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Cold.

The air is cold and stagnant. Steeped in a great darkness, this air hangs heavily. Dread lingering upon it like a held breath. But there is also peace here. The greatest peace. In this darkness, there are no worries. There are no expectations. Simply the cold.

Within this realm of darkness, something stirs. A consciousness that seems to be trapped here. Unable to move past this place. Towards something greater. Or something much worse. This consciousness aches. Tired and barely able to tell what it is. Yet it has no body. Nothing to call it's own. It can see naught but the inky black abyss. But it still feels. Feels that dull ache. The bitter cold. And a set of eyes watching it.

“Ah…A lost one. Set adrift in my plane.” A voice bellows. It is everywhere and it is nowhere. It is impossibly calming. Temptation oozes from each syllable it speaks. Yet it is also fear itself. Oppressive by every definition of the word. The consciousness reels. Resigned to simply listen as the voice speaks to it. “Hmm…Torn between two worlds. Yet neither are for those that should find themselves drifting through here…Tell me little culver, what do you value? Freedom or Control?”

The consciousness can feel the question burrow deep to its core. To be free. To know that your choices are yours and yours alone. To be unburdened by the rule of others and strive for your own path. To struggle to keep it in the face of those who would want to take it. Or to control. To command the lives of others and make your choices theirs. To enforce your will upon the world and have it follow as if it were made to do so. To prevent those that seek to be away from it to submit. The answer comes from the core of this being as well. It has no voice, yet its answer is heard.

Freedom…

The voice does not respond immediately. The space seemingly takes time to fully grasp the weight of that answer. How long it takes is a mystery. But the voice does return. “Interesting…Then I pose another question. Is it better to try and then fail or to simply give up before you can be hurt?”

Again the question ran deep. To try and fail. Putting your all into a task and still coming up short. That kind of pain could prevent someone from ever trying to pursue something again. Or spur them onwards towards more. Then there was simply not trying at all. Sparing oneself from potential failure. Allowing energy to be spent on tasks that are more likely to succeed. But harboring the forgotten desire one might have to leave. Again the answer came from a place where no lie could manifest.

I would try until I simply couldn’t anymore…

Some semblance of self was returning to the consciousness. Referring to itself with its last answer. There was a budding drive forming in it. A determination that silently but boldly began to creep its way out. There was a low rumble in the dark. A hum from the voice. Mulling over this new development. “What an interesting little culver you are…Tell me. Are you the type of being that likes to sleep in or awake at the crack of dawn?”

A much more innocent and personal question than the last. But it stirred this individual consciousness more. They could feel more of their senses return. The morning was the start of a new day, but they knew they did not like them. Rising from the comfort of their bed and the respite of their dreams always annoyed them. Good morning? There was no such thing. Again an answer came.

Ugh I hate mornings…

Once more they pulled more of themself back from the brink. They could hear more now. Something beyond the darkness. A constant low rumble. Raging harshly against their ears. Ears? Did they have ears? The voice returned, though it seemed to wane ever slightly. Becoming muffled amidst the rumbling. “Ah yes…I know many do. Tell me, if you saw a close friend slip and fall, how would you react?”

The individual thought about it. They couldn’t remember any others from their past. Their mind is only able to fill in the gaps pertaining to themself. But they could imagine the scene. While they would certainly help a friend, if they aren’t terribly hurt would it be wrong to poke fun at them for it? They didn’t think so. The very thought even caused them to chuckle a bit.

A little joke could heal their wounded ego…

The rumbling became louder. Much louder. Threatening to crumble away the darkness. And there was more to the noise now. A loud crack that overtook the rumbling. Thunder..It was thunder. And the rumbling was rain? The voice returned again but even more drowned out now. It posed a final question. “You are nearly there, little culver…Tell me. Do you wish to live?”

Wish to live…Life was a struggle. Unless you were lucky, or cruel it would treat you harshly. They knew they were neither. That living meant they would have to claw at every small blessing they had. Hold it close, gnash their teeth at anything that wants to take it from them. Living would be difficult. But they remembered something. A phrase they had heard once. Oftentimes the most difficult things could lead to the best outcomes…

“...I want to live.” They spoke. Though they could not hear their own voice, they knew the words came from themself. As they finished their statement things began to move fast. The rain became louder and louder. Filling the void with its pounding, booming noise. They felt as if they were falling. Rapidly dropping towards a small light that had begun to pierce the dark like a needle. As they felt the drop, they heard the voice once again. “We will meet again,-” The voice became too muffled. Unable to compete with the overwhelming sound of the rain. What had they called them? It sounded like…a name.

A sharp gasp rang out through a forest. It’s origin being a lone quilava who just opened their eyes again. Every fiber of their being wished they hadn’t though. Their entire body was in excruciating, burning pain. They wanted to scream. To release the burden even just a bit. But it was too much. As they opened their mouth the only thing that left it was pure silence. Their agony would have no audience. Their burden is theirs to carry. As the rain continued to pour on them, they came to realize this was it. The end of their life. Alone in the woods, writhing in agony. Not even knowing what caused it.

As they lay there, body refusing to acclimate to the pain, something caught their eye. A light only a few paces away in the woods. Salvation. But it was receding. Moving away from them. They needed that light. Needed whoever had it. The quilava rallied. Tapping deep into whatever force still pushes them. And they started to crawl.

Inch by agonizing inch, they dragged their body towards that light. Even as their stomach felt as if it may burst, they crawled. Even as their bones rattled and ached. They crawled through the mud towards what they knew was their only hope. They didn't want to die. They didn't want to die alone in the woods.

The light continued to recede and yet they still crawled. As tears streamed down their cheeks, they kept going through their desperate struggle. Once again, they felt the urge to scream. To be heard. As their body gave way, their head laying drearily in the mud they mustered what they could.

“..H..elp…”

It wasn't a mighty yell. Not a righteous roar. It was a desperate whimper. But it's what they could manage. As they began to close their eyes. The quilava thought they saw that light stop. But they didn't know. Couldn't know. As the last thing they saw was darkness once more.