In a void, sensation swells, raw and unfiltered. The sharp, metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, salty and biting, its iron-heavy scent coursing through me. I hear a cacophony of metal striking metal, distant wails, quiet weeping, and, somehow, a soft voice cutting through the discordance. Raw lacerations burn across my skin. A throbbing pain engulfs my heart. Then, unexpectedly, I feel the warmth of skin pressing against my own—a gentle hand tracing over my wounds, easing the pain. A blood-red Tiwaz rune flashes before my eyes, etched into the nothingness around it.
ᛏ
Suddenly, my eyes snap open, and the sensations disappear as though I've awoken from a dream. A storm rages far above. Blue lightning splits the sky, followed by the cracking boom that shakes the marrow of the earth but is then once again swallowed by the downpour of rain that beats upon my skin, threading through my hair, and slipping into the earth like some offering to the soil.
My mind is blank, like a vast, empty canvas, devoid of color and direction, leaving me uncertain where to begin. As I rise to my feet, my gaze drifts down toward my body, searching for a feeling of familiarity that ultimately eludes me. It feels as though I'm a stranger in my own skin. A small sigh escapes my lips, leaking frustration, and I slowly raise my hand, watching as my fingers unfurl and then clench into a fist, testing my strength. Relief floods over me when I realize the illness that clouds my thoughts has not weakened my physical form; vitality courses through my veins, as if it has always belonged to me. Yet, I can't shake the nagging feeling of uncertainty, and the question–who am I, and is this vessel my own?
While I wish I had time to ponder, one look at the land around me tells me that I do not. An eerie stillness permeates the vibrant atmosphere, and the air feels unnatural. Thick. Dangerously thick. A faint red tint hangs over the world, like dawn light trapped in the sky, its color hanging over the green trees like a crimson veil. To my left, trees of different shapes and sizes populate the mountainous terrain. To my right, splintered, auburn-colored dirt stretches out unshaded, the cracks in its surface housing various vegetation–blood-red vines that snake across the landscape clinging to what little they can–tall, pale, and brittle white grass, growing in patches near rocks–sweet smelling, low growing amber flowers–silvery-gray, spindly ferns. I only feel that something is wrong when my sight approaches the shore. The life so prevalent on this island falters and dies as it approaches the dark red sea, necrotic hues taking over the atmosphere. It is dark and muted and the sand is different shades of black and gray. Patches of gelatinous purple and sickly yellow-green take root in the lifeless sand, dominating the shore as it nears the sea, its color seeping into the water. My instincts tell me that there is nothing but death in that direction.
But, despite the choice seeming obvious, as far as visuals go, a feeling of foreboding permeates the forest, and a sense of claustrophobia washes over me at the thought of entering it. I am not sure where to go. It seems, however, that the world had no intention of letting me choose in the first place.
Flora abruptly retreats beneath the earth, vanishing into hidden crevices, and then–suddenly–the ground itself falls, sinking underfoot. I lose my footing and stumble, scrambling up as dread knots in my chest. A cold wind swirls around me, growing stronger with each passing second as if the world is releasing a tired sigh. I plant my feet on the solidifying stone. It shifts beneath me with every stride as I push toward the distant trees, threatening to swallow me entirely. A deep, rumbling hum fills the air, causing a chill to pass through my body. And, to my dismay, the trees begin to fold inward, their branches curling as they withdraw, leaves sinking back into the bark, retreating from the encroaching night. My cover disappears, and with it, my plan.
'Shit…'
Before I know it, the wind surges, growing too powerful to stand against. I'm flung back to the ground. I struggle to rise, but this time it is hopeless. My body is snatched up like a rag in a storm and I'm reduced to a human tumbleweed, tossed and twisted. The current slams me down, over and over until I lose all sense of direction, my vision filled with blurry white. A soundless scream escapes me, agony permeating through every inch of my body. An impact knocks the breath from my lungs, and I curse myself for not having saved it. My skin is frigid, already freezing over–an unrelenting humming assaults my ears–My body lurches and burns with each impact–then, my head strikes the ground, and suddenly, the world falls into a dark silence.
In my sleep, I find no dreams. Only an endless void, with a distant moon cloaked in shadowy chains as the lone light in the sky.
…
When I wake it is to the smell of cooking fish and spice and the sound of a pleasant humming. Despite the pangs of curiosity and fear urging me to open my eyes, I keep them shut and remain unmoving. There's no way for me to know if I've jumped from the frying pan and into the fire, or if I'm truly safe. The fact that I'm not chained to the bed is a good sign; I only wish there was time to determine where I am and how I got here.
"Awake already?"
I jump at the unexpected masculine voice, twisting to face its source. My body punishes me for the sudden motion, pain stabbing through my body, a grimace warping my lips as I swing my legs to sit on the bed's edge. I shoot the man a glare and let my gaze rake over him and the unfamiliar room before I move to voice a response. His skin is a deep caramel, smooth and warm, stretched over toned muscles that shift with each movement. Dark curls tumble past his shoulders and spill down his back onto the ground below in inky waves; now and then, glints of sapphire—small gemstones—catch the light, flecking the darkness like stars on a night sea. Shirtless, he sits criss-cross, focused on the fire as he carefully holds a skewer of fish above the flames.
