Chapter Text
Jon could feel. He didn’t quite know what that meant, though. He could feel a light sensation on his cheeks, and it felt like soft fingers. Reminded him of… what was their name again?
It didn’t matter.
The wind was beginning to feel sharper now. Those fingers weren’t brushing against Jon’s face anymore, they were like nails. No, claws. Daggers. It was becoming unbearable. The pain spread up through his face into his eyes, and it burned. He felt like his skin was being torn off, and he was sure there would be nothing left there but muscle and bone.
Jon tried to scream but the only thing that came from his aching throat was a weak gasp. He couldn’t even make a proper noise. How would anyone find him if he couldn’t scream for help?
…Where was he?
His skin was still sore, but it didn’t feel completely raw and white hot with pain anymore. There was a vague warmth coming from… somewhere, like the heat of a fireplace in the cold seasons, or a cosy blanket. It was then that Jon realised something. Although he could pinpoint where sensations were on his body, he found that he was unable to actually physically feel where he was. Where the daggers of wind had sliced through his skin, it was only the idea of his skin. That strange warmth only heated the idea of his body.
Alarmed, Jon tried to move his arms, his legs, his fingers and toes, but it was like he was paralysed. However much he willed himself to move even an inch, it felt like his body didn’t belong to him. He wasn’t in control.
What scared him more than this, however, was the fact that he had only just become aware of his physical state. Had he been like this the whole time? How long had he even been here? Where was here? Could he leave?
Was he dead?
The strange warmth began to get more intense. If it had been a winter blanket before, now that blanket was smothering him. The fire had spread, and the house was ablaze. Jon tried to scream once again, but he could only wheeze and squeak.
All around him, the idea of red, of orange, of yellow flashed through his mind in billowing waves, like an explosion happening in slow motion, and… Jon remembered something. Well, it wasn’t really a memory, not quite solid enough, but the explosion, the feeling of fire pouring over his body felt… familiar. It was unbearable, unspeakable agony, yet it felt nostalgic somehow. Jon’s mind began to clear, and he could almost touch the half-memory—
And then… nothing.
Soft wind on his face. Fingers brushing lightly against his cheeks. Whose fingers were they? They felt distant, yet so incredibly important.
But there just wasn’t enough. The faint recognition left his mind, and all Jon could do was gasp as those fingers became blades, and the comfort turned to blinding pain that pierced through his eyes to his skull, his brain, his cells. The sensation spread to his whole body, scorching him to his core, and— wait. Hadn’t he been here before? He couldn’t be certain, but as awful as the pain was, there was a hint of familiarity creeping back into his mind.
As though on autopilot, Jon tried to move his body, but it didn’t exist. A jolt of alarm shot through the idea of his chest, but a part of him was expecting this, and he tried to reach out for something, for a memory he knew was there but was just out of reach.
But the fire consumed his body, and Jon was cast away.
Gentle fingers… they belonged to someone important. Jon couldn’t think of the name. It was a man, though, he knew that. Fingers turned to daggers, and his eyes screamed.
When the pain lessened for a blissful moment, Jon came to his senses and tried to move. He couldn’t, of course, but he knew this. He didn’t know how, but he knew. He was immobile, but he felt… closer to something. Like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the answer was at the very bottom, but it was shrouded in a thick blanket of fog. There were holes in the fog, though. If only he could see through them clearly enough.
The fog blackened, and Jon was swallowed by the fire.
When he felt the fingers on his face this time, he willed himself with everything he had to reach up and touch them. He was exhausted, and he was sure that if he could move, he would collapse. Jon felt the heat swiftly returning, and by this point he was conscious enough to realise this would all just happen again. Again, and again, and again until he did something different. Or maybe nothing would change, and it was that stupid human hope that was instilled so deep into his mind. If Jon was able to, he would’ve screwed his eyes shut tight.
But the fire didn’t come.
Instead, Jon felt something new. The fingers moved from his face, down to where the idea of his hand was, and he felt them intertwine with his own. Jon felt a shift. Something changed; a light was turned on, and suddenly his hand wasn’t just an idea anymore. He could feel. He could move. He relished the feeling of mobility, gripping the hand as though it was his life force – and perhaps it was.
Jon drew in a deep, rattling breath, and it felt like the first breath he’d taken in a lifetime. He looked down, but there was no sign of the hand that had held his own so delicately, nor the person who the hand assumedly belonged to, and he suddenly felt a profound sense of loneliness as the absence of the physical sensation began to set in.
Jon’s stomach dropped, and he spun round, trying to get his bearings, but there was nothing in sight. Not like the type of ‘nothing’ you’d encounter in an empty forest, or a deserted car park at night, but a complete lack of anything. He couldn’t see the ground beneath his feet, nor could he see a horizon, and a feeling of dread settled over him. Why was he still alone? Had he done something wrong? Would he have to endure the blades and the flames over and over until he got it right?
His thoughts were stopped in their tracks when Jon turned his head again to see a figure standing in the distance. With nothing to use as reference, it was difficult to tell how far away they were, but among the nothing, this was something. He wasted no time in walking towards them. He couldn’t tell how fast he was moving, but he could move nonetheless, and that was enough. He felt his feet making contact with the imperceivable ground, he felt his arms swinging by his sides, lightly brushing against the torn fabric of his clothes, he felt his hair tickling his face. But Jon didn’t brush it away. Because it meant he was real. He was no longer in a state of barely existing and only conscious to feel pain, he was alive.
As Jon drew closer to the figure, he could see that it was a man kneeling, with his head lowered, as though in prayer, or despair. Coming closer still, things started coming into view, filling the nothing. A large circular wall draped in shadows, and a symbol on the floor that Jon could only just make out. He narrowed his eyes to try and get a better look and saw that the symbol was an eye. Hm. That seemed… right, but Jon didn’t know why; his head hadn’t fully cleared yet, and he was still getting used to his surroundings.
There was rubble all around the kneeling man, and scorch marks surrounding the symbol on the floor. Jon thought back to the fire. Had it been real? If it had, then why wasn’t he in pain? Why wasn’t he horrifically burned?
…Best not to think about that.
The kneeling man was just a few feet away now. His clothes were ragged and burned, just like Jon’s, and although his strawberry blonde curls covered his eyes, Jon could tell that he was crying. His shoulders shook, and the sobs that came from him seemed to ricochet around the room. Jon didn’t know why, but he felt an overwhelming urge to reach out to the man, to comfort him. So he did. His hand gently rested on the man’s shoulder, and he felt an odd feeling begin to spread across his skin. It wasn’t unpleasant like before, just… tingly.
And then, all of a sudden, he remembered.
Everything came flooding back to him, the embrace they shared, the knife, the explosion. And the man in front of him…
“Martin. Martin!” Jon’s voice was hoarse and weak, but this was the single most important word he had ever spoken. He felt Martin tense up, his head slowly turned towards Jon, and their eyes locked.