Oblivion
How long had she been sleeping? Days? Years? Decades? It didn’t matter. Anytime she woke back up, it was the same. A desolate plain with a hazy fog in every direction. Dawn had tried to escape, but there was no sun, no moon, no direction to follow, only empty horizons. She closed her eyes again.
What was this place she was stuck in, a dream, was this hell? Did her sins outweight the good she did in the world that lead her here? Who knows, and who cares, she had let go of those thoughts long ago. Dawn had come to accept that there was no rescue team coming for her, not this time. She was doomed to walk the same path over and over until her feet turned bloodied, and her will shattered.
But still, she walked.
Her hope for a savior was gone, her soul was rattled to it’s core, and her energy weakened. But one thing kept Dawn going, marching forward: Her will to survive.
It was decades later, at least in her mind, that she would encounter the first other being on this realm of existence. A lost soul, much like her. They wept together, when Dawn went to hold the other soul it evaporated into a mist, gone and forgotten by the rogue. The lands twisted, hills and dunes began to form, but still the hellscape remained empty, void of all living things.
But still, she walked.
The second interaction on her journey across the desolated plains was just as despairing. For the first time, she would encounter a tree, devoid of all life. Jagged pure white thorns covered the entirety of the tree, each of the tips were painted a dark inky black, sharp to the touch. The temptation to impale oneself on the thorns was enticing to the rogue, but in the back of her mind she knew it was selfish. Even for everything she’s suffered through, she thought of others, as long as she drew breath on whatever plain she was in, she wanted to be a driving force for good.
Still, she walked.
Time passed, with each passing interaction the landscape grew darker, more twisted. She’d meet other powerful beings, her luck eventually running out as she was captured. She was thrown into chains and placed in a cage. At least here she didn’t feel compelled to walk, but to weep. “The Maw” is what her jailers called it. Souls were being bred to fight in a war to come, and her time was “coming soon.”
The rogue clutched a necklace, flicking it open to look at the picture the locket held. It was Dawn, with her arms wrapped around another petite individual.
“Caymi.. if you can hear me…”
“I’m Sorry.”
Dawn wept.
