I'm not sure where I am.
It's dark—so dark it feels like the void itself has swallowed me whole. There's no up or down, no walls or floors. Just me, suspended in a black expanse that stretches endlessly in every direction. My breath comes in shallow gasps, but even that sound is swallowed by the oppressive silence.
Then, I see them.
Red chains.
They glow faintly at first, barely visible against the darkness. But as my eyes adjust, I realize they're not just floating around me—they're wrapped around me. My wrists, my ankles, my chest, all bound tightly by these crimson bindings. They pulse faintly, almost alive, tightening with every beat of my heart.
I try to move, but the chains resist, holding me in place. Panic sets in as I yank and twist, but the harder I struggle, the tighter they grip. It's as if they're feeding on my desperation, growing stronger the more I fight.
And then, I hear it.
A voice.
No—it's more than a voice. It's a sound that reverberates through my entire body, shaking me to my core. The words are distorted, fragmented, impossible to understand.
"####zz####."
The sound grows louder, a cacophony of chaos that drowns out my thoughts. My head feels like it's splitting open, the pressure unbearable. I try to cover my ears, but the chains hold my arms in place.
"####zz####."
The voice becomes deafening, a roar that drowns out everything else. And then, the chains start to move.
The glowing red chains slither like snakes, writhing against my skin. They dig in, sharp and cold, cutting into me with every movement. I can feel them sinking deeper, merging with my body. The pain is indescribable—a searing, burning sensation that tears through every nerve.
I scream, but no sound escapes. My voice is stolen, swallowed by the void.
The chains wrap tighter, constricting around my chest, my arms, my legs. It's as if they're trying to consume me, to pull me into the darkness itself. The voice grows louder, more insistent, as if commanding the chains to do its bidding.
"####zz####."
The words are meaningless, yet they hold a weight I can't ignore. It's like they're speaking directly to my soul, tearing it apart piece by piece.
My vision blurs as the pain intensifies. I can't breathe, can't think. The chains tighten further, crushing me from the inside out. The glow intensifies, bathing the void in an eerie red light.
And then... I see something.
A figure, distant and shrouded in shadows, standing just beyond the edge of the chains' light. It's watching me, unmoving, its presence both terrifying and familiar.
"Who are you?" I try to ask, but the words catch in my throat.
The figure doesn't respond. It simply stands there, silent and still, as the chains pull me deeper into the void.
The pain reaches its peak, a blinding, all-encompassing agony that leaves me gasping for air. Just when I think I can't take it anymore, the chains release me.
I wake with a jolt.
My chest heaves as I suck in deep, desperate breaths. The cool night air fills my lungs, grounding me in reality. My hands fly to my arms, my chest, my legs, searching for the chains—but they're gone.
I'm back in the forest, lying on the rough ground beside the dying embers of our campfire.
The wolf is curled up a few feet away, its steady breathing a comforting sound in the silence. Pyre is leaned against a tree, his eyes closed, his crimson hair catching the faint glow of the moonlight.
I sit up slowly, my heart still pounding in my chest. The dream—if it even was a dream—lingers in my mind, vivid and haunting. I can still feel the chains, the burning pain, the voice that seemed to echo through my very soul.
What was that?
I look around, half-expecting to see the red chains slithering out of the shadows. But the forest is calm, peaceful even, the only sound the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.
My gaze shifts to the horizon, where the first hints of dawn are beginning to break. The sky is painted with soft hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness of the void I just escaped.
I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my white hair. The nightmare felt too real, too visceral to be just a trick of my mind. But what did it mean?
"####zz####."
The voice echoes in my memory, sending a shiver down my spine. It wasn't just noise—it was trying to tell me something. But what?
I glance over at Pyre, still sleeping soundly. For a moment, I consider waking him, asking if he knows anything about red chains or voices in the void. But I hesitate. Pyre always seems to know more than he lets on, but he's also frustratingly cryptic. If I ask, he'll probably just shrug it off with one of his usual riddles.
Instead, I turn my attention to the wolf. Its chest rises and falls steadily, its dark fur glinting in the faint light of dawn. It's been my constant companion, my one source of stability in this chaotic new world. I reach out and gently scratch behind its ear, and it lets out a soft, contented growl in its sleep.
The tension in my chest eases slightly as I focus on the mundane, grounding myself in the present. The nightmare is over. For now, that's enough.
As the sun begins to rise, painting the sky with vibrant colors, I push myself to my feet. My legs are shaky, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of the dream. But I force myself to stand tall, to shake off the lingering dread.
Whatever that nightmare was, it won't break me.
It can't break me.
I take one last look at the horizon, then turn back to the campfire. The embers are dying, but the faint warmth still lingers. I grab a stick and stoke the fire, coaxing it back to life.
Pyre stirs slightly, mumbling something in his sleep, but doesn't wake. The wolf stretches and yawns, its golden eyes blinking open as it looks up at me with curiosity.
"Morning," I whisper, my voice still hoarse from the scream that never came.
The wolf tilts its head, as if sensing the weight on my mind. It nudges my hand with its nose, a silent reassurance that I'm not alone.
I smile faintly, scratching behind its ear again.
The nightmare may have shaken me, but it didn't break me.
And as the first rays of sunlight spill over the trees, I make a silent promise to myself:
No matter what lies ahead, I'll keep moving forward.