GASP!
Air slammed into his lungs. Aren jerked upright, at least…he thought he did. Yet underneath him, there was no ground.
There was only white.
Fog stretched endlessly in every direction, swallowing almost everything around him. It moved, even without wind, drifting in currents that seemed to breathe with him, or perhaps because of him.
Where am I?
"Luna?" he muttered. His voice echoed throughout the place before disappearing off into the distance.
Aren began to stand up, placing a hand onto his chest where he was supposedly shot. Yet, there was no wound.
"What's going on…?" he whispered.
But before any of his questions were answered, shapes started to emerge from the fog.
Mountains, or at least, the idea of mountains.
Their outlines were there, but their slopes were flat, lacking lighting and shadow. A lake shimmered somewhere ahead, but its surface reflected no sky.
It was like…he was in an unfinished painting. Undoubtedly beautiful…but unfinished.
