I fade in and out.

It’s odd. At one point I feel like I’m being dragged, but the grip on my body is almost intangible. It’s the faintest of touches, as if it’s barely there at all. I try to see it, whatever the force is that's pulling me, but all I spot through the fog is white walls. My eyes slip closed.

...

I wake to searing pain. It rips through my side, drowning my brain in its waves... then relief. It’s soft, comforting, and warm. The feeling ebbs and my consciousness fades.

...

Lucidity comes and goes. One moment it’s day, and another night. I can’t track the passing of time. Even reality is fickle. I’m not sure if the shapes hanging in my peripherals are real or imagined. I slip in and out. My breathing slows and my heart thuds, still beating.

...

It’s bright. The red of my eyelids turn pink and I scrunch my face against the glow. I blink once, the room a blur, then blink again, waiting as my vision clears.

I’m lying on my back. But I’m not where I fell asleep. Instead, my head touches the wall beneath a window. The color is white and the curved brick is familiar, which suggests that I’m still in the tower. I stare at the lip of the windowsill for a moment. My mind settles, the subtle spinning slowing to a crawl, and I prop myself up on my elbows.

The room is covered in blood.

I can see the spot where I’d fallen... was it last night? The night before? The puddle near the hatch is a mess of red as if someone tried to swim in it. The spill has lost its sheen, dry and cracked as it spread across the floor. Beside it are two trails of blood. One I remember. It’s the river that followed me as I deliriously rolled around the room. The other leads from the last spot I recall to the place I’m laying now. It’s not a river like its predecessor. Rather it’s smeared across the brick like... like... like paint brushed across a canvas.

Or like a body crawling towards escape.

Ah.

That... that thought comes with an image. It’s a flash of blond hair and blue eyes, wide and lifeless. A trail stretches out from its end, thick and crimson.

Then the image is gone.

I feel my stomach lurch and I twist in place to heave. Nothing comes up but spittle and I cough against the nausea swirling inside me. I try to breath, try to focus against the foreign feeling welling up in my chest. It’s tied to the memory, whatever it is...but I can’t quite grasp it –can’t name it.

It takes minutes, long minutes of breathing before my stomach settles enough that I can slump back on the floor.

What was that?

Even now it feels dark and murky, layered with bitterness. I don’t like it. It tastes like death.

The thought runs rampant and I’m suddenly struck by how easy it had been to see the skeleton on the tower, to look at it objectively. There’d been a sort of familiarity. It was small, but present enough to mitigate any fear. Was it related to this? What was this?

I choke off the thought, feeling the smog of its memory crawling up my throat. Even thinking about it tightens my chest. I don't want to dive back into the image.

I don’t have time for it anyway.

My stomach settles and I push myself into a sitting position, scanning the room. It’s empty of all but blood. The sight is suddenly uncomfortable and I try to regain my indifference. It takes a second, and I carefully redirect my thoughts.

I think back to the vague feeling of being touched, snatching the memory as it passes, and my eyes dart to the trail of blood.

Had I been dragged?

The impression of being moved was faint enough it could’ve been an illusion, but then, how did I end up by the window?

I grip the sill behind me and pull myself to my feet. The movement is startlingly easy, and I glance down at what I was sure was a broken body to a bloody and tattered shirt. The bottom right side is shredded and red stains crawl up the material, expanding out in ever reaching swirls. There’s a large gap, raggedly cut, near the base and I pull up the hem to look underneath.

Three jagged lines track across my skin. They start on my hip, curling up and around to my back. And shockingly...they’re sealed.

Instead of the open wound I’d expect there are pink ridges of puckered skin, completely closed. An experimental poke proves that I’m not imagining it and another confirms that there’s no pain. That’s... maybe not the craziest thing that’s happened so far? It’s probably a toss-up between the marks and the bottomless sky.

“I’m losing my mind.”

It’s certainly something to consider. The likelihood that everything I’ve experienced so far is a hallucination seems both high and low all at once. High, because very little has struck me as commonplace. But at the same time, my memory is so unreliable that I’m not sure it's a trustworthy point of reference.

I run my fingers across the ridges on my skin. They feel real. It felt real when the wolf swatted me out of the air.

Then... why am I not dead?

My first thought is that the skeleton somehow came to life and healed my wounds.

The rationality holding court in my mind immediately dismisses the thought, but practicality drives me to check. The body should be outside the tower, right? The wolf definitely flicked it in that direction.

Huh...

The wolf.

My senses are immediately on edge and I scan the room. There’s nothing in the immediate vicinity and a quick peak out the window shows no beast lurking nearby. I slow my breathing and close my eyes, focusing on what I can hear.

