, but he could bear it for a while. Sometimes, he heard whistles and echoes, sometimes rock crumbled from below, and he would freeze. But then he continued, and eventually ignored the sounds. As he gained distance, the pathway widened enough for him to walk without sidling along the path and he could stretch. Osmond continued below him, slower because he seemed to like stopping and examining the environment around him. His notebook lay sealed inside his bag, a few times he would almost get it out, but stop and realize about the journey. The further they walked up, the further it turned hotter, humid, heat-filled, as their view of the outside expanded. They could see the sky, and the sun, continuing its cycle of up and down, night and day.

They saw many things, the ribs of a bygone creature, lying against the wall, taller than many of the rocks. Underneath, ribs and ribs, lining in piles inside the larger ones, each in piles inside it. A few of them tumbled down, echoing into the caverns.

He looked up, at the sun. David scurried like an ant to the sun, a small, small, ant, walking under, the huge, humongous, sun. Insignificant to the blaze and heat of the sun, and its life-giving properties. The sun resembled the Prophet, giving its heat to all below. If it fell into the world, then would the heat blaze into an inferno? Or, would the world erupt in flames? Then the world would decay into the Abyss. Filling it with red mist, forcing it to blaze with eternal heat, and populating the world with gigantic creatures, stomping their way across the world and hunting for food. Humanity would be a relic of the past compared to the new world of nature. The perpetual cycle was designed for nothing, its purpose was to continue endlessly, creating life and destroying it. But civilization continued, and civilization was key, but the plague would collapse and destroy it. Leaving the buildings to collapse and fall. Or someday, another species like humanity would rise, like Deermen or Laphanists, creating mud huts to live in, and speaking their own language. Although, if he died and time tore away memories of him from all living beings, then what was the point of his climb? Why the climb? Why climb at all? Nothing would amount to anything.

He must choose to continue, or return, he'd promised himself before. He remembered he'd promised himself to return after one day, return. Although he could stay inside the mountain, then live inside a hut, without the burdens of his mind. Hunting, and isolating himself, but better than the plague. Better than watching them steal and kill and watch them continue with half-desperation and half-ignoration. Ignorant of their wrongs, ignorant and continuing, further and further. With the fields emptied, filled with rats, and people continued, they made it worse. They made everything worse. They blamed it on anything, anything and everything. But then the plague killed them. Peaceful, it would be, bliss-like, happier too. Better than watching the desperate scramblings of people, and the pandemonia each day, everyone in turmoil and tumult. Yes, much better than continuing across the empty road instead of stopping. Trying to find the end, but there would be no end to the long road, it would continue further and forever.

They stopped, on the ledge, it had widened enough to sleep, albeit somewhat cramped. Nice enough to sleep, underneath the encompassing moon and the glittering stars, looking above in his tiny form, underneath the universe. Inside the Abyss, living as David, inside his weak form, staring at the vast and incomprehensible before him. As soon as Osmond fell asleep, he opened his bag, the vials clattered, and he held it tight against his chest. Then pulled one out, and drank it. Putting the empty vial back in, but grabbing another and another. Three, three, he drank them, putting them back in the bag again.

The dreams, yes, the dreams, how great it would be back inside the dreams. A mad world outside, a happier world inside. Inside his own mind, with the imaginative wonders, he dreamt to entertain himself.

Falling into the dreamscapes, blurry, each streaming past him as a ball covered in ink swirling past him. Colors of purple, pink, red, white, orange, mixing into his dream,

He woke.

He grabbed the jar and drank the blue water, streaming past his lips. Again, this time, it would. It would! He would get his... his... things.... Dreams. He would get them. This time.... .He gulped it down and fell into darkness again.

More blurs, where was his wonder? His imagination? These weren't dreams of his creation, each dream had been wonderful, ecstatic, strange, but blurs and blurs, more streamlining past him and shapes and colors. All of it, colors, blobs of light floating and floating, no, no, no, where was his- his DREAMS? WHERE? Where were his dreams? Where were they? Where were they?

He woke again, and grabbed another jar, drinking the water again, the life-giving water, the taste of ecstasy. Excitement pulsed in him. Rushing from the water, he drank another jar, as the water, the water, the glorious, glowing water. He held it up, to the light above, and put it down. Slipping into his dreams, the water built him, made him alive, made him fly over the lands and into the clouds. Oceans of it, wave after wave, filled him, lapping into his tongue.

He slipped into his dreams again, into his dreamscape, onto the blurs, behind the Prophet. A sphere of light enveloped the sky, a temple of clay blocked the rays, and three statues stood in front, each with empty eyes and holding nothing. Each clasping their hands together. Light streamed past, the Prophet faced forward, then split into three, three shapes. Shifting shapes, rotating and moving, shifting and shifting, three of them, continuing to move, shifting and rotating. He watched them from afar and watched the three shapes, of what remained of the Prophet, rotate, glowing with infused Galtrand and Gotund, red and blue, a flicker of gold sometimes. He watched, immobile, helpless to the power before him, stronger than what he'd seen before or ever. Stronger than the magic that magi practiced, this was the raw chaos of magic, the randomness of it all. Everything in each of the three, continuing, continuing, moving, rotating, all different, he watched. Watched as they encompassed his vision, filling it with light, nothing but light all around. It faded away, turning dark as he woke.

