She was unsure how much time passed between the pain and when she became aware of white walls and figures in blue moving around her. The pain was gone - it was almost blissfully gone, she felt so good - but for some reason she could not push herself into full wakefulness.

At least the people who hovered above her seemed kind. They hummed their words with soft voices and moved her limbs gently when they tended to her. She had the sense of not having such treatment since she was a very young child. In her half-sleep, she reveled in the sensation before sinking back into unconsciousness.

This was what she knew her state to be - alive, cared for, and, at the moment, not needing to mentally exist for the foreseeable future. So it came as a surprise that she found herself standing on a beach, her bare feet sinking into the sand. 

“That’s not right,” she said, stretching out her limbs to examine the flowing linen dress that hugged her body. A heavy gold belt sat on her hips, and underneath the thin fabric she felt nothing in the way of underwear, which she knew should mean her thighs would chafe when she started walking. But funnily enough, she didn’t feel the burn of skin on skin.

“Ah, this is a dream,” she said matter-of-factly. It made sense once she truly examined the ocean scenery - though the wind whipped up her hair, the water was smooth as glass and crystal clear. The sky was a deep violet, as if it was early twilight, but there was no sun near the horizon. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a lucid dream. It doesn’t feel normal.”

“Hello!” 

She heard a voice call from down the beach, carried by the wind. A smiling man approached her, dressed in thin, white linen trousers and a billowing shirt. He glowed a light blue, and his long, white-gold hair hung in a heavy braid down his back. He held a parasol, twirling it on his shoulder. The woman pondered the man as he approached. 

“What kind of subconscious manifestation are you supposed to be?” she said finally, as he closed the distance between them and held the parasol over her head. “Are you part of some memory that my brain is trying to uncover to fight my amnesia?”

The man laughed. “What a unique reaction! Usually when I appear in lucid dreams, my target is in awe, stumbling over their words. Or at the very least in the case of my prophets, a bit confused, if bashful. Well, aside from Fenil. He tried to fight me, the poor thing.”

He looked her up and down with a critical eye that made her feel very exposed, and she crossed her arms tight over her chest in response.

“Oh, forgive me,” he said, giving her a bow. “It’s just that the dress suits you quite well. You have a thick curviness to you that the linen can attach to, which is very becoming.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asked angrily, moving away from the man and squeezing her arms tight around her body.

“It is, but it seems instead I’ve offended,” the man said sheepishly. 

He twirled the parasol, and as it spun it transformed into a silky white wrap. He approached her quickly and covered her shoulders.

“There we are. Forgive me, when it comes to physical modesty, I can be thoughtless. It’s not one of my own tenants. The Conclave also is very adamant that candor is the best way to let people know where they stand with each other.”

“Well, the Conclave sounds like it’s run by the kind of people who think ‘telling it like it is’ is a good excuse to be assholes,” she grumbled. “What is the Conclave?”

“It’s my church,” he said proudly. “It’s headed by the Hierarchy of Mages. I am their god, Pailon.”

“You’re a god?” She looked around the seascape, as if waiting for someone to run up to her and let her in on the joke. “My subconscious created a handsome god for me to talk to. Wonderful.”

He perked up and leaned over her. “You think I’m handsome?”

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “Ugh. You know you’re handsome.”

“I do. But it still feels nice to hear. Especially in a tone not filled with adoration. A lack of awe is quite refreshing, and most desired in a prophet.”

“Prophet?” A flash of memory came to her, the words she heard when her body was racked with pain. My lady and prophetess… And as she said the word, a calm came over her, as if it felt right for her. She was not sure if she liked the sensation. “What do you mean by that?”

“Are you not yet aware? You are to be my voice in the mortal plane,” he replied, setting her arm in his and leading her down the beach. “You were brought here from another realm, free from the contamination of this world’s ideas, and able to see the full truth of me. You are imbued with my holy power, so as to protect my people from the assault of their faith and their very way of life.”

“I don’t know if that’s something I want to do,” she said, a little panicked. “You can’t make me do that, can you?”

The man laughed again.

“Of course I can’t! That’s something you must choose to do of your own volition. But my dear, I have already given you the power. You are my Oracle, whether you choose to follow me or not.”

