The observer finds himself in a dark empty expanse, unable to do anything but helplessly float in the abyss. He looks far away in the distance but the impossibly far perspective matters not as he felt as if it would be in his reach by simply extending his hand. The observer takes his time looking around, all the time in the world.
His mind felt at peace, like it was home. He could imagine it, the rough old table where they had their meals… the observer blinks, and suddenly finds himself in the scene, the familiar table beside him. The same old smell of mud and dew as the rain poured outside, the cluttering of cutlery in the kitchen, and then he hears someone speak.
He frowns as the words register, as they are all distorted. Unmoving but clearly displeased with the setting, he takes a seat at the table as he looks around, there was nothing recognizable in the vicinity except the table. Another blink, now all of the seats are occupied.
The observer looks up at them, hoping to see faces that would spark something in his eyes, but what he finds are… faces with no features to speak of, no hair and no eyes... Just faceless figures staring down at the plates set in front of them. The observer's eye twitches. Why can't he see them? Why couldn't he hear them?
Another blink, now all four faceless figures are looking right at him. He scrambles out of the chair and turns back, a door materializing out of thin air. He crashes through the door, and he's back. Back to floating in the comforting abyss.
He steadies his breathing. Maybe this comfort is all I need, why bother with anything else?
"Your fate has nothing to do with your actions, these were your decisions. Now face the world. And its ever-so-kind inhabitants," the observer whips his head towards the direction of the whisper in cold sweat, to find nothing.
"Years of despair for seconds of hope," another voice spoke,"You really can't remember their faces, can you?"
The observer tries to protest, but anything except listening seems futile. He knew those people at the table, they're dear to him. They're his family. Of course he remembers them… Then why can't he remember them?
"But now is no time to ponder over such thoughts. We are hungry, and you will provide. Won't you?"The observer suddenly felt his mind slipping away, and at the last moment, caught a glimpse of something... many things, he wasn't sure what they were but they were looking at him.
***
A cold shiver runs down the warrior's spine as he jolts awake wide eyed.
He looks around frantically... the neighing of the horses, the dry air and the prayers which were cut short abruptly. He's in a carriage, with four other people who are currently staring daggers at him.
The warrior sighs. Damn voices, he thinks to himself.
It was a dingy dark carriage, with two benches to sit on. The horses' galloping at a steady pace, they still haven't reached their destination.
He runs his fingers through his hair, combing them back as he composes himself, and puts his back against the carriage again. The other passengers have already stopped looking at him. They seemed like devouts, dressed in rags and leather pants but their rosary beads were shiny. They prayed with a certain shine in their eyes that seemed almost maniacal.
He lays a hand on the left side of his stomach, slightly grunting as sharp pain pierces his body, the grunts drowned out by the prayers.
If prayers were all it took, then pilgrims would be Gods, he sighs and puts his head back against the carriage.
Clad in a full sleeved white cotton tunic lazily tucked into a makeshift wide belt fashioned from a red cloth, his leather pants were torn in places that didn't matter and on his hip was an empty scabbard. His gloves were made of leather and dyed an obnoxious blue, the looks of a warrior but one without the tools that comes with the moniker.
It has been about two days since they boarded the carriage but the air still feels rancid, and the sky isn't getting any brighter.
Probably take a few more hours, at least these guys aren't chatty, the warrior thinks to himself.
He sighs yet again and turns to the seemingly youngest passenger beside him, "Hey, do me a favor?"
The young boy was dressed in the same rags and leather pants as the other three devouts, only he wasn't praying. Auburn hair with eyes filled with youth, he was fiddling with his rucksack until Techno called out to him.
The prayers were suddenly cut short as the passengers had turned their attention to him.
"...yes?" the young lad says, looking at the warrior carefully. His eyes seemed to wander to his empty scabbard again and again.
"Could you wake me up before we enter the gates? I'd like to see them," the warrior says with a slight whisper. Then he looks over to the other devouts, "You can continue your prayers, I didn't mean to interrupt."
The passengers looked away quickly and resumed their muttering.
"Sure, I can do that," he whispered with a smile. A moment of silence passes before the boy turns back to him again, "What do you think they look like?"