Beneath him, something glowed, he watched from the edge of the pit, an aura, the same one he'd seen in the pit with Rickman, glowing the same golden-green, a sphere of fog, fading into the red as it reached his eyes. But, glowing gold at the bottom. Radiating its light out unto him. He watched, and almost woke Osmond, but stopped. No, Osmond would only try to investigate, and he would climb down and then get himself killed. Instead, he watched by himself. Watching what glowed below. He heard something scurry and looked down, it was those creatures again, pallid and grey, scurrying around underneath the protective sphere. He looked away and grabbed a small pebble. Then he dropped it into the caverns and watched to see what would happen.

It bounced along the ledge, and into the sphere, then light burst from the dome, green, blue, golden, he held his hands to his face as the light burst into his eyes. He writhed, seeing only white, and blinked, blinked again and again. It faded away into red, and he looked, each of the creatures had run away. Gone. The pebble was gone, too. Destroyed by the sphere. He peeked at the caverns again and saw the old man's body, who had his eyes open. With eyes penetrating the ceiling, staring past it, into the sky. The old man lay with lines glowing all over, rotting away, ribs torn apart, crimson over the ground. The lines of Galtrand and Gotund glowed around the old man as the magic tore away at the corpse. The blue Galtrand and the red Gotund, glowed all over, crushing the corpse, he could hear the sinews snap. He looked away from the mess below. It reminded him of Bernard again, Bernard, Bernard, Bernard, with his ears gone and his messy end...

He hurled a rock downwards at the body, again and again, as the lights flashed. Each rock tumbled into the body, Bernard! Dead, like the old man, dead because he'd gone onto the trip, the stupid trip, and killed himself trying to find... find what was on the top! The top, why had the Prophet climbed the mountain?... They'd survived the snake, the pit, the sea, the chaos of the Galtrand and Gotund, yet to die in the hands of the Nalrath...

He sat underneath the night and hugged himself against the rock wall.

The sun rose, the morning came, and they climbed, stepping along the ledge, above the infinite drop, the infinite fall, the infinite crash, and then the infinite oblivion, no, no, he wouldn't fall.

They continued, across, walking. He no longer cared about how long they would walk, nor how far they would walk. All meaningless, like Bernard's death, chaotic, meaningless. Nor could he escape his ultimate death. All actions led to it, his youth had passed quickly, and as would his adulthood. He would stay at the top, and quietly accept the fate of death and accept the chaos. There was no need to act anymore, he would wait until the Plague killed him, or something else, the war, the magic. A million things could kill him, but only one thing could help him live.

Now, the Abyss! The Abyss, the abyss! They wouldn't get out of this place, something would capture them, and then...

He continued, continued, continued. Striding, walking, no matter the pace, to get out and survive was his only goal. None else, the only goal in his entire existence was to get out of the Abyss. None else...

He heard something below, he squinted, looking at what he saw. A creature, devouring the old man, it was a titan among giants, enormous. It held up the corpse above his head and smashed it among the rocks. The body rebounded from the rocks and then fell onto the ground. Osmond stopped and stared.

He crouched, and lay there, watching it continue its ravaging, tearing apart flesh and bone, smashing it again over the rocks. He watched the body tumble, spinning in its wake, staining the ground with red. Over and over again, he watched. His stomach tumbling, turning, twisting itself into impossible shapes.

His mind collapsed, subjugating itself to oblivion. He couldn't see, nor could he move. The spindly supports of his mind had splintered, letting it tumble into emptiness forever. Letting it fall from his state of consciousness, into comatose. His mind slipped, although his thoughts continued. His thoughts continued, fragments of it passed through his mind. Water, the water, the water helped him, would help him, would allow him to continue, would allow him to- yes, he needed to wake. Wake first, drink water. Drink the water! He needed to wake! He continued tumbling, pain rushed all over his body, streaming up, breaking his ribs, weakening his thoughts.

His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at the hand, the hand reaching out, and breaking him, trying to squeeze him into pulp. The amalgamation of limb and muscle reached out three of its arms and held him tightly. He could breathe somewhat, but the pressure melted his bones into slush.

His fragmented thoughts continued to stream past, he needed the water, the water, the water, the hands of the creature, the thing, water, he needed the water, the water, his throat filled with dust, he couldn't cough, he needed to cough, his throat dried up, crinkled like old paper. He faded a bit, as his soul weakened under pressure to the thing. He wished he could wake, wake from this nightmare. Wake from this eternal slumber. Wake from everything. Wake up in a new world, a place of purity. He wished this but his clawing hands couldn't reach it. It would stay as a dream, only as his heartfelt desire, never a reality. He needed more of the water though, the water, the vials, the things, he needed more, he wanted.... No... maybe... the....

He woke on a table of rock, balanced above the sphere, next to Osmond, he had his packs still strung to his back. He stayed still.