He stopped and faced her, running a hand through her thick, ebony curls. A shiver ran down her back as he leaned close to her ear.

“I have given you everything,” he murmured, his breath brushing her ear. “Because I trust who you are. I know you will never abandon me.”

She gasped and pulled away. “Take the power b-back,” she stuttered, turning away from him. 

She felt his hands brush her shoulders. “I don’t want to. You are my Vala, my chosen. There is a war coming, between those who follow my path, and those who follow my brother. You will see why you wish for my path to come out on top - the more who follow my path, the fewer who feel despair. Is that not what we all want, a life without despair?”

As he finished his sentence, she felt as if she was flung bodily into an abyss of hopeless desperation. Somewhere within, she knew true despair. For the first time since she woke in this strange world, she was relieved that she did not remember what could have caused such an emotion to grow around her soul.

“Here, sit.” He pushed lightly down, and she plunked into a woven rattan chair. He handed her a frosted glass filled with a pink cocktail, and she bemusedly took a sip.

“Oh, watermelon, delicious,” she said, then blushed at her reaction.

“I knew you’d enjoy it.” He kneeled in front of her and took her free hand. “Vala, will you at least listen to what my followers have to say before you dismiss me? If my tenants are so terrible, you are free to deny the title of Oracle and make your own way, with my help. I just ask that you give me a chance.” He kissed her palm. 

She carefully extracted her hand from his, and pressed it against her forehead. She felt overwarm.

“That isn’t unreasonable,” she said, grumbling. “And it’s not like I have any other idea of what to do in this world with no memories.”

He beamed up at her and pressed his hand against his heart. “I am your servant, as you are mine. Wake now, and begin your new life.”

The beach faded, along with the god’s gaze of adoration, into brightness too intense to allow the eyes to take in fully. And then, her eyes opened, blinking as an ornate ceiling of hammered copper tiles far above her came into focus.

She lifted herself carefully into sitting and looked at her surroundings. She was on a thick futon that lay on a floor covered in rugs woven in intricate, multicolored designs. A fluffy quilt covered her body, which was clothed in a long, white sleeveless chemise. The walls of the room were covered in mosaics of grand mountains and a city surrounding a large, white fortress. There was a floor table on the opposite side of the room flanked by thick blue cushions, and shelves filled with unknown knicknacks, flower vases, and statuettes lined the walls.

She gaped around the room, overcome by the opulence of it all. Carefully she stood, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders as she examined the items on the shelves, marveling at how detailed the statuettes were, with their textured outfits etched into the stone.

She heard a door open, and glanced over as a young woman with her hair pinned up in a thick set of braids entered the room with a tray of what looked like medicinal items. The young woman startled at the empty bed and looked at her charge with wide eyes.

“Oh my goodness, you’re awake” she sputtered, dropping to the ground and upsetting some of the items on the tray. “Glory to you, Oracle! I am Philomena, your acolyte.”

“Oh, please don’t do that.” She hurried over and helped the young woman stand, setting the tray on a small table near the futon. “Forgive me, Philomena, I don’t know anything about where I am or even who I am, but I know that I’m not used to anyone bowing to me like that.”

“The Archmage said you’d be like this,” Philomena babbled happily. “How sad though, to have no memories of your past. But it means you will truly know Pailon, hallowed be his name, more than anyone in Medoreno could understand. So perhaps it is a blessing?”

“He didn’t really say it was a blessing,” she muttered.

Philomena sucked in her breath, her eyes filled with ecstasy. “You spoke to our Lord in your dreams? Just as in the prophecies!”

“Is it just like?” she replied, beginning to feel a bit tired.

“Then he must have given you your true name,” the young woman continued. She stared at the woman, waiting for an answer.

“Uh. I suppose he did call me something. What was it…Vena? No, Vala.”

Philomena melted to the floor again and prostrated herself fully in front of the newly named Vala. 

“Of course,” she murmured. “The One. The Chosen. The Oracle Vala.”

Vala tightened the quilt around her shoulders, unsure of how to respond to this adoration. Then there was a scream from the door, the cry of “The prophetess has awakened!” echoing down hallways, and the room filled with people dropping to their knees and bowing, singing and grasping at her, weeping and calling out “Glory in His Light, His Oracle has come!”