I quickly realize that the room is far too cluttered to begin analyzing. Maximalism makes it difficult to distinguish one item from a sea of them. Various trinkets, trophies, and animal parts fill the walls and floor, making it seem as if the room is spilling over itself.
"How did you know I was awake?" I finally ask, tentative, as I'm not yet sure what I'm dealing with.
The man lets out a soft chuckle, finally turning to face me as he responds with a toothy grin, "Had a feeling. Are you hungry?" I look down at the food, then back up at him, warily. The offer is tempting, and the man's smile puts me at ease, but that's no reason to let my guard down. The silence stretches too long and the man opens his mouth to speak again, "Look, Sprig. You came barreling over here at such speed I couldn't even track you. Luck wasn't on your side, emerging on the shore like that. I have a net set up for unfortunate folk like you, and you were hurled right into it." He gestures outside with a slight nod. "And if I truly meant you harm, poison wouldn't have been necessary. I assure you, it would have been… far simpler. Now eat up. It's for your own good." With that, he tosses me a fish, and I reluctantly snatch it from the air.
My reluctance disappears as I bite into the fish and the rich taste fills my mouth. For a moment, I forget the million questions warring in my mind for the shot at an answer. Finally, downing the last of the fish, I ask the most important question, "So, where exactly am I?"
The man rubs his head, turning to face me as he thinks. There's a long pause as if he's unsure what to tell me. I just wait, looking at him, until he finds words. "Walk with me."
…
Outside, the sun has returned to the sky, and the cold, harsh winds have disappeared. We walk along the lamented shore, leaving a trail of footprints in the grayish-black sand, not quite close enough to the Red Sea for patches of slime to obstruct our path. The man quickly begins his explanation.
"You've found yourself at the very edge of Irkalla, a world that exists beyond the boundary of life—one could call it eternity. Once, before death, it was a blank canvas. But death does not kill the soul; instead, the soul is transported here, to become a living part of the earth. So, ironically , everything here is alive.
except this sand, for some reason." He says, kicking the sand as he walks and watching it disperse in the wind.
"At the moment, you're little more than an empty shell—stripped of memories, of experience, left with only the rawest of essence. We refer to new arrivals such as yourself as Seeds, believing that, with time, you'll grow. As you do, you'll regain your memories, and put the pieces of yourself back together. What is your name?"
"Sinful," I answer bluntly as my eyes graze the environment.
"Good. I am Leviathan," he purrs softly, reaching down to grasp some of the gray sand into a fist. "Listen closely, Sinful: the most important thing here is that you remain true to yourself, and do what your heart truly desires. Let doubt, regret, or guilt seep into your thoughts, and you'll find your progress slipping away, like sand between your fingers, no matter how hard you try to hold on to it." As he squeezes, sand spills between the cracks between his fingers, a gentle breeze carrying it to the forest floor.
"I'm assuming you've caught other… Seeds in your net before, yeah?" I ask as I pick up a small twig and spin it between my fingers.
"I have."
"Well, you would do well to work on your introduction speech. First off, my memories are irrelevant, and I don't care for your metaphors. I'm currently stuck on a peculiar island in a foreign world where everything has a soul, except, apparently, this sand," I kick the sand myself before continuing, "The sea is red, and despite having lost my memories, I know that isn't right. Only yesterday, I witnessed the entire forest shrink back in retreat from a bloody snowstorm of ungodly power," I allow a brief pause, "Point is, there are more pressing matters. By the way, does that storm happen EVERY night, or just on special occasions?"
A slight frown formed on Leviathan's face, more surprised than upset, and then he erupted into a fit of laughter.
'What a strange man…' I think, passively fiddling with the twig in my hand as I wait for him to finish his chortling.
"I have never been spoken to quite like that, Sinful. But you're right. I would've preferred to wait a bit longer to tell you the bad news." A small sigh escapes his lips, and my heart drops as I am informed that I have yet to learn the bad news. "Yes, the storm comes every night. And you're right, the sea should not be red, and nobody is quite sure why it is." He turns his head to scan the sea of crimson, "What we do know is that the sea is impenetrable. By now, we've sent hundreds of ships in hopes of reaching the mainland, but none have succeeded. Some return, broken and battered. Others vanish without a whisper. The truth, Sinful, is that you're stuck here."
"And what if I don't want to be?"
"Sorry?"
"What if I want off this island?"
Leviathan looks at me with a puzzled expression. " I just told you. There's no way off. If you venture into the Red Sea, you won't die, but you'll be sacrificing your spark to the world. Essentially, you'll lose your consciousness forever. It's the closest you can get to death here."
I look at him skeptically, growing slightly annoyed with the man. "You said the most important thing is to remain true to myself and my desires. That means doing what I want to do. And what I want to do is get off this godforsaken island. It smells like rot here." I wave my hand dismissively at the land, turn to look him in the eye, and ask bluntly, "There's a village somewhere on this island, yeah?" All he gives me is a scowl.