Deafening thunder bifurcated throughout the plain, an anomalistic white lightning pans a large dune.

Its electric body missing its blue-toned outline, almost like staring into a vacant silhouette - where color is an imaginative tale.

Materializing an illuminated portrait onto the sands, pulsating a brighter reflection just before the retreat.

A figure stands at the pique, his blackened gray cowlick hair reaching above his jawline moves with the gentle haunting breeze, creating a finite solace in the everlasting realm before him.

The plain was vast; its golden sands dilated further than the eye could see. Dunes reach high like a soft mountain while smaller dunes impersonate waves flowing with the endless sway of numbing wind, pairing with chanting sands as it unravels with the enigma zephyr.

He looks down with distant eyes, absorbing little ripples of reality’s projected frame onto the iris of his sub-vision, like an invisible flower pulsating with see-through waves of its outlined frame. Finding the occurrence is an oddity in itself. The young man lets himself drift. His eyes shadow with a particular feeling resonating deep inside, hidden underneath his pupils, underneath his physical being - a scar you could never truly see, but knowing quite well it’s there.

His body hazes, with a sense of numbing lugubrious, thinking of his lost origin in which he came from. Was this feeling acquainted with the curtained past he can’t get his eyes to peek through?

Little figments of goose-flesh replace the numbness, prickling within his dermis as he coasts his vision up - looking off into the quiet chorus horizon. His chest tightens with a clouded steam, ready to burst into materialized emotions. Yet he remains soft-faced, channeling a burning frustration in which he can’t convey his feelings like a powerful gaze controlling how you react towards your surroundings. His confliction perched, and a flicker of movement shook his gaze awake.

Within the golden skyline of sand, a foreshadow of accumulating particles accompanying lightning bolts stains the rich gold the sand’s reflect. Brimming an under-body of pale white.

The young man strains his eyes, capturing details of the dense creeping black fog; its movements seem molecular, as opposed to the boundless distances of the realm. However, it remains noticeable nonetheless.

Within captivating curiosity, The figure’s thoughts towards the unknown subdivides with another, creating an appealing pull against his spirit. Circling his growing emotions inside.

Before loosening his discipline, he gazes down the lengthy curvature of the dune. Debating whether to slide down or to take another route with glances from left to right, seeing if there was. Amidst his decision, another peculiarity of the domain wins his attention from his peripherals.

A Faint hue of blues and whites curl upon itself in an endless torrent, formulating a silhouette. Coating his blood with a chill, creating a blizzard where his heart lays as its body twists and turns with its whirled body, turning itself towards him. Their observer.

Its featureless stare absorbs him into a spiral, his head stirs as the chilled blood races towards his head with a sickening whirlpool, prompting him to lower himself onto one knee - tightening his eyes to bear the ill. With a fixed darkness casted from his eyelids, he hears the apparition's voice, distant as if miles away yet a whisper in his ear.

“Save them.” its whisper lingers in his ears, a reverberating slow-pitch of melancholy echo. The request is banished by a wandering bolt of lightning cracking overhead branching with retreating recollection of a familiar voice, flashing his eyes open and onto the figure. The apparition's whirling body stagnates from the piercing vibration of the bolt. Sealing his familiarity with an ache. Intensifying its forthcoming vertigo.

“Please… Save them.” The ghostly visitant pleads. The swirling of the world comes to a calming halt, replenishing its normal projection. Which is the only thing it restores. Having a speck of hope that it would bring back the thought acting as a word on a tip of a tongue.

He looked down at the ground as the ghostly figure spoke with a soothingly woe.

"Before it's too late.." it said. The word prolongs itself after the young man catches sight of the apparition's vanishing departure; the Phantasm words resonate within him as it fights for supremacy against the tongued thought. Filling every inch of his mind with the warning while he regains his balance with a sharp inhale. Sensing it was a war meant to be lost. Could the very thought be connected to his lost genesis? He's not aware - What he is aware of is his mind is being held captive with pleas and warnings.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He takes another glimpse where the figure used to be, seeing a pile of gold sand in its place.

As if it were a response to his observation, an empty gust adds the pile to ocean sands, guiding it gently to follow its golden relatives, shimmering from a hidden light source.

He watches the wave stop in the direction of the abyssal fog. A spirit of deja vu branches within the pathways of his mind, introducing an uncomfortable conundrum of thoughts that riddles with a numbing migraine - duality on the side of his head as a ballet of lightning performs above, consequently making the feeling more numbingly dull with its course to his nap.