They were above the caverns, above the sphere, on a tower of... something. He didn't know. Around them, the columns of stone had collapsed, broken by the thing that had brought them there. He pulled a jar of water from his bag and drank it. He put the jar back in his bag and sat. On the rock, over the caverns, not moving, no, none. Osmond lay on the surface of their prison with closed eyes.

He looked up, the sky had turned dark, he'd slept through the torturous experience.

The thing had put them there after grabbing them from the ledge. He wondered where it was, at any moment it would come. Maybe it would kill them, or something worse. He sat in the emptiness, underneath the night. He looked in his bag for the vials, but found only shards of glass, leaking from his bag, dripping it down. He tried to squeeze it out but winced in pain as the glass poked him from underneath. He emptied the bag of its contents and then shook the glass out. It bounced off the slab and into the caverns. Tinkling as it broke upon the rocks below.

Why the vials? The last shred of his hope, his life, his everything. The vials were his only source of solace, his comfort, he needed them, but now all gone, everything was gone, not a single one. Not even a jar of blue water remained. None of it remained, he had nothing, nothing, Bernard and Darrell were dead, his possessions were gone, he'd already lost his money long ago. Nothing, he had nothing, the Prophet hadn't given him anything, he'd sought the Prophet, but now, the Prophet, and then....

At least, he was alive. He could enjoy some things.

He still had his mind, he'd gained a scar on his ear, but that didn't matter. It wouldn't intrude upon his life, only a scar, a memory of an event long ago. Nothing was lost. Two people had died, and he'd lost his possessions, but he hadn't lost his life. He'd lost himself, lost his entire self, looking in negation forever, he'd lost meaning after looking at the absurdity, but totality wasn't absurd, no, no, he'd looked upon it that way in ignorance of the vast amounts of both order and entropy before him. Ignorant of many things, ignorant of reality, ignorant of beauty, he'd desired more, all of the impossibilities.

Osmond woke, and drank, grasping the jar and tipping its contents into his mouth, not wasting a droplet, then he looked around, turning to see where they were.

David lay back and looked into the sky.

Gold radiated from below, wavering in size and shape as it reflected onto the walls of the cavern.

Light traveled to him, from the sphere, and he could see Galtrand, blobs of it floating in the air, emitting itself from the dome below, he pulled a jar out, and waved it around, to see if he could catch it.

Osmond pulled a jar of his own and caught one. Tightening the cap, and then watch as light reflected from every side, creating a crystal effect, lighting the area with shards of light, each like diamonds of curved glass.

He caught it and held it in his jar. He twisted the cap and watched it stay on the bottom of the jar. It settled.

Osmond almost caught another with his hand, catching air instead. He watched the Galtrand float from the dome into the air, continuing its journey up into the sky. As all things did, as all things continued journeying upwards, into the sky. Again and again. Moving in a chaotic frenzy. Each covered in blue gas, trailing like a moving flame. He watched them float away into the sky.

He looked into the jar. The Galtrand faded away, staining the glass with yellow and red, weakening it. It lighten in his hand, and turned it, watching as it grew dull and light glanced off. Growing more opaque with time.

The sphere below glowed again, radiating, glowing, lighting everything with the same golden-green. He watched the creatures below, continue to scrabble around as it lit up again. Lit it up with the same red, the slab of stone moved, wobbling, Osmond had moved to look at what was below. The stone leaned a bit, moving forward and backward, synchronized with the flickering of the dome below. Osmond moved back a bit, and the wobbling stopped.

He lay down, shifting his weight, and looked up at the spiraling ledges, reaching up unto the final point, the middle of the moon. The moon filled with rocks and craters, the destination of the Galtrand, the moon with its imperfections, larger than anything, watching everything from above, a featureless face. It glowed a little brighter as clouds moved underneath. Then thunder erupted, lighting the clouds up, filling the sky with light, and the ether with white light, the sound echoed through the Abyss, and he turned, the creatures below had run away. The weather stayed steady, not shifting as before, but remaining steady as another aura of light, fading into the center, lit up the sky, the light revealed the depth of the sky. He saw more clouds bunching behind and below the gigantic mass of white. Another crash of thunder as lights flashed down from the mountain, revealing what was in the clouds, revealing the fading Galtrand as it continued. The clouds glowed lines of blue as the sound of thunder echoed through the Abyss again. The light of the sphere contrasted with the luminosity above. Glowing with inferiority compared to the flashes of white and blue above.

Rocks tumbled from the walls of the pit, breaking pillars, pinnacles, into fragments, dusting all with red. The thunder rumbled in time as footsteps echoed. Echoing as the creature stepped from the caves below. Lengthening and stretching each of its arms to grab the slab, he saw the hand, white as its knuckles gleamed. He lay across the slab, tumbling a little as the creature rotated it to examine the contents. It held it with 9 hands, each turning, chipping a little of the rock away as it continued. He slid down and up, as it walked. Walking back, destroying each of the monoliths they'd passed, back to where Bernard lay.

