Silence was something Michael was used to for most of his life but this brand of silence was something he has never experienced before. A deafening vibration of stillness engulfs him as he tries to comprehend what is happening. His eyes which were clearly working could not see a thing, his ears which were clearly working could not hear a thing, and his heart that was clearly working did not feel a thing. It was a true utter sense of nothingness. Is this a dream? Michael wondered for a second but no dream felt this real and this fake all at the same time. His mind raced over and over to think of a reason for this suspended animation until the one and only option final came. Death.
With this realization, Michael tried to recall everything that happened before his awakening in this dark void but sadly nothing came to him. Like waking from a dream you cant remember, Michael struggled with the emptiness in his mind. He grew frustrated with the lack of knowledge he has of his own timely demise and he kept pondering to himself any bits of information he could muster. Finally one thought came to mind. A woman. A woman of his past. Soojin. Faint images of her rang in his mind. Her long black hair flowing in the wind, the sharp angular edges of her eyes and the rhythmic sound of her voice. His heart grew warm of the thought of her but then grew chilling cold again after a thought arose in his very soul. Soojin is gone. If it is true that he is dead, then that means he will never see her again. His heart sank at the thought regardless of him being unable to feel a thing. Dread washed over him as he attempt to struggle in the void he is now imprisoned in. His mind commanded his arms to move in anger but nothing came of it. He felt like he had no limbs to express his pain. He was truly without form.
Suddenly within the void and pain, a voice called out to Michael gently. Finally, a morsel of sound hit Michael's ears, knocking him back into focus. He looked around to see where the voice came from until a small glimmer of light shined in the distance. Michael looked on at this light until the image of a figure shrouded in black garb slowly walked forward. The garb covered its whole body, covering its face. Once the figure finally reached Michael, a moment of silence lingered in the air as Michael anticipated the figure's next action in fear. Was this the grim reaper ready to send him off to hell? Finally, the figure spoke. "Michael," the figure said in a voice unrecognizable. It was that of a trembling of multiple voices in one, both masculine and feminine. "It is so good to meet you," it continued as Michael looked on in confusion and fear. "Who are you?" Michael asked. The figure stood silent in a sense of thought. "I have no name. You may name me if you like." Name it? How would Michael be able to name a being that he just met? "You don't have a name?" Michael asked, confused.
"I have traveled these lands of death and ash for as long as time has flowed. Names mean nothing to one such as me." Michael pondered in thought at the entity's words. Clearly, this is a being of mystery, and Michael tried his best to comprehend the situation. Finally, in a weak attempt at naming the being based on what it said, a single name came to mind. "Ashe?" Michael said. "Ashe?" says the ghostly entity. "Very well. You may call me Ashe if it helps you comprehend my being."
Michael, still suspended in animation, watched on as Ashe reached out a hand to Michael's formless shape. A grim skeletal hand crept out of Ashe's garb, and its thin black hand held in the air. The image of another hand started to form within Ashe's, the hand materialized limbs which grew into a body, Michael's body. He now had a form again. The feeling of nerves and pulsing consumed Michael as he was able to feel again. He looked down at his hand, now holding the ghostly entity, in awe. Ashe slowly walked with Michael hand in hand, guiding him towards a small glimmer of light that continued to shine in the distance. "Michael, what is it that you seek?" Ashe asked. "Home. I want to go home," Michael said with sadness in his heart. "And what is home to you?" Ashe curiously asked. Michael couldn't really answer. The question was far too vague for him. "Home for one can be something completely different for another," Ashe said. "For some, it's a physical place, others a state of mind." Ashe then stopped their walk in the blackened void and turned around to look at Michael. Though faceless, Michael could feel Ashe looking deep into his eyes. "And for some," Ashe continued,
"Home is a person." Michael's heart sank at Ashe's words. He continued to find a relay to its statement. Ashe tilted its head in a gesture of realization. "So tell me, who is this person?" Silence lingered in the air until Michael finally gathered the strength to speak. "Soojin," he said softly. "As I thought," Ashe said, satisfied.
"What if I told you, you can get it back?" Ashe said. A chilling feeling consumed Michael as he heard those words. "What do you mean?" he said with fear in his voice. "Life," Ashe replied.
"What if I were to tell you, you can get your life back?" The thought seemed impossible to Michael. As far as he knew, he was dead, and whatever plane of existence he was in now was the end-all, be-all for him. "Stop playing games!" Michael said with intensity. "I assure you, Michael, there are no games to be had. Well, at least in my words," Ashe took two steps back, beginning its explanation of the cryptic words it had spoken. Ashe then turned its back to him, and as if starting a presentation, waved one hand across the air to split the void of darkness, like opening a wound. Within the light that tore through the darkness, a vast cosmos of stars and illuminated clouds were showcased. Not quite the heavens, but as close to one in Michael's eyes.
Within the mesmerizing scenery, Ashe pointed out to the image of an eerie structure in the distance. A massive house stretching out into infinity appeared within the cosmos. Michael gazed on at the wonder, trying to figure out the significance of the structure. Finally, Ashe began to explain the meaning behind the house. "There you will find the bridge that connects the world of the living and the dead. If one reaches it, they will be granted the gift of life again." Michael shivered at the words just spoken to him. More and more, his belief in Ashe grew like a flower slowly blooming in the spring rain. Within the storm, a piece of hope grew in his heart.
