*Rustle*
Out of nowhere, a faint gust of wind brushed past Issac's left shoulder.
"I thought I'd lost all my senses!" he exclaimed, startled.
*Rustle*
Another breeze followed, the cold tickling his arms. Though he couldn't smell or hear it, the sensation of movement against his skin was undeniable. For the first time in what felt like eons, he could feel something.
*Rustle*
The gusts returned, regular and rhythmic, like a pulse in the void. Every fifteen seconds, the cold air swept by him in the same direction.
"This is it," he murmured, his voice tinged with fragile hope. "Let's follow it. It's my only chance to get out of this hell."
Without hesitation, Issac turned toward the wind. There was no logic to his decision, only instinct. Something deep inside told him this was the right path, the only path. He started walking, his pace quickening with every step.
The gusts seemed to encourage him, brushing against his face and arms as if guiding him forward. Their rhythm was unwavering—fifteen seconds apart—and Issac took comfort in their constancy. They reminded him of how air moves through a cave, always traveling from one exit to another.
"I'm going somewhere," he muttered, a flicker of relief breaking through his despair.
As he followed the trail of wind, he noticed a change. The gusts became stronger, denser. The time between them shortened—from fifteen seconds to ten. With each step forward, the wind seemed to grow harsher, colder, almost alive.
"Let's see where you're taking me," he said, determination edging his voice.
The wind bit at his skin, sharp and unrelenting, but Issac welcomed the discomfort. It was a far cry from the numbing void he'd endured for so long. Every sensation—the stinging cold, the pressure against his body—felt like a gift.
As the wind intensified, Issac felt something stir within him. First, the simple sensation of touch returned—he could feel the air rushing past him, raking against his arms like claws. Then came the sensation of temperature. The cold wasn't just cold; it was freezing, sharp enough to leave his skin tingling.
And then, pain.
The winds began to slice at him, their edges so sharp they felt like knives against his skin. He gritted his teeth against the searing agony, but he didn't stop. The pain was proof of progress. Proof that he was regaining what the void had stolen.
"Ahh... I can hear now!" Issac shouted, his voice sounding raw but real. For the first time since arriving in this accursed place, he could feel his jaw move, could hear his own words resonate within his skull. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes—if only he could cry.
"Just a little more," he whispered, his resolve strengthening. "I'll get everything back. I'll get out of this."
The wind grew relentless, battering him like a storm. New currents joined the original gust, swirling and colliding until the air became a turbulent maelstrom. Moving forward felt like walking through a field of broken glass, each step bringing fresh waves of pain.
"Argh!" Issac groaned as the wind whipped him mercilessly, cutting deep into his flesh—or at least, it felt like it did. Strangely, there was no blood, no visible wounds. Only pain.
But he pressed on, forcing himself through the onslaught. The pain was his tether, keeping his mind sharp and warding off the madness that had nearly consumed him.
And then, without warning, the wind stopped.
The sudden silence was deafening. Issac froze in place, his heart pounding.
"What?" he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. "Where the fuck did the wind go? It was just here!"
He spun around, searching the darkness, but there was nothing. No sound, no movement, just the same oppressive void that had haunted him for so long.
"Am I back?" he muttered, his voice trembling. "Did I fail? Did I take too long?"
But before despair could fully take hold, something new reached him—a smell.
It was faint at first, but unmistakable. A sweet, tangy scent that pricked at his senses.
"Tomatoes?" he whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Hope reignited in his chest as he turned toward the scent. "I'm on the right track," he said, relief flooding through him. "Let's follow it. I'll get out of here."
The sweet smell grew stronger as he walked, the faint aroma blossoming into something overpowering. It wasn't long before the scent became too much.
"What the hell is this?!" Issac coughed, his throat burning. The once-pleasant smell had soured, turning rancid and putrid. It clawed at his nostrils, suffocating him with its intensity.
It was like stepping into a mortuary filled with decaying corpses. The stench was so vile, so overwhelming, that he wanted to claw at his nose, to rip it off just to escape the smell.
Suddenly, his nose began to bleed.
"Argh!" he screamed, clutching at his face. The air he inhaled felt like razor blades slicing through his lungs. Every breath was agony, every step torture.
But he didn't stop.
Even as his body screamed in protest, Issac pressed forward. The void was worse. The thought of returning to that senseless, endless darkness was more terrifying than any pain this path could inflict.
"I won't go back," he growled through gritted teeth.
Just as he thought he couldn't take another step, a sudden flash of white light blinded him.
Issac staggered, throwing his arms up to shield his face. For the first time, he could see something—a brightness so intense it felt like a dagger stabbing into his eyes.
"What is this?!" he cried, his voice echoing as the light consumed him.
*Twitch*
Issac's eyelids twitched, a faint movement after what felt like an eternity of stillness.
Slowly, with a heavy effort that seemed almost alien to him, he began to open his eyes. His vision was blurry at first, swimming with vague shapes and muted colors. He blinked a few times, each blink sharp and deliberate as his senses adjusted to the sudden onslaught of light.
Above him was a vast expanse of blue—an open sky, endless and bright. Wisps of white clouds floated lazily, and the sun bathed the world in its golden glow.
For a moment, Issac didn't understand what he was seeing. His mind, so accustomed to the pitch-black void, struggled to process the vibrant hues and the vastness of the sky.
Then, a piercing sound jolted him from his daze.
Shreeee! Shreeee!
Two vultures circled above him, their shrieks cutting through the quiet air. They glided in slow, deliberate arcs, their dark forms stark against the azure backdrop.
"What…?" Issac croaked, his voice raspy and weak.
(End of Chapter)
*****
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