Bile rose from his throat, his heart thumped with a frenetic pace, Osmond lay near, holding on. He could see the ring of light, and the old man's home. At the bottom he saw the skeletons, all the same, grinning. Bernard's body lay near them, no ears on his forehead, crimson waves on the ground near him. The smell of death permeated the air, penetrating his nose. He winced and coughed, but it lingered, remaining to place itself as a memory in his mind forever, a memory of death, a memory of the Abyss, a memory of the Prophet.

The creature continued, and he heard footsteps, the Nalrath, with ears, listening. It had come, it had arrived. He saw it scrape the ceiling, with a head larger than its own body. The head, surrounded by ears, and turning and twisting as flies eating away at fruit do, wriggling and turning at the flesh of the fruit. The creature turned away and lay the slab there, onto a small cave. David looked up, and saw light, light streaming, and grass growing, Pnoaphales, albeit a long tunnel unto the light, but a means of escape. He turned around and looked at Osmond, who had collapsed, with eyes closed.

He looked outside the cave, both had seen each other, the creature moved near the cave, nearing them, for a moment, the creature turned to look at them, with three eyes, bald, a fifth eye, at the top of his head, curving, and looking at him. A hand reached out, but he held Osmond's hand, dragging him a little. He watched the hand as it encompassed the entrance, and reaching with a finger....

He grabbed Osmond, carrying him onto his back, but the body slid from him, limp, limp of life. He tried again, and held Osmond steady on his back, he ran.

Just as a finger reached out and broke the rock, breaking part of the ceiling, letting rock tumble down.

He ran, ran as fast as he could, running faster than one could swim, fly, dig, at a rate faster than he'd ever tried.

He looked around and saw large crystals of dark, like trees reaching to the sky, each a vortex of charcoal and black, glowing red, blue, gold, grey to form deep darkness. He couldn't see, shriveled things surrounded the crystals, each resembling people. He continued walking past them, yet he couldn't see the circle of light, the circle with the sky and the sun, both mixing together. He saw the night, and the moon, and the stars, and none else.

He ran as the ground rumbled. He heard the fight, as they clawed at each other's skin. He saw the cave walls expand as avalanches of rock tumbled from the ceiling. Waves of it pushed him, almost making him slip, but he ran with Osmond. Continuing, always continuing.

The tunnel grew in light, he heard the rocks tumble, and the Nalrath screech a cry of warning to the creature. The floor shook with their fighting, as they ripped and tore each other, each clawing at the other. But, then the floor of the tunnel cracked, lined with cracks, cracks widening, deepening, each letting through the light into the air, he saw it, saw the light reach through, he continued, running faster, the tunnel grew, grew in its size as the light entered onto his body.

The cave floor gave way as he reached Pnoaphales, onto the surface, onto the steady ground, as the Nalrath fell past, the floor erupted, bursting as a thousand jagged lines formed under his feet. He heard the creature puncture the Nalrath, tearing its ears away, lacerating its flesh. The creature screamed. Screaming into the air as the Nalrath regained its feet. Screaming as David ran.

They shrieked each other with cries of dominance and anger. The Nalrath with pain, and the creature with the rush of triumph. Tumbling into the wall, carving cliffs, carving entire rivers, carving caves larger than mountains.

A boulder, oblong, and rectangular lay near him. He carried Osmond away from the Abyss, and then pushed the boulder. It rolled a little, and he pushed harder, grunting as he did so. The rock rolled, rolled into both of the creatures, hitting the Nalrath's leg, and cracking on impact into the head of the creature, tearing away one of its eyes. The Nalrath reached out a hand, he looked away, heard a sound of sinews tearing away, rivers of red rushing onto the ground, and teeth glaring away as the Nalrath tore away at its ears, and, and- the ground rumbled, the Nalrath continued, his stomach dropped, his hopes fell a little, but he continued. He carried Osmond across, Osmond's heavy, heavy body. The heat rose, and he saw himself turn red and rosy. The world shook, the trees quaked, as lines rose from the ground, as the Nalrath grabbed at the earth.

Parts of the mountain shook, quaking, and trees fell with it, each rolling down the hills and valleys, sweeping away grass, and carving out dents in the hard earth. The sun shone into his eyes. He stumbled back and fumbled Osmond on his back.

He ran up the mountain, past the falling earth, as a valley carved itself out of the ground, as a crater formed, he slipped almost- almost- yet he regained his balance as the ground slipped away, nature fell into the Abyss, trees sank, rocks tumbled, birds fluttered away.

The ground stretched itself, sloping steeper as he went higher.

A shadow fell upon him, and he looked around. He lay Osmond on the ground.

The shaking had stopped, the Nalrath had stopped, a valley of rock in the place of the Nalrath, although the Abyss remained, but the Nalrath was gone, buried beneath the earth.

He turned. The shadow was a giant tower, the infinity tower.

All in a tower that reached into the sky, a tower that would let all of mankind see the glory and splendor of the world. Gigantic in length, almost as high as Pnoaphales, reaching into the ether, poking almost above it. Made of iron, bronze, each in bands separating itself, then stone all the way, continuing, then it crumbled, only a tip remained, a tip peaking above the clouds.

