There was nothing for her to do other than to walk. 

She woke up, in pitch black, she felt the cold marble floor as she struggled to stand up as it tingled under her feet. There is no destination, with only her feet. She begins to walk.

Time halted when she stopped,it pushed her to continue. Sometimes, she would encounter images, ever changing of people,each familiar but failed to name it, as she was in them, cherishing. She could only continue to walk without a destination. But then, stood in front of her was a door. A wooden door painted white with a golden handle. She tried walking around and away. But ultimately led back to here. She gave in to her curiosity and pulled the door open.

“Ah, greetings visitor, come in.” A soothing voice prompts her to step in without hesitation. 

The bright, cold light stark contrasts between the longing dark she was outside, a table made of marble, sat a man with blue frizzly hair and a white robe. Finally she set eyes to the source of the voice, a man with blue hair and a white robe, the floor remained the same she was when she was walking. “Welcome here, here you would be reassigned to a brand new world. But before that, did you open the door by yourself?”

“Yes.”As if words escaped her mouth, yet she couldn’t understand it.

“That’s odd,” he rested his head on his hand, “Spirits can’t open the door themselves, you are not supposed to be conscious.”

Yet another familiar term she can’t understand.

A stalemate, before he realized she cannot understand. ”It's alright.” He comforted her. While he placed a device close to his ear. “Does it really have to be this way? Is this really necessary?” He urged. His face quickly hardened after what he heard. Another flurry of words later, he placed his device down and gestured to her to follow after putting down the device.

Their footsteps clearly echoed across the corridors. Revealing more doorways and hallways as they walk through, after losing count of however many sharp turns and long walks. They eventually stopped at a dull, metallic door. A window opened revealing an eye, noticing the duo. Targyle, again spoken in a muttered tone before the eye retracts. The door slowly turned,revealing a path luminated with shades of magenta.

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Delicate machinery was the only term to describe it. Glass tubes filled with turquoise liquid are a network of wires connected to both ends, sprawling as if to power other mechanisms. Clicks and hums of machines practically filled up the room with it.

The chair swishes around, showing an expressionless woman. She could feel the un-ending sorrow beneath her poker face. “You, conscious soul, would help a team to defeat evil, or else destruction rains upon this realm.” She didn’t have to understand every or if any word of it, her tone explains it all, almost as if she could understand it. Since there is a lesser voice that whispered to her, she couldn’t catch what she said but knew the urgency. But then, another thing haunted her. The images she saw as the woman presented a scene filled with crimson red. Hot lava crashed into the lands where it used to be forests, now just husks where life has long departed. Giant-winged beasts soared the skies to prey on people below. She could hear the desperate howls and the ruthless flaps from those above as if she was there, witnessing calamity unfolds. “This is the outcome if you fail,”she concluded.

The next moment she woke up, she was on a bed in a small room. A thick blanket wrapped around her, providing warmth. A small lantern flickered with reddish light, making the room less blue. A wooden desk with stacks of paper caught her attention. Using the light from the lantern she leaned her to see its contents, which then brought disappointment when she saw only empty parchments and a quill. 

Yet another moment passed, yet she was still restless. Strange symbols danced around her eyes that won’t dissipate no matter what she did. With frustration, She discovered that the images are very vivid, almost as if she could touch them. She eyed into the parchments yet again, this gave her an idea.

As if by memory, she quickly picked up the quill and started to mark the patterns of it. The diagrams each were distinguishable, with its own flare of patterns. Ink flowed like a river as she soon filled every page with those familiar, yet mysterious patterns.  A striking pain on her forehead made her drop her quill. She winced, covering her head to ease the pain. Like daggers repeatedly striking, she knelt down but was unable to scream.

It was the same as the black room she walked endlessly.

She regained her vision, but then this experience took a toll on her strength. She didn’t realize how high the bed was until now. And so the exhausted soul fell into slumber, with a table full of diagrams that has yet to be understood.