'Come, Natalak… walk with me…'
An old, near-fading voice of a man, an invitation to a curious traveller… a young man, a man from Earth, opens his eyes…
Dressed in simple clothes- a black shirt, a pair of jeans, and simple rubber shoes.
Here—comes nothingness, comes darkness. Then, as consciousness follows, Natalak marches without consideration. He looks around, wondering where he is and how he arrived. The surroundings are nothing but warm mist, as far as the eye can see.
A path, a simple yet pleasing road, warm to the touch. So much so that his feet keep walking, marching towards the endless road. There are no other sounds to hear, only his steps, as no echoes come from his footsteps.
"What the F is this—" Natalak's mumbling halts.
A gleaming white coin lies waste on the road, reaching a step of seven; it reveals itself to be a golden coin.
Natalak halts for a second and freely takes the coin before his legs shift again. Toying— fingers flip the luminous piece of gold before keenly looking, inspecting. Disappointingly, there are no carvings; it is only a simple, polished gold token.
"Hmm… Gold. Strange coin." The traveller looks one last time before tossing it into his pocket.
A few hundred steps… again, he comes across another change; this time, it's a copper. Different, so to speak—the copper is high in purity of red, but tainted, tarnished in appearance. He gives a few rubs of his fingers before chucking it into his pocket.
And then comes the third: it is two silver coins—oddly, for his eyes, the coins are identical, with no flaws.
Grinding them together to see if the roughness of the coins could sand each other's surfaces—
"Hmm… this is a bit odd?" he whispers.
Natalak is quite intrigued. And seeing no change, Natalak puts them in his pocket.
The road seems to have no end, yet his legs are not under his command. Even though he feels no fatigue nor loss, he cannot command his flesh to stop. However, the awareness of walking on the warm road and the fascination with the mist keep him from other thoughts.
His body might be in a trance, yet his mind is full of thoughts and answers to seek, but they dwindle as he trudges unhurriedly. The coins he comes across, the road he walks, and the muddle of the mist—these are his companions. That is until—suddenly, a light appears from nowhere, walking in front of him as if guiding him. Closer for a few meters, another blink, and the light has become an old man with a cane. The man looks weary—his left hand on his spine, his back arched slightly.
The traveller's mouth opens slightly, trying to grasp the situation while his mind ponders. Natalak tries to reach the person, but somehow he cannot, neither in spirit nor in flesh.
"My child, it's best to give your thoughts a voice," the old man says softly, weary, and calmly to Natalak.
"I ah… is this a dream?" Natalak replies, confused, his mind wandering.
The elderly man chuckles, "I cannot say. Believe it or not, but are you perhaps you?"
"I don't know—maybe or maybe not?" Natalak answers with a hint of jest.
Again, the three-legged man titters. Blink, and Natalak sees the person isn't up ahead, but he is now right beside him. Then it comes; the traveller's consciousness feels it. The person is neither a mortal nor a spirit. A paradoxical sense he cannot explain, an answer that gushes through his soul.
"Are you?--—" Natalak cannot utter another word; he senses it, he knows it—a comprehension he cannot explain—yet it is, or maybe it isn't.
The old man smiles, "Perhaps… I am that I am, or so some say. But you can call me as you like… I am but one of many, of many names."
"I see, then perhaps an old man would suffice."
"I think so too." The Creator responds fondly.
After that, silence trails once again— Natalak's questions are many, though the presence of the one walking beside him overwhelms his mind, his tongue unable to utter an explanation. As a result, his queries are diluted.
"You seem to be lost, Natalak," the creator continues their chatter.
"Yeah, I think so, possibly bored." Natalak stares up ahead.
"Then, if you serve, do you want to walk the road with me even for just a small time?" the old man follows.
"Sure, what will it be?" Natalak gives a slight glance; in fact, there is no hesitation or second thoughts about his decision.
Natalak blinks, and suddenly his walking stops; the creator is now in front of him, facing him. And this time, the creator's presence voids him to the core. It is overwhelming, yet somehow, he feels a deep sense of something he cannot explain without being devoured himself.
The traveller looks down to see that he is holding a peculiar black leather bag. Before Natalak can look back at the Creator, the world around him begins to shift. He cannot utter a word, for he begins to crumble like ashen flakes.
"Travel well, my child, travel well…" The Creator's voice whispers, yet it echoes in his ears.
Natalak cannot utter a word even if he tries, and as he begins to be swept away, he understands what the Creator has given him to do.
Out of consciousness, Natalak arrives on a road…
'Come, I welcome thee to Vashkeil.'