Then with a spark of fury, the tower began the Callous War, killing all of the deermen and Laphanists. Provoking war, because of a tower. A tower of metal, bronze, rock, meant to fulfill the infinite curiosity of humanity.

He sat underneath and lay back. Laying back, laying back and watching, relaxing in the sun, in the spring air, and grass, each in neat rows of bright green. Under the continuous clouds as they lay in sheets of white, passing by, underneath turquoise and azure.

"Hello?", Osmond stared at him from above, "Where are we? Are we out of the Abyss?"

"Yes...yes, we're out of the Abyss, gone from it forever. Without Bernard and Darrell, we're all alone, all alone in the mountain... All alone..."

"Bernard... He's still dead...", Osmond looked at him, "His bodies still down their... Rotting and rotting- what will we do... what will we do..."

"We keep going then, continue as Bernard did, and as Darrell did."

"Too late to go back then, we keep going, and search for the Prophet."

"Let's bury them, both Bernard and Darrell, before we hurry. We leave two rocks, and let them rest as we continue the journey for them. "

"But we don't need to, it won't bring them back, it won't help with anything."

"They'll be gone then, forever. Nobody'll know what they've suffered and endured. We couldn't save them from death, but at least we can try to save them from oblivion."

"Ok. Then, we bury them, let them live in remembrance on the mountain. "

David walked away. He chose a grassy area, full of lush, and viewing the cliff. Viewing the flowing lake, the shifts of reality, and each village, and then into the world, into the vast amounts of forest, desert, and tundra. Hills, plains, plateaus, and small peaks. He could view everything, and the tower, climbing the tower would reveal much more.

He placed a smoothed stone, and another by it, onto the place, and carved names into both. Then he dug two holes with his palms and pushed them in. He looked back again, at everything, at part of the world, at the receding blue and the continuing green, at the slopes, trees, grass.

Both would enjoy the wonder of the mountain in their graves for a long time. In a spot fit for the Prophet.

They walked again, walking on grass, in nature, outside of the Abyss. A solid surface, the rock and rough gone, life below his feet. Not a forest ahead. But hills of grass and sky, azure reflecting upon lakes of water, clear, clear as polished mirrors. The top of Pnoaphales, loomed over them, although casting no shadow. Stretching above the horizon, poking through clouds, and settling into the atmosphere.

No road anymore, no path, no way to know where to go, but the top emerged in front of him, although somewhat of a pinprick. Only a few days of walking until they would reach it.

Something emerged from the trees, a glowing blue figure, like a telluride. Flying above them, above the birds, above everything.

"A telluride", Osmond murmured, "A telluride!"

A telluride moving, glowing, above all things, no village to restrict it. Osmond ran to it, waving at it, jumping and jumping.

He watched it fly down. Glowing blue as a telluride, and Osmond ran to it. Running with all his might. It was a person! Albeit a telluride, but a person anyway.

He ran to it, watching it fly down. A deerman. A glowing deerman.

He walked to it. It tried to enunciate words, to speak them, to talk. It coughed and croaked a syllable. Then it spoke.

"I haven't seen others on this mountain for years!" said the deerman, "So lonely, I was, as I lived in this mountain."

"A telluride? A telluride on the mountain! A telluride!... "

"Yes, I stayed here for many years, before the infinity tower was being built, before the deermen were driven onto this mountain, before many things."

"Hundreds of years then, you must've lived in this place, watching trees fall, outliving all things. Telluride's never live that long."

"But, I lived longer, immortal. I never found out why, but I lived in the forest. I've met many, a band of young deermen traveled up here because of the Callous War when they fought the Laphanists on the mountain. All of them were wounded, and I helped them and sent them off."

"Then you must've seen wonderful things, everything, all things."

"Yes, I've circled the mountain many times. Ah, but it was many cycles ago, and no one has visited this place since, except for one. A man more powerful than me, he walked in the air, walked on water, traveled into the mountains."

"That's the Prophet then. Where did he go?", David said.

The telluride looked at David, pointed forward, "Onto the peak, onto the final structure of serene beauty, more beautiful than the infinity tower, than all of creation. I've traveled there once when I was younger. But, I remember the Prophet. Ah, yes.... A good friend who visited me often. He was here when the infinite tower collapsed. And so on... And so on.... Sometimes, he asked for advice. But, I didn't know... He asked yesterday. He was just here... Ah, but I'll never know what he was planning to do on that mountain..."

"Then, I should go" David turned away, and walked.

"No, no, we should stay, stay with the telluride, stay for the night"

"But, I should hurry"

"The Prophet won't go anywhere, stay here, go tomorrow."

"Okay, then tomorrow"

"My home is over there."

They walked and arrived at a home of clay and stone, stacked until it reached higher than the trees. Many more of the same surrounded it, and roads of gravel lined the forest. A small garden walled in with white was in the middle. Small asters climbed the barriers, purple and white, each covered with pollen and bees. Small mounds of earth underneath bumped the asters upwards.

The telluride led them into each of the homes. No floors, only beds, although a fireplace in the middle. A strong fire crackled, heat tumbled in from the inferno, only lessened by the wind from outside.

