You wake up coughing erratically. You can’t remember your name, your past, anything at all. Then your hand falls to your weapon, and you know instinctively how to use it. Looking around you see others lying in ashes and wasteland as far as you can see in any direction. The others stirring around you have familiar faces, names just out of reach in the corners of your minds. Here and there in the distance you see a tree or what may have been a building on fire. Eventually you have all stood except one. An older man, hair gray from more than just the ashes that surround you. His coughing is getting worse and there is blood when he takes his hand away.

“It’s our…fault. So…many dead. Our fault…all our fault.” He grasps you feebly by the shirt pulling you close to him. “Fix it…please.” He says urgently. He eyes you and the others gathered. “Only…you…cage…fix.” The man begins convulsing before pitching forward face down into the ash, clearly dead. Before you have time to mourn or even puzzle over the meaning of his words, you feel an indescribable force guide you north.

You travel the wasteland for days. You see no sign of life, no birds or wolves or anything that might be edible. You just see more and more desolation, like a great fire purged all the land. First one of you collapses and the unseen force that guides you is the same that makes you stop to carry them. Then another. Finally unable to go on you collapse into the ash and darkness.

Fixing a broken world

klmall ChuckJohn BBPlainwell