Instinctively, Dunn threw himself to the side. His body hit the ground hard, knocking his head, though the surface was unexpectedly soft.

Pain numbed his other senses as he tried to sort out his limbs.

He needed to move, to keep going. He wasn’t finished yet!

Legs tangled with something, he struggled to get turned over. Pushing onto an elbow, his head unexpectedly yanked down as he was stopped short by his own hair.

Breathing heavily, he realized he'd wasted too much time trying to sort himself out. This was his end. He’d done nothing of value.

Yet, there was only silence and an authoritative ticking.

With his vision clearing at last, Dunn blinked a few more times to moisten his eyes. His gaze first focused on a plush carpet and pale, bony fingers. Wherever he was, the room was brighter than he’d ever seen, and he wondered at the waste of candles. Except the light was steady, not flickering. The room smelled dusty.

Where had the demons gone?

Unwilling to relax, Dunn swept his long silver hair out of his way and pushed to sit up. A gold hair clip fell and bounced into a square of bright light. He squinted at it.

None of this made sense.

His hair was too long and silver instead of dark brown. The light was too intense. Why was he in a room with polished wooden floors and a dark red rug? Where had the battlefield gone? Where were the wraiths? And what was that damn ticking?

He took stock of the room. There were two sets of double doors; one stood open with a view of a hallway, and the ones on his right were closed. Opposite the hall, dusty windows flooded the room with light. The ticking was a tall clock displaying the time as nearly eleven. He lay on the floor, tangled in a chair with large wheels instead of legs. Pushing himself up to sit, he shoved the chair to get his foot out from beneath it and wondered at how little strength he had. Dusty paintings of fruit in bowls crowded the walls. He’d only seen fruit diagramed in books, so the large paintings were alien to him.

The worst part was the sense of being completely alone.

Back at the clinic, he’d always been within three meters of someone. On the battlefield, that range had lowered to two meters. Being unable to sense anyone around him at all was terrifying on a level he couldn’t describe.

I need to find someone.

Besides alleviating his fear, it would be the easiest way to get answers. Where was he? What had happened to the battle? Had he been wounded and healed? Why had they brought him here? He didn't feel any pain, so they must have patched him up well. Logically, it made no sense. Given the situation, he should have died.

Gripping the toppled chair, he used it to climb to his feet, then stumbled toward the door on weak, wobbly legs.

The silence drew closer, hovering around him with a threatening aura.

Hitting the door frame, Dunn stuck his head into a hall just as empty and silent as the room. The large clock behind him struck the hour, sending his heart into his throat. Clutching the edge of the door, he tried to calm his shaking.

To the left, the shadowed corridor continued. The other way ended at a set of glass doors with movement and light beyond them. Surely there were people there.

He started walking, already feeling the strength in his legs waning. Using the wall to keep upright, his thin, pale fingers bumped dusty picture frames, knocking them off center. He crashed into a small table. The vase on it wobbled and rolled to the floor, shattering.

At the end of the hall, he fell against the glass door. It banged open unexpectedly.

Thrown off balance, he stumbled forward. Part of him was aware that he was heading for the ground, but his attention was entirely on the lush landscape that spread out before him. He crashed to the pavers, scraping his hands and knees.

Gaping in awe, he stared in wonder as a breeze carrying unfamiliar scents rolled across the lawn and pulled his hair.

Colors he’d never dreamed of painted the brightly lit landscape before him. It was like the books he'd read had become a reality. A hundred meters away, pink-budded trees topped a green-carpeted hill. To his left, a bed of multicolored flowers pointed their faces toward the heavens. Straight ahead, a bed of large three-leaved clovers with white flowers bobbed in a recessed bed. The sky above shone pale blue, and strange tiny creatures flew by, chirping as they chased each other.

"This isn't real," he whispered, tears stinging his eyes.

The pain in his knees and scraped palms wasn’t enough to convince him he wasn't hallucinating. If he could just touch this greenery, he could die happy in the next moment.

Crawling over to one of the awning pillars, he used it as leverage to get back to his feet. Stumbling further across the patio, he entered the light shining from the sky and squinted at the beautiful golden disc until he remembered that he’d read in a book that it wasn't recommended to look directly at the sun. He broke into a grin. "The sun!" he breathed. "That's the sun!" He was standing in the sunlight!

What happened to the miasma?

He looked left and was greeted by more flowers and bushes he’d only seen in books. He could see more trees in the distance. They were so far away they looked tiny. He’d never been able to see that far before; the miasma was always too thick. "Where's--" He stopped as the name escaped his memory. Someone who should've been beside him was not. Now that he thought about it, there wasn't much he remembered besides the fight with those wraiths.

Swaying with fatigue, sweat on his brow, he turned his face to the light. The wind shook the leaves of the trees and turned the grass on the hill in waves. Destination chosen, he started toward them. He just needed to cross through the flowerbed of large clovers. He didn't recognize this specific plant from any book.

He stepped into the clover.

No solid ground met him.

Plunging shin-deep into the shockingly cold water, he lost balance and toppled to his knees into the pond. The splash shook the water clovers. Water lapped around his waist, quickly soaking into the fancy coat he wore.

Water? There's water just lying around?

Initially startled by his abrupt entrance, large, multicolored creatures came close and circled him. "Fish," he identified in awe. Their calico lips nibbled at his clothes and silver hair as it floated on the surface around him, crowding each other eagerly. Chuckling softly, he sat back and looked up at the sky again. He'd never seen that color blue before. He only remembered an endless pitch night and air that tasted like suffering. There had been no free-standing water in the world he remembered. All of it was created by magic and stored in buckets. It grew scummy within hours, collecting dust from the wind and a sulphury scent from the miasma.

Is this what comes after?

“She would’ve loved this…” he said sadly. He knew he missed her even if he couldn’t quite remember her.

"Oh no!" a woman said behind him, breaking his thoughts. She continued in exasperation as she hurried over, "Who put you out here? You're filthy now! I'll have the hide of whoever did this!" The woman’s voice made him flinch. He was about to turn around when hands hooked under his arms.

The unexpected touch sent his heart into his throat. Dunn looked back at her sharply.

Behind him was a plump, middle-aged woman. She wore a black frock with a white apron. Tiny curls of brown hair had escaped her bonnet, brushing her face and framing lively hazel eyes.

Their gazes locked.

She froze.

"I tripped and fell in." His voice cracked.

Those brown eyes he'd found so kindly a moment before widened as she went pale.

She released him, staggering back. Her voice refused to obey her as she tried to scream. Fighting her skirt, she scrambled to her feet, shrieking as she ran away. Knees exposed, she bundled the fabric in her arms, sacrificing dignity for speed.

“Help!” she screamed, voice echoing off the large building.

Seconds were all it took for her to be out of sight around a bush to the right of the patio door along a path he’d not noticed before.

He stared after her in confusion, then touched his face, exploring with his fingers before turning to lean over the water. He couldn't see his reflection due to the swarming fish, so he wasn't sure if some deformity had frightened her. He didn't feel anything, at any rate. In fact, his skin was smooth and silky. He couldn't feel stubble or even the old pockmark scars from when he'd gotten sick as a child.

I hope that doesn’t mean trouble for me…