"It's been a long time since I've had people arrive", the telluride turned around, "Well, let's go outside, best not to leave a great day to waste. Best, not too... Ah! Wait, I've forgotten, there was a sound of the world, dividing and rumbling, I remember... I must go and see...."

David turned around. The telluride bent his head in thought, then looked outside.

"No, no... maybe another time. Today is a good day."

They walked out of the telluride's home, into the sunlight. He looked into the sun as it stretched itself into a crystalline display of white and yellow.

At night, they ate bread, soft and hard, steaming from the clay oven. The golden cider had all been drunk by them. The telluride had baked a feast, emptying his own food stores for them, platters of grain, barley, foods from all places. They'd devoured it all, only the crumbs were left.

Osmond and David had hobbled off with full bellies, into bed, where they slept. Under the moon, with outlines of blue and a center of white, with holes like cheese. It radiated light outwards, covered a little by a cloud. The forest of green shone silver from the light of the moon. The Galtrand of the mountain made the clouds glow blue and white, and the land brown.

On his bed, David dreamt, dreaming as his fantasies appeared. Light entered his eyes.

The Prophet stood in front of him again, the dream again, appearing again, appearing brighter, clearer. He stood still, waiting for the Prophet to turn, waiting...waiting to see the face of the man he'd searched for months, months and months. He crouched, sitting down. Blue burst from the Prophet, colors, lustrous with blue, green, grey, white, all of them, dazzling, glittering. He stepped back as the Prophet split into three shapes, indescribable to him, all of them rotating, turning. He watched, sitting as the three shapes flashed. His vision, his eyes, all covered in white.

He woke.

The sun had risen in silence, underneath, only the sound of streams and winds could be heard. The sun stretched beams of light onto the ground, clouds glowed orange. Everything bowed to the disc of bronze in the sky.

David went outside, packing his things into the same bag, the bag he'd managed to carry all the way to Pnoaphales, with all of it's familiar wear and tear. Into the bag it went, water, food, a hammock, nothing else.

Osmond and the Telluride talked, each on a chair, overlooking the cliff, each debating, arguing, thinking, tapping.

"Are you going to go?", David yelled, "Osmond?"

Osmond turned around.

"No", Osmond shook his head, "I think I'll stay here."

"Stay? Why stay? Why not for Bernard and Darrell? We should continue and finish the climb."

"I don't need to go to the Prophet. The journey wasn't to meet him, but rather to see everything, to examine, to know. My journey ends here, to stay with the telluride, to stay with a person who knows all and has seen all."

"Then will you stay here? Tending the graves of both Darrell and Bernard?"

"Yes", Osmond nodded.

"Goodbye, then", David faced the mountain and straightened himself, attempting to match the magnificence of Pnoaphales.

"Goodbye, David. Reach the top! For Bernard, and for Darrell."

David sighed and began the walk, the long walk, to the top of the mountain. He saw the gleaming peak, and the clouds. But his legs groaned, creaked, and told him to stop. But, his legs advanced forward, and he was pulled to the shining mountain. The Prophet stood above him... Standing above him... Yes... But soon, he'd reach the Prophet.... Soon...

In the afternoon, the sun dipped a bit down, and he saw a grassy field. Long stalks swayed and bent with the wind, and the sun lit the field with white and yellow. He stepped into the grass, and cleared a path on which he could sit and relax. He looked up, rested his head on his bag.

As he sat and lay looking at the clouds, light flashed through his eyes. Every color dashing through them. He sighed... Light and light.... All flashing and coming to him... A giant city, more images coming from the clouds. The sun was dissipating into the clouds, clearing the sky. A great city arrived with great columns, great wars with helmeted soldiers, great continents erupting into the air from water, great tapestries unrolling before him, and great people with beards stretching onto the ground. The sun continued to rise, reforming from mist, and then emitting yellow light upon him and everyone. He saw it in clear and sharp vision, no mist, no blurs. He saw it cover his vision, and nothing else came, but the visions. Wonderful....A celestial, cosmic, supernal image of beauty and greatness... Greatness...Greatness... And, a small figure nearby, he didn't recognize the face, but it glowed white, and.... and....

When he stood up, the images faded into his mind. They must've been sent from the Prophet, for he'd seen the Prophet, a small figure, who had sent light upon him. He turned around, feeling the wind brush grass off his face. He let a fibrous stalk sweep across his arm...

The Prophet... So, he'd seen... He'd sent light... He'd sent visions... The Prophet, in all his glory, not the hallucinations of a madman, not anything... No delusions with them.... But something else... He'd seen something great... The future world... The future that would arise on Wailen.... A utopia of sorts... But more... More than words to describe the place... But he'd seen it...

He grabbed his bag, and continued forward, but differently than before. He strode past the grass, clearing it away, making a path. But he didn't think about that, he thought about the visions of the Prophet. The strange, beautiful visions... Visions of eternal buildings. With things of pure glass, with tapestries, with great towers, with more... More and more... The knowledge, along with it... But why now?... But why had the Prophet done this now?... He didn't know... But soon, when he'd reach the Prophet, for Bernard, for Darrell, for them all…

Streaks of purple clouds mixed with the gradients of the sky. The clouds floated past him, near him, he could almost touch them. A cloud ahead of him made him stop. He touched it, it moved aside, evaporating into his hand. He moved ahead, the cloud dissipated around him.

