The wind whispers through the drapes, caressing my paper-thin skin. The wind feels good against my fevered flesh. I hope to live, but I know the chance is very slim.
"Who is it by my side," I rasp. I cannot see, for I cannot open my eyes without a staggering amount of pain.
"It is your eldest son, Father."
"How is your mother doing, son?"
"She is worried, Father. She does not want you to die, for she would not know what to do or how to live without you. But—"
"But what?" I ask.
"But the doctors cannot seem to break the fever, and they say you are only getting worse."
I sigh. I knew this would come, but did not realize it would be so soon. "Bring your mother, son. I don't believe it will be very long."
"Yes, father."
I can hear him hurry off. I can feel my consciousness slipping from me. I fight to stay in the here and now. It won't be very long now. I can hear someone at my bedside.
"Francine, is that you?" I whisper. I can smell her sweet scent.
"Yes, Erik, it is I. What can I do?" She tries to hold back her tears for me, but is failing.
"My love, do not cry, for I will always be there for you, as long as you and our line live," I rasp again. My voice, once so powerful and haunting, is dry and raspy, a shadow of its former glory. "Goodbye…" I feel myself losing consciousness.
She watches as his eyes lose all the fire that remained in his eyes. Erik's breathing grows shallow and slower, till he stops breathing altogether. Francine, Erik's wife, starts to weep openly with great, wracking sobs.
I find myself in darkness once again. Am I in Hell? I ask of myself.
No, a voice, ethereal yet beautiful, answers. You are merely in tamba waiting to be reborn. It won't be a long stay here, as time tends to move faster in tamba.