The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across an unfamiliar landscape. A soul stood alone in a vast expanse of darkness, their cloak billowing like a shadow stretching from their body that's flickering like the last glow of a dying ember.They did not know how they had arrived here.The stars above looked different, unfamiliar constellations shifting in patterns they could not name. Fear gnawed at them; a hollow, aching thing that refused to let go. The whispers swirled around them, growing louder, more insistent. They did not know if the voices belonged to others like them or if they were merely echoes of something long forgotten. Some murmured in soft, lilting tones, almost comforting. Others hissed, sharp and urgent. But none spoke clearly, none answered the question clawing at the soul’s essence.Where am I?Who am I?

Panic clawed at their chest. Was this a dream? A punishment? A test? The soul took a step forward, only for the ground beneath them to feel unsteady, like walking on mist. Shapes loomed in the distance—twisted trees, jagged rocks—but they were distorted, as if reality itself wavered.The soul called out; their voice raw with desperation."Is anyone there?"Silence.Not the kind that comes from peace, but the heavy, suffocating kind. The kind that made the emptiness feel vast and unending. The kind that answered with nothing.They tried again. Louder. More frantic."Please! I don't know where I am!"

The void swallowed their words whole. The whispers—those ceaseless murmurs that curled at the edges of their mind—did not respond. They only continued, speaking in riddles, in languages the soul could not grasp. They had hoped, foolishly, that someone—anyone—would hear them.But there was no answer, no presence to hold on to.They were alone.The realization settled in, cold and merciless. It coiled around their flickering form like a serpent, squeezing the air from them, suffocating their resolve. They did not know how long they had been here—how long they had wandered through this shifting, formless abyss. Time felt stretched, unraveling, as if it had lost all meaning.Had they always been here?Had there ever been anything before this?Would they wander this emptiness forever?Would they dissolve into it, forgotten, nameless?

Perhaps they were already gone, and this—this endless, aimless drifting—was all that was left of them.Their knees buckled.They did not belong anywhere. They did not even belong to themselves.How could they move forward when there was nowhere to go?They clutched at their own flickering form as if to hold themselves together, but it did not stop the growing sense of unraveling. They were coming apart at the edges, dissolving into the void, and no one would know.No one would remember.The thought struck like a blade, sharp and deep. They sank to their knees, their dimming form casting faint shadows against the mist-like ground.

The whispers swelled, pressing in, slipping into the spaces between their thoughts.Lost. Forgotten. Empty.The whispers grew distant, as though the void itself had decided they were no longer worth speaking to. The soul closed their eyes, they felt themselves slipping, their will unraveling into the nothingness.And then—It came like a thread of silver woven through the darkness. Not loud, not forceful, but steady.A voice.A presence that did not demand to be heard but simply was, as though it had always been there, waiting for them to listen.It did not rush. It did not plead. It was soft, steady. It did not shatter the silence so much as it filled the cracks within it.

"Follow the moonlight."The words were neither a command nor a request. They did not echo like the whispers, twisting and unraveling as soon as they were spoken. They held weight, anchoring the soul in a way nothing else had.The soul’s breath caught.Something deep within them—something they had not even realized was breaking—stilled.They lifted their head.The moon loomed above, vast and luminous, casting a silver path across the empty expanse. It had been there all along, but only now did they see it for what it was—not a distant thing to be admired, not an untouchable light, but a guide. A beacon.Their fingers curled into the fabric of their cloak. Fear still clung to them, but so did something else— a whisper of purpose.

A fragile thread of hope.They did not know who had spoken.They did not know if the path would lead them anywhere at all.But for the first time since they had awoken in this void, they were not being pulled under.For the first time, they had direction.A choice lay before them.They could remain here, unraveling, dissolving into nothing. Or they could move—step into the unknown, even without knowing where it would lead.Even if they were afraid.Their form wavered, uncertain, but they took a breath—if such a thing still existed for them—and rose.And with slow, trembling steps, they followed the light.

The path was not solid. Not in the way they had once understood solidity to be. It shifted beneath them, a ribbon of silver unfurling in real time, only existing where their steps landed. Behind them, the darkness swallowed the space they had crossed, erasing any trace that they had ever moved at all.Still, they walked.The whispers did not fade, but they no longer carved so deeply into their mind. They hovered at the edges of their thoughts, restless and waiting, yet held at bay by the soft glow of the moonlight. Each step forward felt like an act of defiance, a refusal to surrender to the nothingness that had tried to claim them.They did not know how long they walked. Time had unraveled here, slipping through their grasp like sand through outstretched fingers. But the void was not as empty as it had once seemed.

Shadows stirred at the edges of their vision—figures flickering in and out of existence, watching, whispering. Some were distant, nothing more than fading echoes. Others lingered just long enough to be felt but not understood.Not all were distant.A shape loomed ahead, standing at the brightest point of the moon’s glow. At first, it was only a silhouette—tall and motionless. But as they drew closer, the details emerged.A man.His presence did not feel like the others. It was solid, steady. He commanded the space around him, as if the very air bent to his will. He was draped in black and crimson, his attire woven with intricate silver patterns that shimmered like constellations. A dark veil cascaded over his shoulders, edged in obsidian lace, framing his pale face. Atop his head, twisted antlers of midnight black rose like a crown of shadow and bone. His eyes—deep red, luminous as dying stars—studied them with an intensity that pierced straight through their being.

The soul hesitated.He was the first real presence they had encountered, the first undeniable proof that they were not alone. And yet, they did not know if he was friend or something else entirely.The man tilted his head slightly. “You made it,” he said.His voice was calm, low, steady. It settled over them like a weight, not pressing, but grounding. Familiar, somehow, though they did not know why.The soul swallowed. “Where am I?” Their voice felt so small, so fragile, as if speaking it aloud might cause it to fracture.The man stepped forward, moving as if the space itself bent to accommodate him. “At the edge of something new,” he said simply."At the threshold of knowing.”

The words should have been cryptic, frustrating. Instead, they felt like an answer to a question the soul had not yet known how to ask.Then, something shifted behind him.The soul tensed.More figures emerged from the mist, small and cloaked in black, their crimson eyes glowing softly beneath the jagged silver crowns upon their heads. The moonlight glimmered against golden crescents at their throats, and they stood in silence—not watching like the others had, not distant or unknowable, but present.Here.Waiting.For them.The soul's breath caught, their chest tightening—but not in fear.

For the first time, they felt warmth in this cold expanse. It was not the warmth of sunlight or fire, but something softer— something deeper. Like the first touch of dawn after a long night, like a voice calling their name when they had forgotten they had one.The figures did not speak, yet their presence spoke louder than any words could.They were not alone.Not lost.Not forgotten.The man extended his hand, his pale fingers steady, his expression neither demanding nor forceful—only waiting.An invitation, not an order.“Come,” he said. “You have wandered long enough.”