He continued, carving a valley into the clouds, leaving a trail of ground. Another cloud floated ahead, and he went in. Everywhere, mist and fog, he pushed it away, tried, but more filled its place, light seeped in, an aura of light appeared. A torch, a torch! Glowing with flames, it flickered as he walked to it. More torches continued in a line, continuing in an endless fashion. He followed them, each torch flickered to greet him. He passed one, then another, then three, until the last one led to a group of them, all bunched together, held together by a metal hook, flashing, wavering. Fringes of light appeared, outlining the clouds.

He ran to it and out of the clouds, into a village. He stood above, on a hill, overlooking a place of homes and people. A village built around the peak of Pnoaphales. Built with sturdy logs and clay columns. Roads on all sides, populated by deermen, he crouched, and crept down. Digging his hands into the earth to slow down his descent.

David stood, and walked. Past the deermen staring at him, past children, past a peddler and his handcart, past all of them. He didn't turn his head, instead, staring forward at the tip of the mountain ahead. Only a few more steps now, a few more. He could see the building, a castle, extending up above, each square brick stacking above each other, one by one, into the final product, he continued. His steps were labored by tracks, mud, and muck. The familiar type of road found in all villages.

One deerman blocked his way, a young one, staring at him with bright eyes, staring at David as he shuffled along. He stepped around him. Continuing along his way.

He reached the light, and looked back, into a crowd of deermen, hundreds, all behind him, looking at him. Bunching up together, squeezing together, poking heads out, standing high, talking. He turned forward, and reached the light, onto a brick road, red, clean, new, fresh. He heard them shuffle, but stayed behind him.

Ahead of him, fresh footprints, each of them with the mark of the Prophet, fresh and glowing with gold, red, and blue. He stepped into one of them, and the mud covered his toes. It climbed onto the sole of his shoe. The Galtrand underneath emitted white and black.

He pulled his foot out quickly, and hopped out of it, attempting to shake the sandal free of mud. He put one foot forward, and walked, walked out of the village, out of the clouds, into bright sunlight. The deermen had backed away, gone back to their village. No more sounds of shuffling feet, walking, talking. He looked around.

The sun had lowered itself, onto his level. He could see it, a grand orb of fire, encompassing the sky, dipping a part of itself into the world, almost at the top of the mountain. Although ice and snow covered the ground. The sun had no reach; the winds and rains were more powerful than the sun on Pnoaphales. He saw the building, everything in similarity to his dream, the dream he'd dreamt every night. The dream of a building carved into rock, three walls alternating with three statues, each of them with no faces, worn away by age and decay. The building dominated the mountain, bigger than the sun, extending taller than the infinity tower. An open entrance beckoned him in, flickering, glowing, he stepped inside.

His heart beat faster, the final place, he stood, alive, much more adrenalized, he leaned forward and looked inside. Light, blue and gold, and red extending upwards.

He walked inside, into the temple. The aura of light grew stronger, turning into a harsh white. A person silhouetted the light.

The Prophet...Turned away from him, he waited, waited for him to turn, waited.... Waited for the Prophet to show his face, to reveal himself, to reveal a hand of Galtrand and Gotund.

He stepped forward, closer, one more time.

The Prophet radiated a beam of light, bursting it outward from his body, glowing white and black. Turning into three shapes. All of it twisting and turning, three red, blue, and gold, all in shapes he'd never seen before, shapes he accepted in his dream, but now made him shift away from the Prophet. Made him cry, made him jump, made him... him collapse into himself, collapsing into his own body. His senses.... Dissipate, disappear, darken, go away. Colors dazzled around his eyes, green, bands of white, a light filled his vision. He couldn't see, neither could he hear, nor could he....

Light filled his vision. He saw himself living, breathing, somewhere else. The moon, with ivory craters. Dust covered the surface, and piled in mounds around him. Winds curved and flew past him. He let himself walk onto the surface, displacing dust, and saw everything around him glow. The sun covered itself behind dirty winds, and he walked, and walked, and walked. Around him, the sky was empty. When he looked around him, he saw only darkness and points of light, stars.... No world below, no sun, no light... Just him inside a faded body... He saw his hands, crusted, stained, and wrinkled... He saw mountains of dust... But the winds swept them away, covering them in a shroud of grey, and dust flew into his eyes.... Valleys formed below him, as the grey spread itself away from him...He blinked more dust away, and continued, trying to find life... He saw glimpses of people, things, sometimes, when the wind thinned and he heard nothing, he saw silhouettes and shadows. But, when he went over to see, there was nothing, only a sandy hill, or a tall crater.