His clothing flutters with momentum as he brings himself to slide down the dune. The sand choiring beneath his moving frame. In a sense.. there was never truly a debate to begin with.

A crashing wave replaces the sand’s quire as he reaches the bottom. He pulls himself up, festering his gaze onto the towering giant that is the fog, making the horizon he saw before an abyssal memory: realizing the dune he slid down on was a titan of its own with a quick pendulum of observation.

The curiosity from before envelopes him like a whale to a shrimp after bringing his glance back towards the wall, its sensation feels almost like a grappling possession; hypnotizing his frame to press forward.

Within curiosity’s grasp, his feet move on their own - making the sand crunch beneath his black shoes; the sand orchestrates as he continues. His chest thumbs from his ecstatic heart, a rough complement of the constriction towards his lungs as he inches closer to the breathing abyss.

As the captivating interest guides him ever so closer to the towering wall of dark fog, an underlying numbing sensation grows within his chest from the restriction, this static feeling expands out to transmute to the back of his head; forming “ominous.”

Through his hypnotic walk, reestablishing apparitions accumulate in his surroundings, promoting the same color as to the one he had seen before, while others were shaded in a darker blue with tint of gray outlining. Hearing flooding of cries and pleads as the accumulation proceeds. His heightened heart pumping a thick lead of dullness into the backstage of this ominous presence,

Gradually, the ominous feeling increased, becoming a suffocating density; his breathing became shallow, tasting a repeating bitterness at the back of his throat from every inhale. Would this be how this feeling tastes? A bitterness that sombers with a sharp aftertaste of thick iron at the back of your throat?

He tightens his eyes, escaping into a forceful meditation to sooth his breathing back to normal. His chest relaxes after a moment, however, ominous rivers' still flow with the graphite dullness in his body. An introducing distorted pit of a feeling greats him from his awakening eyes.

The apparitions had altered into a dark figment static, seeing that the abyss had moved closer to him. Or did he inch closer without noticing?

Their cries were deafening just as the torrential lightning overhead, making him feel like a spec in the abyssal's riptiding malevolent gaze. Conjuring a lasting feeling which intertwined with the others, The feeling of being mutually watched.

He stands before the abyss, the static figments roaring pleads around him, and the skyquaking lightning above. Beckoning him - calling him like a king to a knight.

The figure’s adam's apple drops as a forceful gulp passes down, feeling a freezing aura resonating off of the thick sheeted nothingness before him. The wall fluctuates; growing impatient towards its observer.

With a sudden threading snap of a lightning bolt, a materialized tendril made from the fog latches onto him, its possessiveness feels as though sand had grown a physic body. And this body was yanking him into its unforeseen depths to unleash a scowl.

The pull sends a shocking inertia towards his insides, rattling him with a queking, chill wave of goose-flesh from its impractical point. Dragging his body against the screeching gray sand; before he could yell, Before he could even fight for strength to un-grip its clutches, the tendril dissolves - accumulating back into the endless void around him. He stops with an arguing drive.

Inside the flooding abyss, streams of dark particles pass over and around his laying body, bringing him into a moment of engulfing violet light.

He shields his eyes to escape the sudden blinding illumination, the air around him changes to a shrouded numbness, featuring a smothering scent of ionization - forcing him to hold a single breath.

The young man’s hair swirls from the lightning’s turmoil above him, whipping the air with a violent temper. He brings his arm down; his arm hair standing on high end. With his peaking eyes, he witnesses a horrifying display above a metropolis. The terrifying phenomena branches outwards, stealing the sky's gaze to his naked eye. Seeing nothing but the horrors of the displaying phenomena’s “body.”

Attempting to steal the last of his breath, his body stiffens from the severe orchestra of relentless grasping bolts, within a single relieving inhale before it seamlessly robs him of air, the sky falls, featuring dark particles he saw in moments past.

The abyss swallows him whole; bathing his skin in a sandy chilled electric touch. He gasps for air, as his eyes flutter open, simultaneously bringing himself upright in a single motion. Capturing the realm of golden dunes before him. His breath, heavy and shallow. Cold sweat sticking to his skin with the accompaniment of sand.

A distant standalone voice breaks through the traumatic experiences.

“ Save them.”