But with all signs of hope came a sense of worry that wrapped around Michael's thoughts like a haunting mist. "What's the catch?" he asked cautiously, his voice tinged with skepticism. Ashe tilted its head towards Michael, a glimmer of satisfaction in its ghostly eyes. "You have eight days to find an item called the dark bloom within this house. If not, your soul will be bound to this world forever," Ashe revealed, the weight of the ultimatum hanging heavy in the air. Such a large price to pay in such a short amount of time left Michael in a state of worry, his mind swirling with the implications. The thought of failing, of being trapped in this ethereal plane for eternity, sunk his heart and cast shadows of doubt upon his spirit.
"Michael, if you embark on this journey, you will be met with forces beyond anything you can imagine," Ashe continued, its voice carrying a mixture of warning and reassurance. The thought of Soojin and his yearning to return to her, melted away all remaining traces of doubt within him. With a new found determination shining in his eyes, Michael stared down Ashe, his resolve unwavering. "'I’ll do anything to get her back," he declared, his voice trembling with determination and love.
"Very well," Ashe replied, acknowledging Michael's unwavering commitment. "From this moment forward, your trial begin. See you on the other side." With those final words, Ashe gently placed a hand on Michael's chest and gave him a push, sending him free-falling into the abyss beneath his feet. Michael held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as he descended into the black void, an endless plunge into the depths of the unknown. The rushing air tore through his senses, a symphony of chaos and anticipation, as the descent grew faster and faster, consuming him in a whirlwind of darkness. Reality, as he once knew it, dissolved into nothingness, leaving only a flicker of hope burning in the depths of his soul.
Silence once again enveloped Michael, but this time it carried with it an oppressive weight that pressed upon him from all directions. He could feel the binding pressure holding him down in the darkness, constricting his every breath. Panic surged within him as the meager supply of air dwindled, leaving him gasping for precious oxygen. His fingers grazed against a grimy texture, the soil's roughness scratching at his fingertips as he desperately tried to move his hands. Clawing and scraping, he fought against the invisible force that sought to keep him buried, his chest tightening with each passing moment.
Yet, amidst the suffocating despair, a surge of determination coursed through Michael's veins. He refused to yield to the clutches of the underworld. With a renewed fervor, he pushed against the resistance, his body writhing and twisting in a frantic attempt to break free. Gradually, his efforts bore fruit. No longer suspended in the void, he now found himself entombed within the depths of the earth. The realization spurred him on, and he thrashed with growing vigor, clawing his way upward as if desperate to avoid the depths of an unseen abyss.
Through sheer force of will, Michael emerged into a sliver of light that pierced through the veil of darkness. Gasping for breath, his head broke free from the confines of the soil, revealing the truth of his entombment. Covered in grime, he drew in a deep lungful of air, savoring the sweet taste of freedom. Straining against the weight of the earth, he pulled himself out, his body birthed anew into this unfamiliar world, vulnerable and apprehensive.
Lying in the dirt, his breath heavy and labored, Michael struggled to regain his composure. The ominous whispers of the wind surrounded him, echoing like a haunting alarm clock. With great effort, he rose to his feet, his eyes surveying the desolate panorama that stretched before him. As far as his gaze could reach, a dense fog blanketed a graveyard, casting an ethereal shroud over the solemn resting place of the departed. Dead trees stood like skeletal sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching out like bony fingers, forming a macabre centerpiece in this valley of the dead. Above it all, a feeble glimmer of sunlight struggled to pierce through the mist, offering just enough illumination to grasp the gravity of Michael's predicament.
Having taken in his surroundings, Michael shifted his gaze downward, only to discover his naked and soiled form. Determined to regain a semblance of dignity, he set about the task of cleansing himself, his hands diligently wiping away the dirt and gore. It was during this process that his eyes fell upon a marking etched into his wrist. "8" it read, a stark and foreboding reminder of the limited time he had been granted. The words of Ashe reverberated in his mind, a haunting echo of his fate. "8 days to find the Obsidian Cup, or your soul will be bound to this world."
In a futile attempt to erase the indelible mark, Michael's fingers brushed against the surface, testing its legitimacy. But destiny, it seemed, had etched its decree upon his very skin. With his fate, now irrevocably sealed, the mark served as a reminder of the urgency that permeated his every step. Standing amidst the desolate graveyard, Michael felt a profound sense of isolation. Stripped of his belongings, devoid of any tools or provisions, he stood at the precipice of an unknown and treacherous journey. Uncertainty loomed like a specter in the mist-shrouded air, and doubts gnawed at his resolve. Yet, he knew that in the face of adversity, one must take that first courageous step.
With a deep breath that held a glimmer of determination, Michael gathered himself from the death-laden ground. His body, still bearing the marks of his unearthly ordeal, felt both fragile and resilient. It was a testament to his resilience that he refused to succumb to the paralyzing grip of fear. He knew that every journey, no matter how daunting, began with a single stride. The fog enveloped him, tendrils of mist caressing his skin like ghostly fingers, imparting a chill that seeped into his bones. The air was heavy with an otherworldly stillness, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional mournful howl of a wind that seemed to carry the voices of lost souls. As he ventured into the mist-shrouded abyss, a sense of foreboding crept over him, crawling through his veins like a venomous serpent. The path ahead was treacherous, its terrain unforgiving. The ground beneath his feet felt uneven, littered with unseen obstacles that threatened to upend his progress.
Yet, despite the disquietude that clung to his every step, Michael pressed on.