The first sensation that registered was the heat. It wasn't the kind of scorching pain you might expect from being engulfed in flames, but it was oppressive, like a thick, heavy air that pressed in on him from all sides. It clung to his skin, making each breath feel shallow and labored. Still, there was no burning, no pain. Just the weight of the heat, heavy and relentless, as if the very air around him was conspiring against him.
His chest tightened as he tried to inhale, but the smoke that filled his lungs only made him cough. It tasted bitter, acrid, burning his throat as he gasped for air. But… no pain? His mind could barely make sense of the contradiction. He should be writhing in agony, but he wasn't.
Where am I?
His eyes snapped open, but the world that greeted him was nothing like he expected. Flickering tongues of fire surrounded him, reaching high into the air, crackling and snapping like a living thing. Yet, despite the inferno, his skin felt… untouched. The fire didn't hurt him. His clothes were scorched and blackened in places, but not a single burn marred his body.
Am I… not burning?
The question echoed in his mind, but the answers never came. The scene around him was chaotic, a nightmare made real. He was bound to a pole, his arms and legs tied tight with thick, rough ropes. Panic bubbled in his chest as he tested the restraints, but they didn't budge. He strained against them, his breath quickening, as the weight of the situation began to settle over him.
Where was he? Why was he tied up? What did they want?
As he looked around, the faces staring back at him chilled his blood. Eyes full of disdain, full of hatred. A crowd had gathered, men and women, young and old, all watching him with silent malice. They were murmuring, chanting something he couldn't understand, their words harsh, foreign. He couldn't make sense of it, but the tone was unmistakable. They were condemning him.
What did I do?
His mind raced, struggling to grasp onto anything that might explain this. But there was nothing. His memories were fractured, missing pieces, like something had been torn away and left him empty. The hatred in the eyes of those around him grew heavier, pressing down on him like a physical weight.
But it was her gaze that pinned him. She stood at the front of the crowd, tall and imposing, her eyes sharp like daggers. She was cloaked in black, her features obscured by the shadows of her hood, but the venom in her gaze was clear. He felt it pierce through him, deeper than any physical wound.
"You shouldn't have come here," she said, her voice cold, cruel. "You shouldn't have come at all."
Her words made no sense. Why shouldn't he have come? What was this place? His mind spun in circles, trying to find a thread of logic in the madness.
The crowd's chanting grew louder, more insistent. The language was strange, guttural, their words vibrating in the air around him. Every syllable felt like it was gnawing at his very soul. He wanted to scream, but the air was thick, too thick to make sound. His throat felt tight, choking on the very atmosphere itself.
Then, the fire shifted.
It wasn't just a wave of heat—it was as though the flames themselves had become alive. The fire twisted, curling and coiling around him like serpents, growing taller, more intense. And still, no pain. It was as if the flames didn't even touch him. He could feel the heat, yes, but it was distant, almost unreal.
The crowd didn't seem to notice the strange absence of harm. They didn't care. Their eyes, filled with hatred, never left him.
Who are they?
He looked at them, trying to understand. But there was no time. The flames surged again, and the woman's gaze sharpened. Her eyes bore into him with a level of contempt he had never felt before.
He couldn't look away.
"Do you feel it?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper now. "The truth that surrounds you?"
He didn't know what she meant. The flames roared louder, their intensity rising, but he didn't feel them. It was like he was encased in a bubble, protected from the heat, but still bound by the ropes, still helpless.
And then, just as quickly as the fire had raged, it stopped.
The flames faded as though they had never existed. Silence replaced the crackling sound, the oppressive heat lifting. The crowd was gone. The woman, her eyes still burning with that same hateful glare, was gone. The pole he had been tied to was gone. There was only darkness, vast and endless.
The world had ceased to be.
Am I dead?
The thought barely formed in his mind before it was swallowed by the void. The sensation of heat, of being trapped, of being watched—gone, vanished into nothingness. The stillness was almost suffocating, as if time itself had stopped.
He was alone.
Or was he?
Something tugged at him, deep inside. A pull, a tugging force that was not physical, but something far more ancient. It was like a current in a stream, something intangible but undeniable. He tried to resist it, but it was useless. Whatever it was, it was stronger than him.
It wanted him to go.
And so, against every instinct he had, he let it pull him.
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