Page 179 of Fallen Nocturne

I walk.

And walk.

And walk.

My legs move without conscious thought. One foot in front of the other in a mindless rhythm that becomes everything. Time doesn’t work here. I know that. But my body feels every endless, aching step.

There’s no horizon. The desert just continues, fading into a haze of heat and emptiness. Distance means nothing in this realm. Time means nothing.

I’m not alone.

There are others here.

They walk too, scattered across the boundless gray expanse. An old lady passes me, her face slack and expressionless. Her dress is from a different century. She doesn’t bother looking at me.

Another one stumbles by, his eyes wide and frightened. There are many like him. Hundreds with that same desperate, panicked look. The figures walk in straight paths, heading toward something only they can see. But I notice there are others who wander in circles, lost and confused.

The dead.

These are the dead.

The frightened man keeps looking around. His head whips from side to side, searching for something.

He won’t find it. Not here.

Searching only makes it worse.

I want to tell him to stop looking, but I can’t. Because I’m searching too.

“Svenn,” I whisper.

No one responds. Not a single soul turns to look. They’re too lost in their own endless quests. I look at each figure crossing the gray desert.

A woman in a wedding dress with empty eyes.

It’s not Svenn.

An old man, bent and shuffling.

Not him.

A warrior in rusted armor.

Not him. Not him. Not him.

“Svenn!” I call louder now, my voice cracking with desperation.

My heart pounds in my chest, or does it? I wonder if hearts pound here in the realm of the dead.

Am I even truly alive in this place?

I don’t know. All that matters is finding him.

“Svenn!” I scream now, running between the wandering dead. “Svenn, where are you?”

Nothing but the silence of the ash-sand and the oppressive weight of that empty sun.

“He’s not here.”