The warrior faces the boy again and ponders for a moment.
"Maybe a golden yellow? Maybe it's built out of gold? I assume it'll be a bright color so it's easy to spot in these wastelands."
"I sure hope it is! My family told me tall tales about them!" he whispers with joy, elated that he's found someone to talk to.
"I see, and where are they?"
"Oh, they didn't make it," the boy didn't seem particularly sad about this.
There was a moment of silence between the two except for the chanting in the background.
"May they outrun the shadows," he murmurs. He was no stranger to death, murder and the other vile notions, but the belief that the dead must be respected had been instilled in him ages ago, by his… Father? Or was it Mother?
"Thank you! I'm Patril by the way, what's your tag?" He looks at the warrior with sparkling eyes.
The warrior ponders for a few moments and shakes his head.
"Something wrong?"
"...Techno," he says with a surprisingly unsure tone. "The name's Techno."
"Nice to meet you! Where are you from? I'm from the Prolics. You must be from around Pious Terram, considering the fangs and the hair, right?" He gestures to Techno's pink hair and the fangs sticking out of his mouth.
Techno furrows his brow, "...Prolics? Pious Terram? I...don't follow, aren't these the voidlands?"
"Of course these are... but don't you have a specific place you're from?"
"Ah..."
No no, that makes sense... I didn't know how big these wastelands were.
Before he could lie, a gust of wind flaps open the carriage's curtains. Sand blows inside, causing the passengers to start coughing.
"Close that curtain, quick! Or we'll all get sick!" one of them shouted.
Techno sighed and got up to pull the curtain down. While he did so, he took a look outside.
The dry air fit perfectly with the sombre atmosphere, the sky tainted with darkness just like these cursed lands, covered in black sand as far as the eye could see. Desolate buildings and traces of civilization.
Bones seemingly a part of the environment. The brave ones, the idiots, the scholars, the pilgrims and the warriors. All of them end up the same in this place.
Maybe he'd find himself wandering here too if not for these sanctioned carriages. He craned his head out to find the four other carriages, they were keeping pace.
"Make haste lad! What are you doing?"
Techno pulled the curtain down.
Not a single plant in sight, just black sand and black rocks, hell even the sky is black... air that you'd rather not breathe at all... your sanity leaving you day by day... truly a wasteland that stretches far... truly devoid of life, the warrior sighs as he sits back down, dusting the sand away.
"So? Wher—" Patril started, but a loud rumble startled him mid sentence.
"It was getting too peaceful anyways," a whisper echoed in his head.
Techno freezes in place. Too big, whatever's making this commotion is way too big…
The carriage comes to an abrupt stop, throwing the passengers forward. Techno grabs the curtains for support and manages to stay steady as the world trembled violently. The devouts thrown into disarray as they tried to regain their bearings.
Amidst the pandemonium, Techno peeks past the curtain. The sand danced wildly in the air, obscuring his vision, but he could see the lanterns on the other carriages, stationary. All the other carriages had stopped too. The horses sensed something.
But just when it seemed like the rumbling would only continue to get worse, it gradually slowed down… until the world stilled again.
Techno sighs with relief as the black sand falls back into its rightful place. The neighing of the horses was the only sound left. Maybe it passed.
But then, it started.
A weird alien noise in these wastelands. Almost mechanical.
Techno peers out again, focusing on the sound until he hears it clearly.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The horses froze. The prayers halted. Eyes widened in fear. Everyone grew visibly paler. One of the devouts scrambled on the carriage floor, desperately reaching for his dropped rosary, still muttering prayers.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MOVE IT!" one of the devouts shouts at the coachman.
The horses refuse to budge, as if frozen by the rhythmic ticking. The coachman yanks the reins to no avail. Techno looks back outside.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The prayers grow louder. Rosaries clutched like lifelines. Patril covers his face with trembling hands while the coachman desperately tries to force the horses to move.
Techno curses under his breath, clutching the side of his stomach again. This won't do.
Tick, tick, tick—
Suddenly, his vision darkens as a set of deafening roars pierce through the silence.