The Dream

The wind rushes about her, swirling in smoky patterns of dark blues and dull greys. She stares into it, comforted by the familiarity. Beyond this, everything is darkness. She begins to walk and the wind catches each step cautiously; the feeling is like floating on air, or water… she’s not quite sure if there would be a difference.

A deep breath, a pause to listen to the endless echo, and she begins to hum a monotone tune. She knows it well – it’s the same every time. Before her, a face begins to form. It etches itself into the colours of the wind. Blank, beautiful, it stares at her with hollow eyes and she stares back. She continues to hum its monotonous tune.

The face circles her, taking on a sort of life as it moves through the wind. She thinks the hollow eyes begin to light up as the face comes before her again. It’s the same illusion, every time. Each time she swears the face will move but it does not.

The hollow eyes remain hollow, and she loses herself in the search for any meaning. She is not sure if it is her who is still humming, or if it is now the face framed in the dark blues and dull greys of the wind. Either way, the tune rolls around them, its words known without needing to be spoken.

Mykhos aevan leri. Mykhos aevan suri.

The humming becomes distant as the wind and the face fall away. The smoke settles and leaves behind it solitude and silence. She is left in darkness. A deep breath – a pause to listen to the endless echo – and she wakes.

The dream is always the same. The face never changes. And though she doesn’t know the language of the song, she knows without doubt what it means:

Gods cannot be stopped. Gods cannot be killed.

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