In an instant, reality fizzled away before Emyr’s eyes. Like gazing through a windowpane on a dark rainy night, his sight became obscured to the point that he could come to no other conclusion other than he had been suddenly struck blind. This should have concerned him greatly, yet aside from a dull feeling of foreboding he felt nothing at all. 

No, really, nothing. He had tried to raise his hands to his face, perhaps to wipe away whatever veil that maybe had appeared, but his limbs seemed unable to respond. He tried to walk forward, turn his head, but even the simple act of clenching his fist had become impossible. Dimly, Emyr realised that had he been out of the grasp of this strange torpor, he would currently be panicking. Perhaps, if he were capable, this realisation would have caused him even more distress. Alas, as of right now, Emyr simply existed, and that was enough for him. Hung in space, a multitude of murky dark shapes sprang before him, as if they were all vying for his attention. Much like the phosphenes present when one closes one’s eyes, the shapes seemed forever on the periphery of his vision, no matter how far he chased them. 

Emyr blinked. He could move his eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t as completely paralysed as he had first thought. He blinked again. It took two for him to become aware of the fact that he could once again blink. Did he even lose that ability in the first place? The fog that had descended upon him seemed to be lifting, but at an excruciatingly slow rate. The dull sense of foreboding slowly transformed into an uneasy dread, and Emyr tried with all his might to fight whatever had bound him in place to no avail. The hazy darkness suddenly flashed a brilliant light, and a pain like no other he had ever felt before tore through every fibre of Emyr’s being, saturating his very essence with raw energy alike nothing he had ever felt before. 

CHOOSE. 

A booming voice came from every direction. Three incomprehensible shapes appeared before him, the very sight of which dug another nail of agony straight though him. He could barely stand to look at what was before him, yet one seemed to take the choice away from him. It enveloped his vision entirely, and Emyr swore he could hear the roaring of a raging fire in his ears.  

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CHOOSE. 

“Choose what?” Emyr tried to say, but he could not speak. The light grew impossibly brighter, and he felt a heat growing seemingly from within himself. He tried to scream, but his mouth refused to open, his eyes refused to close. 

CHOOSE. 

*** 

A soft wind swept through the grass fields, the blades of green listlessly drifting along with the currents. The sun hung far above in a perfect blue sky, casting rays of warmth over the green sea interrupted only occasionally by the rare appearance of fluffy clouds sailing through the air peacefully. As far as one could see, there was naught but grass. No hills, no trees, nothing but endless emerald vegetation to the very edge of the horizon. A quiet and peaceful, if yet strangely desolate, place. 

There was only one imbalance in this place, one which clashed incredibly obviously against the uniformity of the surrounding lands. The silhouette of a man, lying face down on the spongy ground, a slight depression in the grass where he lay. He was unmoving, wearing nothing other than a pair of jeans, and what once was a t-shirt. Directly in-between his shoulder blades lay a wicked wound, red and raw with strange spiralling patterns traversing across the surface of his skin. Whatever had struck him had all but disintegrated his top, and the only thing keeping it together now was the weight of the man holding it down.  

He jerked, suddenly. He took in a deep, shuddering breath, as if it was the first time he had ever breathed. Indeed, in his desperation for air he inhaled too much, and his next few breaths were separated by long, trembling coughs. It took him a while to calm down, upon which he slowly pushed himself into an upright position. It took him a few attempts due to his injury, cringing every time there was a shooting pain in his back from moving to quickly, but eventually he was sat up, winded from the exertion. He turned his head as far as it would rotate, drinking in the surroundings with an almost irreverence. 

“Where the fuck am I?” said Emyr, his voice breaking slightly.