Waiting for a sun that will never arise, a boy pale as a porcelain doll dressed in all white lies sunken in the tall swaying grass. His expression is impossible to understand, almost like his face was being blurred by a higher presence and blocking it from view. His stomach is empty but he feels neither hunger or thirst, his body demands nothing of him.

Like a corpse undead, the boy rises from his resting place. He scans the endless scenery around him, dark plains spanning in all directions. The suffocating void of the brooding black sky hung over the continuous heaps of shadowy masses of grass. ‘Am I alone here?..’ the boy mutters to himself, knowing there will be no answer.

He counts his fingers out loud, making sure he’s not in a dream. Before he arrives at the unlucky number four, he stops counting. He's already as ill-fated as it gets, he doesn’t want to ruin anything further.

He counts until only the number one repeats in his mind, Yi. The last coherent thought repeating before slipping away. Yi makes no effort to search for memories, everything drifts away like the ripped out pages of a book flowing down a river. No one calls his name, no scents to trigger any memories either.

There are shadowy figures here and there, but none of them could even be considered a presence. A gentle but foreboding gust of wind passes by, lightly shifting his black hair out of place and brushing the soft grass against his exposed skin. Yi studied the quiet vastness, gazing at the waves of tall swaying grass rolling away till they were no longer in view.

He closes his eyes for a second, imagining a bright light appearing in front of him. It’s warm and welcoming, Yi thinks of it as someone taking care of him when he was young. The image is so convincing he almost believes it, he’s left feeling a slight disappointment when he opens his eyes to his cold and dull surroundings. There is more than he had initially imagined, for one, there’s a large formation of darkness towering above him.

Yi tilts his head slightly while processing this situation, almost like he's trying to solve a math equation he doesn’t quite understand yet. ‘Who are you?’ he whispers faintly, to which the void appears to shake its head. Yi allows there to be an off putting silence before beginning his next question, the first question he should’ve asked. 'What are you?’ though there's a lack of response, the mass of shadows outstretches a hand for the boy to take.

Yi imagined a frown on his face, even in this current state he knew taking the hand of a menacing entity wasn't exactly safe. The being’s form shrunk slightly at the boy's response, even though Yi was certain his facial expressions weren’t visible anymore.

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It then extends another two arms to the boy’s view. One carries three sticks of incense, and the other carries a single white chrysanthemum. One stick of incense had already been lit, he holds it in front of him and takes in the homely smell of what he figures is sandalwood.

A gust of wind blows past him, encouraging him to continue walking to seemingly nowhere. As Yi hesitantly takes a step, the soft grass on the cool and solid ground moves aside to reveal a narrow but worn path. He follows as it's offered, leisurely taking each step as the incense continues to burn.

After walking for what only feels like from school to home, his first stick burns out. A frigid sensation ran up from Yi's fingers to his upper body and heart. He twinges at this feeling but dreads when it ceases. His body continues to move forward without goal or destination. His finished stick of incense completely disappears into ashes, his second one ignites with a small spark.

Continuing with the vague smell of sandalwood, Yi notices the low whistles of wind cruising through the swaying grass which obeys its order. He glances down at the incense, its tip glowing dimly. His eyes follow the lazily drifting trail of smoke as his legs continue to bring him further down the path. What sounds like a cry finds its way to Yi’s ears, he shuts his eyes instinctively as if hearing an adult cry when he was a young child.

When his eyes are pried open again, his breathing changes pace. It didn't feel as if oxygen was truly entering his body and being pumped through his arteries, but his chest was still rising and falling. His second stick of incense had stopped burning, his sense of smell departing along with the ashes of the stick. The vague scent of sandalwood slowly diffused into the wind.

He only has one stick left. A small flame is placed on this last stick, it began eating away at the incense. With the last stick of incense in his left hand and a singular white chrysanthemum in his right, the boy involuntarily collapses to the ground. Left lying on his back, Yi’s hand carrying the flower rests over his chest, the hand holding incense discarded somewhere else.

He couldn't see whether or not it was finished, but Yi was sure his last stick had ceased to burn. Identical to the light he pictured before, a warm and welcoming light appears in front of him. He feels a wave of relaxation, knowing he won’t have to wander the endless expanse of dark grassy plains any longer. The comforting light envelops him with tender touch till there is no more, and then all fades to a darkness even emptier than before. Yi did not fear, he understood that this time would be different and restful.

The blurring of his face began to dissolve, the picture becoming clearer. Even when his features are more defined, as expected there’s still no visible emotion shown on his face. Plenty of details stood out, sharp and intelligent eyes that could pierce through your resolve at any chance they get. A mole under his left eye, making them seem to sparkle with a quiet wonder. His dark and slightly overgrown bangs brushed against his cheeks as if the wind were caressing his face.

The scent of sandalwood could be smelled throughout the area. Three sticks of incense and a graceful looking white chrysanthemum were placed beside his picture. A woman dressed in all black continues to pay her respects as she wipes away tears in attempt to clear her vision. Alone, a grieving mother weeps silently as her vision continues to fog.