The air was cool, a stark contrast to his warm, pale, slightly bruised skin. He felt as if his body were floating, much like being underwater, yet he could breathe freely. His limbs seemed to be moved by cool, gentle waves. He felt weightless, his body both still and in motion, synchronized with the rhythm of his surroundings. It was a cool and calm place—foreign and dark, yet somewhat pleasing and familiar.

He felt his body bare; his torn clothes were gone. His body was thin and ghastly pale, bruises lining his limbs like colour splotches of reds and purples. His waist was small, his muscles thin, sticking to his bones and protruding hip bones. The flesh was thin across his gaunt bones and dissolved muscles.

His face was small and rounded, slightly sunken and shaped by short thin black waves, with dark bags under his swollen eyes. His cheeks were rosy-pink, and his lips were dry and chapped.

His eyes ached as he slowly opened them. It took him a moment to adjust before he began to turn his head and look around.

“Huh? Where the hell am I?” he pondered as panic began to creep in. His body slowly floated into a standing position, causing him to feel alarmed.

“Wow! What’s going on?!” It felt like an invisible entity was moving his body as he was slowly brought on the ground, repeatedly squirming and toppling. He was finally dropped to the ground, which felt like water, yet his body remained dry and afloat. He could sense its texture, faint sounds, and coolness; everything resembled water. However, when he looked at it, it appeared to be a floor of darkness, a floor of pure liquid, impenetrable darkness.

He sat on the strange, otherworldly surface, feeling confused as he frantically looked around. ‘What the hell?’

He found himself in a place of darkness; no matter where or how far he looked, he was met only with a darkness deeper than night. There was no hint of light—or anything else, for that matter—except for himself.

His stare became dreary as he looked into the darkness ahead, his eyes widening as he contemplated. ‘Am I… already crazy? But I stopped using drugs years ago! No…’

He ran his hands through his somehow mat-free hair, panicking as cold sweat dripped down his face. His heart raced, and the colour drained from his face as he sank into himself. ‘No… no… no,’ he repeated, his tone frantic and fearful. His breaths quickened as his grip on his hair tightened to the point where he ripped out some strands. But he barely noticed as he began to hyperventilate, his skin getting paler, and his head starting to ache.

‘NO!!’ He leaned over, slamming his head into the liquid surface, cradling his it as he breathed heavily. “No… no…” his voice cracked between each lengthy heavy breath. ‘I don’t want to… I don’t want to become like them!’

Images of the residents of his home, the Ruined City, flashed in his mind. He pictured their corpse-like bodies wandering aimlessly in the filth-ridden streets, their expressions dead and dreary, their eyes hollow, resembling polished obsidian. An image of himself… as one of them, slowly flashed. He could see himself; his eyes were dark and empty just like theirs, his expression lifeless, and his body covered in cuts and bruises he barely noticed as he was too far gone.

“AHHHH!” He screamed as he repeatedly banged his head on the fluid-like floor, trying to erase the images and thoughts from his mind, trying to find reality—begging for it, even. The floor’s texture became jelly-like every time he banged his head, preventing him from sustaining any damage.

Heavy tears slowly began to fall down his face as he begged for reality to come. “I don’t… I don’t wanna go…” he repeated as if pleading with the unknown. He had heard there were entities—entities so great they possessed immense power and could do anything: kill, revive, free… they could do it all. He never believed in them because his life was so trash, but right now he was begging them—he was desperate like never before.

He slammed his fists down and pleaded at the top of his lungs: “Please! Please! Let me see another moon!” He looked into the darkness ahead as his voice lowly and eerily echoed. “Set me free,” he begged, his tone low and desperate. ‘I don’t wanna go crazy,’ he sobbed quietly. ‘I wanna live… I wanna… I wanna see a bright moon… once more… I don’t wanna die…’

He begged anyone—or anything—that could hear. The nobles talked of great entities, entities that can defy death itself, so he pleaded with them. He wanted to live, and he wasn’t ready to go just yet. He had a dream. The dull moon of his home flashed in his mind—desolate, grim, and dark, hanging low and ghastly in their everlasting hollow sky.

His dream was… to see a true, bright moon, just like the legends. He wanted to see it—a moon said to be so bright it lit the heavens and lands. It was said to be so beautiful, so majestic and mystical that it attracted more moons, smaller but just as bright, all lighting the sky like sparks of bright flames, scaring the shadows, protecting the night, and preventing everlasting darkness.

The Bright Moon: to see it was his only dream. That’s why he looked to the skies every day, hoping the Ruined City’s dead moon would somehow come back to life and light the sky, freeing his people from the chains of the shadows and darkness, making his home a star… once again.

But now… he was joining those very shadows and walking their aimless path.

“It has been a while since I’ve seen a human beg so sincerely… I almost forgot what a pleasing sight it is.”