I laugh. It comes out sharp and bitter.
“Of course. Of course you’re that strong.”
The pull jerks hard, and I stagger forward.
Then I hear it.
Voices.
Faint. Distant. Butthere.
I stop dead, every muscle locking up.
The Void doesn’t echo. Doesn’t carry sound. When people scream here, it swallows the noise before it can travel.
But I’m hearing voices.
Whispers threading through the dark like they’re being carried on wind that doesn’t exist.
A laugh. A sob. A word I almost recognize.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Now I’m officially losing it.”
But I keep listening.
Because even if I’m going insane, it’s the first sound besides my own voice I’ve heard in so, so long.
The whispers fade, but the pull doesn’t.
It drags me forward, relentless, and I follow because I don’t have a choice anymore.
My legs are shaking. My chest aches. I haven’t rested in—
Actually, I don’t remember the last time I rested.
Used to be able to. Used to find pockets of relative safety where I could stop moving for a while.
But the pull won’t let me anymore.
It wants methere. Wherever “there” is.
And it’s not taking no for an answer.
I stumble through zones scattered with ash.
Old crossings. Failed attempts. People who tried to walk through the Void and didn’t make it.
I’ve seen this before. Too many times.
The last time I followed a light, it screamed until it turned to ash. Took me a week to stop hearing it.
But this—
This feels different.
Less like a candle burning out.
More like a wildfire spreading.
