I wake in a haze of half-light and half-shadow, amidst a silence so profound it seems to press against my very skin. My eyes flutter open, and I see a world blurred at its edges, a swirling mosaic of undefined shapes and shifting hues. I feel an emptiness, an unmistakable void.
A million thoughts swirled in my head.
I should be doing something, but what?
What was I doing, what happened?
I struggle to rise, my limbs heavy and unfamiliar. Every movement feels like rediscovering a body I never knew I had. My chest tightens as I inhale sharply, lungs stinging as if tasting air for the first time. I groan, a low, broken sound that feels foreign in my throat. My fingers claw at the cold stone beneath me, slick with dew, or blood, or something in between.
The world spins, then tilts, and I force my body upward, trembling arms barely able to hold my weight. Every inch I rise feels like defying gravity itself, as though something unseen wants to keep me down, buried, forgotten. My head pounds with every heartbeat, each throb like a hammer against my skull. I blink hard, trying to steady the vision before me. Shifting light breaks through the mist—dull golds, ghostly whites. I don't know where I am. But somewhere beneath the pain and confusion, a single thought repeats, quiet and steady like a drumbeat: wake up… wake up… wake up.
It was my voice, but it wasn't. It was both foreign and familiar but left with no other choice I followed its instructions.
The world around me is silent, as if holding its breath, and in that stillness, I feel a strange sense of isolation, regret and longing.
But for what?
My thoughts were as indistinct as a whisper, and about as stable as a candle amidst a raging storm. I tried to reach for something, anything, but there was nothing there.
What was I doing?
Where am I?
No, that's not right.
Who am I?
At this instant the pain became too much to bear and exhaustion overpowered curiosity.
I instantly passed out.