There’s a rustling of leaves. It’s subtle and steady, like a breeze is stirring the vines. Otherwise, there’s only silence. No growling wolf. No shuffle of another presence.

Could they be on the floor below, or maybe…above, where the wolf was?

I strain my ears, trying to pick up telling sounds, but all that moves is the land.

My eyes track up, to the ceiling, and land on the mangled hatch door. It’s nearly been torn off its hinges. The edges are crumpled inward and the rest is a symmetry of jagged lines.

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I decide to go up the tower first…carefully.

My ascent is slow, and I stop at every other rung of the ladder to wait and listen. It turns what would’ve been a 30-second climb into eight minutes of pauses. When I reach the lip of the opening I lift my hand through the gap. I can feel the breeze against my fingers and I tense my muscles, ready to pull back at a moment’s notice... but nothing happens. I move up a little further and do it again. Still nothing. Finally, I peek my head through the hatch.

It’s empty. It’s all bare white floors and open sky.

It looks exactly the same as the last time I’d seen it, except for the mangled door. There aren’t even claw marks on the brick, which is odd considering the state of the hatch.

I pull myself fully into the room and still my movements, listening. Leaves rustle and the sand stirs.

My eyes drift up, towards the next floor and I steel my nerves.

I feel stupid, for so many things. Sleeping out in the open when the intention was to be safe is very high on my list. And now...I was going to the roof of the tower, where I almost died.

But I can’t hide here forever, wallowing away on the safer floors. At the very least my one source of nourishment, the sand, is littered outside the walls. Even if I stay in the rooms and reach out on occasion, I’m still putting myself in danger.

But more than anything…I have to find my family.

I clench my fists, nails biting into my palm, and start up the ladder.

The top of the tower is empty. There's no trace of the wolf, no marks, no remnants. It's almost like I had dreamed it. The concern about hallucinations filters into my mind, but I push it off, recalling the searing pain that had accompanied the attack. It was real, very real.

I find my bag, propped up against the wall and thankfully untouched. My instincts tell me to immediately go back down, but the view up here is the easiest way to determine if I have company. I quietly, and cautiously, follow the curve of the wall, looking down and out at the sands below. There's nothing in sight, no giant white beast, no other visible presence. Only the vines and flowers and the endless blue of sand, ocean and sky.

Had the wolf left entirely? It seems unlikely. I can still feel the lingering threat of being hunted. Or had it smelled the blood and assumed its prey died off on its own? I have no way of knowing, so I circle back to the ladder and descend.

When I step off on the bottom floor my eyes turn to the entrance. Instantly, a chill races up my spine and I shiver. There's a groove in the sand where the door had been. A trench, with three long lines following its shape, was rounded out by the breeze. The hinges hang empty and lopsided against the frame.

The beast had tried to get in.

The sight is sobering. I had underestimated the dangers of this place – severely. Another item to add to my list of bad choices. I hadn’t considered the unknowns, and the fact that many of them could be deadly. I’d been foolish.

I rub at the skin between my eyes and squint at the bent hinges. If I’d been gotten caught, my bones would look like that.

“Stupid.”

My brooding turns to distaste and I resolve to stop moping. It won’t help me. Instead I frown at the hinges, determined to ignore them, when my eyes catch something new.

My head tilts.

...what is that?

I step closer, bending down to inspect the wall. There's a faint light flashing near the middle hinge. A jumble of intersecting lines is carved into the brick and it pulses a shimmering blue.

I reach out to touch it.

A bright light flashes in the room, blinding me. I stagger back, throwing my hands over my eyes and hunching against the flare.

The light dips almost immediately and I pull away my fingers to find myself in relative darkness. The only illumination comes from behind me and I turn to see light filtering through the hatch above. But, why is it only there?

I twist forward, squinting to help my vision adjust, and when the space finally comes into focus I see it. There’s a door. A whole and complete door where just seconds ago there’d been none. Even the hinges are perfectly straight and fastened.

Okay...

I reach out to touch the slab. The ridges feel sharp and new where before they’d been dulled by time. It opens smoothly, a quiet hush following its journey outward.

Curiosity reminds me of the fallen part of the tower and I walk toward the ladder to look up. I can see the hatch two floors above, completely repaired.

I mount the ladder, climbing quickly this time, but pause at the unexpected condition of the second floor.

There’s no blood. It’s like something has swept through the room and wiped it completely clean.

