Ch. 6

The Survivor thought he had died. At least until he felt his body being dragged upwards by two extremities, which he soon realized were his arms. This… was not right. A few moments ago, he was tucking himself in for the long itinerary back to a spring semester in the states and yet here he was, in room barely the size of the dorm awaiting him. He glanced around, barely conscious of his own bearings let alone able to process the location he was in. A sharp, stinging blue light consumed the entirety of his senses and though the stinging in his ears from the change in pressure from takeoff stopped, there was still an uncomfortably natural silence that enveloped this world. Squinting to alleviate the discomfort, he swiveled his head around though it was no use. The contrast that the light threw against the shadows made it nearly impossible for his eyes to adjust so he had to change his approach. It was not until he heard the faint, distorted piano and the soft, winding susurrations of something moving alongside him in the room that he was able to connect the dots. Feeling quickly rushed back not just into his arms, but all his limbs as he swung himself up and off the kitchen table he was laying on. This wasn’t the first time he’d been here, though hopefully it would be his last. The dreams always seemed more and more vivid as they recurred. The fear that so normally plagued his dreams was absent now and even though he felt an almost homely sense of familiarity with this place, he had only seen it in short bouts and in dreams.

It’s continued existence within his mind remained an alien enigma so far removed from the realities of his life that The Survivor found it odd that he was so at ease here. Normally he was barely even himself with his friends on campus and this… this prison felt more like a welcome back than any of those nights bar hopping ever did. He stretched his arms out in front of him and rotated his wrists to regain circulation. The blue light hovered at the edge of his vision no matter where he turned as though it was trying to mask something. Or, as the voice that was now speaking to him indicated; someone.

“Finally, you’re awake.” A sinister, discordant whisper slithered through the air and into The Survivor ears. It would have made ordinary men pale in its otherworldly nature and yet The Survivor simply stood, resolute in his own **** safety. Nothing could hurt him here. He made no effort to ascertain the location of the speaker. It was barely possible to ascertain where he was let alone make out distinct features in this… wherever it was. “I was wondering if you’d react violently or not. It’s a legitimate concern you know, especially given your past.”

Despite the clear, cutting intent, The Survivor felt no offense at the remark. Was it because the voice clearly meant not harm? Or was it because it was the truth? Either way, he felt nothing stir inside other than the desire to awaken from whatever strange dream this was. As he settled into this strange unconsciousness it reminded him of somewhere that reeked of home and yet was altogether foreign, like smelling home cooking but knowing it was not your own mother who made it. He gave the voice no verbal response, simply opting to glance downwards as a signal for acknowledgement.

“There will be a time when you know who I am but for now, just know that you have come far on your journey. There are many like you who did not make it to this point.” The voice said. This puzzled The Survivor, for he knew nobody else who had slipped into such lucid dream worlds. His senses, though dulled, seemed to pick up on the voice this time and like the good soldier he was, he followed it in the darkness. He felt an internal stillness as his head, no, his entire being seemed to whip to one side as he faced where he suddenly, instinctively perceived to be the location of speaker. He still could not see him but judging from the surprised albeit amused chiding that followed, he presumed his guess was as right.

“I’m surprised you were able to use your gifts so readily. I assume you know where this is. Even if it’s not in your waking mind, you’ve been here enough times.” The voice said. With those words, came truth. The Survivor had been here before. In Kabul. His head was suddenly ringing again as it was that day when the IED had detonated and he felt himself reeling backwards. Memories began flooding back and it wasn’t long before he could hear a distant, keening howl that he realized was his own screaming. This place was hell. And yet there was a safety amidst the screaming.

“Do not fret, my child. There will be no more fighting when this is over. No more suffering. No more wars.” The voice called, its tone now a resounding boom throughout the room. There was no anger in its tone, however. It was as though it was bellowing at the pain that The Survivor felt rather than the man kneeling in abject misery before it. As the stinging headache receded so too did the Survivors screaming. The unbearable pain now gone; he was able to find his footing again. He took a few blind, tentative steps to one side, wary of his vulnerability.

This voice… it promised a world without war. Without pain. That was a world The Survivor wanted. But it was a world that could not be. After all, that was why he left the Armed Forces. That was why he threw away that life. Because no matter how many red-blooded, good hearted men were sent to Kabul, Chad, or what have you, war was an inevitability. Suffering was a constant. For the first time, he spoke through parched lips in protest, “Can’t. World without… war… is impossible. Suffering… inevitable.” The words were staggered and came out in short, frustratingly slow bursts. His jaw felt slack and the mere act of forming hard aspirants felt like trying to ride a bike after a long while away from one.

“If we were strictly concerned about mortals, you’d be right. To be truthful, I’ve always hated your kind.” The voice’s tone stayed relaxed even as it launched into a litany of **** directed towards The Survivors species, “I find you to be pitiful creatures doomed to fight and die in a losing war against the inevitability of your own crushing mortality. My brother was right to call you Creatures of a Day, for that is all that you have.” The voice paused for a moment, as though to allow The Survivor to come to the forgone conclusion that whatever he was talking to was not of this world, or at least not human. “But those like me, have means.”

“Means?” The Survivor pondered, though he was strangely at ease with such a revelation. This place, this voice, these feelings… they were welcome now.

“Yes. It has come to my attention that the most vital centers of the world are approaching a fundamental shift. Your presence here is a symptom of such things, shall we say.” The voice said. Its tone softened as though it were trying to comfort The Survivor

“Where… is here?” The Survivor asked.

“The Ammwyn. A place between life and ****. Where the line between dream and reality blurs and the seat from which the God’s move the cosmos.” The Voice responded. The words sounded familiar and altogether foreign at the same instance. The Survivor said the name out loud to himself a few times, rolling it around on his tongue. The words tasted of power and ancient mystery. Wherever this Ammwyn was, it felt more at home than anywhere else in his life ever had. “The rules are changing, mortal. You’ve suffered enough. Please, I can end this. For you. For all your kind. What say you?”

The Survivor considered the implications. Even through the haze that clouded his mind and his oddly lethargic movements, he knew this entity and this place, despite the tile floors and smell of sterilized **** that so frequently accompanied hospitals, was ancient. He need not consult his own inner sphere of thoughts to understand that whatever it was he was speaking to was something older than he could fathom. This Ammwyn. He would give anything just to feel security and safety that radiated from these walls but in the waking world.