#system philza

“Hello?” His voice echoes, reverberating from the darkness around him. Philza is used to fear, to the icy claws of terror snapping around his heart and freezing it in place. He isn’t sure why he’s not shaking at the moment.

There’s no response. So he continues forward, each step over the not-quite solid inky darkness below him only unnerving him further. He tries not to focus on the way ghostly tendrils curl around his legs as if he were walking deeper into a spider’s den. He especially tries to ignore the phantom lingering of wings he has long since lost.

Philza swallows, shoulders hiking up. He continues forward, not because he wants to, but because he has to. Because there’s nothing else to do and he would surely go insane from allowing himself to feel the full effect of the foggy shadows around him. He can’t let that happen.

There’s a feeling of nakedness about the abyss. This isn’t like the void he had made contact with a few times. This isn’t like death, either. Her embrace is much sweeter.

… it’s empty. Terrifyingly empty. But so, so full.

He trudges forward.

The material beneath his white-knuckled grip feels like a suggestion, more than a reality. He can feel the old familiar feeling of nausea building in his gut. He must have been walking for hours. Is there any end to this? Is it all futile? He isn’t sure. But he continues.

He has to.

It’s only when he comes across rock beneath his feet that he lets himself stop, collapsing onto it with a breathless sob. It's hard beneath his knees. He isn’t crying but he has never been gladder to feel the ground beneath him.

He’s dizzy. His mind is a gentle tapestry settling on a plush cloud. His entire existence feels fuzzy.

“You’re not meant to be here yet.”