He trudged in the soft sands, covering his forehead with crossed arms, and coughing with sandy lungs. Sometimes, he looked up, looking for people, someone, but nothing...Nothing... Alone... Alone... Alone... It reminded him of Bernard... Fighting alone, against the Nalrath... Fighting alone... What about Bernard? He could've saved him... He needed to go to Pnoaphales for Bernard... For Bernard.... For the mountain... For Bernard... Nothing else, but Bernard... This was why... This was why…

He saw a building. Old, demiloriated... Dust rose in the air, but vines caught it with leaves. Vines... Vines and vines...Walls of ivy extended over the building. It wrapped around the building in colorful displays. Red and green, intertwining to form stronger bonds. It hung from all sides, loosely and with strength. Dust rose in smoke-like fumes from the building... The vines ran past him, staying still, covering, suffocating, restricting, and constricting the clay building with time... Cracks ran up along the sides, and mortar fell and cracked as he stepped forward... Footprints lay in his path, similar to his own, but blue and glowing... A triangle, a point of metal, extended out of the building, out of the red and green tendrils...Reed roof tiles clacked as wind blew dust to him...He coughed, and waved more dust away.

When he went inside, he saw a mosaic. A face, smiling, with hair. He saw Protennessen. An old mosaic of Protennessen. With cracks running up it's face, and dust covering some features. Tiles ran up on slants, but he set them back in their place... He turned around, looking past the vines for human features... He saw brick... He saw clay... He saw statues, idols of clay, and Laphanist markings... A Laphanist church... He stood inside a Laphanist church...

While he turned, he saw the footprints again, and followed them. They winded into the outer walls, and outside, where the birds twittered and a cold breeze blew. He placed his feet inside the footprints, and went past fallen twigs and dry leaves....

Then, he saw it. A circle, and a handprint. It glowed blue, same as the Prophet's hand... The Prophet's handprint... It flickered, and pulsed, vines grew around it. It seemed like a beating blue heart, pumping its blue blood onto the ground…

Light filled his eyes. He climbed. He stood on tough rocks that crumbled beneath his grip. He continued along the wall, and shifted on a red pillar. David continued, seeing the sun's rays reach into his eyes. David winced, but climbed out. He saw a shadow figure, something in the shade, and he went to it... There, he saw a face, a familiar face. Bernard's face... It mumbled words, silent to his ears, before talking to him. Sound slipped into his ears, and Bernard talked.... Talking about the world above, the Prophet, Protennessen, something different, but something that Bernard couldn't describe... He didn't remember what else... Something else... But, now, Bernard whispered soft words, calming words, trying to tell him something.... Happiness, not sadness... To feel better... To continue to the top for him... To continue to the top and never stop... But, it was only a dream.... Only a dream, as he saw Bernard fade into the air, with everything rising into the sky... Away from his sight.... Light faded away, but sparks leaped inside his mind, and a fire reignited... His downcast expressions, his sad smiles... Away from him... He'd seen Bernard…

He sat on the edge of the slope, sipping at water, and eating soup and bread. He chewed softly against the night, being careful not to awaken anything. While he sat, the mountain glowed a little with lambent light, and cloudy streaks dropped rain upon him. He frowned, and pushed his bag over his head, grumbling and shivering a little in the cold. But, somehow, as he sat, he saw what was below Pnoaphales again. Away from Wailen, there were islands and islands. Trees and trees, all sprouting and sprouting. Small life in the big world. They stood against water and tides, against the sea and it's waves. But inside each of them, he saw Bernard. Bernard... Fighting again, fighting and fighting... Poor, poor Bernard, with his soul sucked out by the Nalrath... What had Bernard done? What had Bernard done?... Standing like those trees.... Against the Abyss... Against the waves…

The giant cities of Galtrand, Gotund, and Quand:

There was something on the horizon. Something glowing, something large... He squinted and glimpsed at a glowing city with houses extending with sharp tips and hills holding them. He walked onto a glowing road, Galtrand, blue and slanting upward. He touched it, and tried to mold it together, but found that it was stationary. Gotund webbed together to form leaning supports. He neared houses, poking his head into one of them, seeing nothing, and he pulled his head out. Trees planted roots upon the ground, and held doors and domes in the air. He stepped upon the roof of one, jumping off it when he heard it creak.

The city seemed as natural as the world itself. Long rocks leaned against one another and met at a cusp to form a dome. Building curved to meet and form a clay roof, and lightning white streaked the sky, entering each building and leaving it empty of dark. Yellow, blue, and white mixed and grew across the sky like a summer tree with ragged leaves and branches that formed twigs.

When he entered the city, he saw something different from the small silent houses. Instead, circular balconies stacked above each other until they formed a sharp roof. The roof tiles of Quand stood still in the wind above. He strolled into the city, feeling the tendrils of Galtrand seep into windows softly. After that, he yelled for people, and heard echoes.

He went onto the road again, and steadied his walk before the road climbed up. He saw a cliff block light and cover him in blue and yellow. He saw something glow, not from the road. The road had stopped glowing, and had faded away. He saw a different type of glow, and he walked to it.

The Prophet stopped the visions, restringing the memories together with a soft smile, until David reformed into a majestic little creature… Then he saw… He swear he saw… And….