There were rumours. Of terrible things, of wonderful things, of events too immense to keep to oneself, and so they were quietly shared from soul to soul, one Afterlight to another, until every Afterlight in Everlost had heard them. There was the rumour
of a beautiful sky witch, who soared across the heavens in a great silver balloon. And there were whispers of a terrible ogre made entirely of chocolate, who lured unsuspecting souls with that rich promising smell, only to cast them down a bottomless
pit from which there was no return.
In a world where memories bleach clean from the fabric of time, rumours become more important than which is actually known. They are the life's blood of the bloodless world that lies between life and death.
On a day much like any other in Everlost, one boy was about to find out if those rumours were true.
His name is unimportant — so unimportant that he himself had forgotten it — and less important still, because in a brief time he will be gone forever.
He had died about two years earlier, and, having lost his way to the light, he slept for nine months, then had woken up in Everlost. The boy was a wanderer, solitary and silent, hiding from others who crossed his path, for fear of what they might do to
him. Without camaraderie and friendship to remind him who he was, he forgot his identity more quickly than most.
On the occasions that he did come across packs of other Afterlight kids, he would listen to them from his hiding spot as they shared with each other the rumours of monsters, so he knew as well as any other Afterlight what lay in store for the unwary.
When the boy had first crossed into Everlost, his wanderings had a purpose. He had begun in search of answers, but now he had even forgotten the questions. All that remained was an urge to keep moving, resting only when he came across a deadspot — a solid,
bright patch of earth that had, like him,