I scurry up to the third floor, anticipating a repaired tower wall, but even more shockingly, it’s still broken. The piece which had fallen off remains detached. The edge, sliced through is still a perfect line. Nothing has changed.

Strange. Was the function that cleaned and repaired limited to materials other than the walls? Or maybe, was the tool that carved the walls beyond the tower’s ability?

It’s probably not important, at least not now, so I hesitantly set the question aside and return to the ground floor.

When I approach the door this time I notice that the blinking has stopped. An inspection shows that symbols have lost their glow. I also notice that there’s more than one bunch, several below the hinge and above it. I press the first bundle, then the next, and the next, but none of my probing produces results. I'm a bit disappointed. It would’ve been nice if I’d just uncovered some means to increase my chance of survival, or discovered the reason for this tower, but nothing happens.

Is it out of power? The structure is old, as far as I can tell. The worn etchings on its face speak of time long past. Or maybe the malfunction was related to the cut. Had the fissure severed some function of the building?

Carefully, somewhat out of curiosity, and admittedly because I’m avoiding going outside, I scan the rest of the walls in the room. It takes some time. With the poor lighting it’s difficult to spot the symbols and it takes several rounds before I uncover them all. One bunch sits above the shelves, another by the bench, and another below the ladder on the floor. All of them are nonfunctional, or at least nothing seems to happen when I touch them.

An inspection of the upper floors yields similar results, inactive symbols and no obvious change.

Still, when I return to the door emptyhanded I stall.

I should investigate outside. There could be more symbols, or maybe clues about what happened to my wound. It’s probably been…what, an hour since I woke up? I’ve seen no trace of the wolf or the presence I'd felt. Checking the perimeter is the next best course of action, but I have trouble moving my feet. I stand just inside the door, looking out at the swirling sand and remembering my plummet through the tower.

Hadn’t I just decided to gather my courage and find my family?

I heave a sigh, feeling it feather through my lips, and I thumb at the locket through the cover of my shirt. Its shape is solid beneath my thumb and I close my eyes to settle my nerves.

The first step is timid. I scan the dunes, peeking in and out of the door several times before it feels safe enough to step out completely. Even then I immediately retreat, repeating the process several times before I’m several paces outside the walls.

There’s nothing in the immediate vicinity.

I can clearly see gouges in the sand where the wolf must’ve landed from his leap off the tower. Amazingly though, besides the trail towards the door, that’s all there is. There's no clear point of retreat or prints of another presence.

It’s odd.

I walk a slow perimeter around the tower, scouring the dunes for signs of life and inspecting the walls as I pass. There’s no sign of the wolf, and with the sun high in the sky I imagine I would’ve spotted its stark white fur against the sand.

My rotation ends at the crystalline soldier. Its limbs are twisted and bent, sticking out at odd angles. I touch the armor with my shoe, disappointed that it's still firmly attached to the skeleton.

“It wasn’t you, was it?”

A breeze stirs the leaves.

“You know... that grabbed me? Patched me up?”

The skeleton stares off listlessly, its armor glinting in the sunlight.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

I cock my head as I look at it. Studying its pretzeled limbs. I crouch down, grabbing one arm, then the other, then a leg trapped beneath the body, rearranging the angles. It’s uncomfortable, with the skeleton just below the armor, but there’s the same sense of familiarity that dulls my fear.

After a minute the body’s limbs are unraveled and its arms are crossed over its chest. I nod, satisfied, and glance back up at the tower.

The safety of its rooms call for me, from its closed doors and impenetrable walls.

But the locket calls more.

I wonder if there’s anything else I should do before I leave. The shelves have been stripped and the sand promises to go on for miles. I still haven’t felt hunger or thirst and I imagine it’s been at least two days since I ate some. I wish I could write down the symbols I found on the walls, but I don’t know have enough material to configure anything.

That’s it then. There’s nothing keeping me here.

I could feel in my bones that the longer I stayed the harder it would be to leave. I shouldn't tempt myself with thoughts of settling.

I tear my eyes from the walls and look back at the skeleton.

Its face is still in its cage.

“Thank you again… for the bag. I really do appreciate it.”

I crouch down and give it a soft, little tap on its helmet.

“I’m going to leave this place. I’ve got things to do.”

Even saying the words out loud bring the wolf to mind and the bodily pain that accompanied it. I shiver a bit against the breeze.

“Wish me luck Mr. Skeleton.”

Sand swirls around its armor, creating little slopes against its curves.

I stand, pulling my hood over my head. I pull open the flap of the bag and fish the compass-like tool from its mouth. To the skeleton, I spare one final glance.

Then I grit my teeth and head into the desert.