A radiant key hung suspended in a bed of mist, casting a soft, golden light that pierced every facet of the void.
Around it, three pale white snakes interlocked, held on a delicate web of fine strings. Each moved in slow, deliberate loops, weaving a seamless, never-ending braid.
The star-laden darkness pressed against the light, pulsating inward, a silent, creeping threat that edged into the scene before the vision faded into nothingness.
Chapter 1: The Key's Reasonable Developments
A hiss—sharp and jagged—ripped through the air, echoing off unseen walls, bouncing off his skull. The sound warped, shifting direction like a group of snaking insects too hard to follow.
No. It wasn't the wind. It couldn't be. After all, I can't feel anything. There's no—there's nothing?
Where am I?
The space, if it even was a space, felt fluid, bending and stretching with every pulse of sound. He was there, but not there.
The walls hummed with an alien vibration, scratching at his consciousness, pulling him in a thousand directions.
In this nothingness grew a faint smell—a mossy, damp vicious scent, like a decomposing something forgotten deep in the earth. The scent twisted, fleeting, before vanishing, exchanged with a new noise.
"𓇋𓆑𓂀, 𓋴𓄿,𓅓 𓍯𓅱, 𓊹𓀀𓄬"
The voices came, sharp and biting, male and female, their words so strange, so distant. They tumbled over each other, slithering through the air.
They didn't make sense. They couldn't make sense. They rattled through his head, as a thousand broken, scattered thoughts crashed into him.
"ϿϻϼϻϿϻ, ϿϟϾϙϠ, ϡϞϽϛ"
The woman's voice was louder now, strained, reaching across an unseen chasm.
The air thickened with her desperation, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak. There was no feeling—no hands, no body. Just noise.
The wind had stopped. No, not stopped. It was distant now, a whisper, far behind the chanting.
And then—a string, high-pitched, thin. A single note plucked from nowhere, cutting through the air like a sharp blade. It rang out, filling the space, shredding it, pulling at the edges of his mind.
A moment passed in the infinity of the present.
From the right, a low grunt escaped the man— not from his mouth, but from his chest.
With this noise the woman's voice ceased, leaving an empty silence behind.
A cloth fell in their place, soft and muted, landing on the dampened ground.
A thud broke the stillness—a lute crashing to the ground, its echo swallowing everything else. All the noise, all the sound, was absorbed by the sharp clang.
Another second passed.
The air shifted. The mossy scent, once faint, became stronger. Now, it was real—almost choking, but a comfort in the mystery of the present.
A golden light flooded his vision. Bright, almost blinding, yet it didn't hurt.
It filled his mind, blocking out everything—thought, emotion, sense—until the presence slowly receded. But it lingered as a blur, solely nesting in his eyes.
The golden light flickered and faded. His vision cleared, but it was still blurry. The world was dark, almost pitch black.
Then, an oval patch of white and bluish light appeared in the center of his vision. It wasn't solid. It seemed to be a door, something finally tangible, glowing faintly. Beyond it, there were vague colors, a mix of aqua and white, swirling together, stretching out into something he couldn't grasp.
Despite just gaining the ability to see, the space felt emptier than before. The woman was gone from the left.
The man groaned from the right, straining as if fighting something within. His breath ragged, he collapsed to the ground.
As he fell, it wasn't the sound of a person hitting the floor. It was more a stick rattling against the earth.
The golden light flickered, faded, and his vision began to clear. It was blurry at first, but soon it sharpened, revealing a rough, gray surface beneath him—stone, cracked and weathered, like an ancient altar.
His gaze traveled down his body, and he froze. It was… wrong.
His body—what was left of it—was a crude imitation of flesh, a strange mix of meat, mud, and creeping vines. Tendrils of moss clung to his arms, pulsing as if alive. Parts of him were thick with decaying leaves, half-submerged in filthy, glistening muck.
In a mixture of fascination and horror, he watched as his body began to change. Pale, thin flesh twisted over the rough patches, forming muscles, bone. Bit by bit, the numbness faded, replaced by a prickly warmth, and his body slowly became his own.
He felt alive again, though weak—as though born anew from the earth.
The mossy scent lingered, now merging with a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of his throat.
He sat up, his legs still dangling from the stone altar, and glanced down. The vines and fleshy mass that had made up his legs were now slowly transforming into human limbs. Flesh and skin knitted over rough textures. It felt foreign, but finally real.
The dirt and stone floor stretched before him, damp and cold, silent except for the faint breeze and his own shallow, frightened breathing.
His eyes moved to the left and right, where the two chanting figures had once stood. Now, in the woman's place, a bundle of graceful clothing lay—delicate, finely made, untouched by grime.
The fabric was soft and flowing, an odd contrast to the grim surroundings.
Above them, discarded and broken, was a shattered lyre, the strings scattered like a cheap shirt's loose threads.
To the right, in stark contrast, lay a pile of ragged 'clothes', rough and faded, with a simple, sturdy staff placed beside it. The staff was worn, its wood weathered, laying there abandoned.
He stood, feeling the weight of his body. The cool stone beneath his feet grounded him. For a moment, he felt a fleeting sense of peace—until he realized he was standing there, completely nude.
His eyes flicked to the clothes lying nearby. The woman's garments were delicate and graceful, but something about them felt wrong to him. He couldn't bring himself to wear them.
Instead, his gaze shifted to the rags and sandals on the right, their tattered appearance a stark contrast. They looked worn and imperfect, but they were something he could understand.
He hesitated, caught in a brief internal battle. The fine clothes were tempting, but they belonged to a world he wasn't ready to step into.
Meanwhile, the rags, far from perfect, felt more like a choice he could make on his own terms.
After a moment, he moved toward the rags, picking them up.
Once dressed, he sat back down on the stone slab, his mind racing. His body felt so real, yet so alien. The transformation, the strange moss, the decaying earth—it all felt like a dream, but it wasn't.
He touched his arm, feeling the smooth, solid skin beneath his fingers. It was real—nothing out of place.
A shiver ran through him, not from the cold, but from surprise. The body he now inhabited—it was his, yet somehow not. It felt both familiar and utterly foreign.
He ran his fingers over his hands and arms, confirming the normality of the skin beneath his touch. Nothing strange. Just flesh. Just him.
The world around him was quiet now. For the first time, a strange peace washed over him, though it was distant, unsettled.
Who even am I?
A strange question but no weirder than the circumstances he has found himself in.
He searched inward, feeling for a name.
Asher Jewel
The name came to him as if a key had been turned in his mind, unlocking memories of another world—a planet named Earth, a society, a job, an identity.
Only one more question remained.
"Where in the f*ck is this?"