Rolfe Brinnon stepped--slowly, carefully--forward, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the cold street. Tall buildings stood like curious onlookers on either side of the road, skyscrapers whose upper portions were lost in the swirling, misty clouds above. They loomed above him, peering down like a young child scrutinizing an ant on a sidewalk. They watched him, examined him, evaluated him for some unknown purpose. A chill ran down his spine as he glanced at the structures. They surrounded him on every side, boxing him in. They were all dark; it was well past midnight, and not one person, save him, was awake.

Or alive.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Something white flashed by, faster than he would have thought possible. He turned his head sideways with a quick jerk of his neck, but he saw nothing but a polished white skull that grinned conspiratorially from the shadows by the side of the road. Various litter was strewn randomly across the sidewalk and the street, trash that sometimes moved, rustled, or flew around in the eerily silent night wind. Mostly, it was newspapers, flyers, candy wrappers, napkins and the like... but every once in a while, gleaming white bones peeked out shyly, almost hidden in the mess of paper trash. Sometimes he heard a faint chittering sound, and something that sounded like cynical, derisive laughter. Some sort of tiny, dark-bodied creatures scurried around and about, their bright diamond eyes glaring at him maliciously. They never got close enough for Rolfe to see them well, and he figured that was just as well. They could be rats... but a morbid, intuitive thought, snaking its way into his distraught mind, told him that they weren't.

Rolfe realized that he had stopped walking, and was still gazing at the skull. He stuffed his gloved hands into the pockets of his big brown coat, and decided something was definitely wrong with the skull. It was hidden in shadows; he shouldn't have been able to see it at all, much less in a bright, almost glowing white tone.

That wasn't all that was wrong here. The buildings should have been much smaller. Lights should be on, cars should be driving, people should be out and about. The city never slept, not even late in the night. This place was not Detroit, couldnot be Detroit, the city he had lived in since he was seven--it bore no resemblance whatsoever. And yet, Rolfe was certain that it was. How? He didn't know how. It just was; it wasn't so much a thought going through Rolfe's mind that told him this, but an aura that seemed to emanate from the ground below him and pulsate in his head. There was nothing here that wasn't wrong... yet, he didn't wonder about it. He observed it, thought about it, and filed the knowledge away in his brain, but didn't question it. In this place, one didn't wonder, and one didn't question. Ever.

He started walking again. He shivered from the cold (this is mid-August, said a voice that flashed like a strobe light in his mind, a voice that was gone within seconds) and he shivered, pulling his hands out of his pockets and hugging himself for warmth. He exhaled with a barely audible gasp, and for a brief moment his breath steamed in the uncharacteristically cold air. As if in reply, a bolt of lightning streaked through the cloudless, midnight sky, blazing right in front of the full moon directly ahead of him. He trudged forward... forward, forward, urged the voices, voices that seemed to come from the bowels of the Earth itself. Voices that roared like thunder inside his head. The same inexorable voices that had told him not to wonder, not to question. Voices whose instruction he didn't dare resist. Forward... forward... walk...

Thunder boomed once, this time outside of his mind. Once... then again... a third time... it had a strange, methodical quality to it, and seemed to be creeping closer each time he heard it. Don't wonder... don't question.

He heard the strange thunder again. Closer. Louder. Louder. Louder.

Rolfe screamed and clawed at his head, madly trying to cover his ears. The thunder, now a deafening roar that filled the air, crashed once more. After the sound subsided, the only thing that could be heard was the soft patter of blood trickling from Rolfe's ears and falling to the road beneath his feet. His body--more than just his damaged ears--was wracked with sudden, excruciating pain. He fell to the ground, writhing in agony and wondering just what, exactly, was happening. Don't wonder, the voices reminded him. Don't question.

The sound came from behind him once more, a horrible, ungodly shriek, a scream of despair and hatred. A scream of anguish, of horror, fury, and... vengeance. This time, though, he heard it as if it were muffled and far away.

Don't wonder.

Don't question.

Stand up.

He stood up, sobbing heavily and wheezing. He turned to look behind him, and stared at the city in horrified amazement. The buildings were now old and dying, crumbling and falling apart. They were the same buildings, but looked as they would if they had been abandoned decades ago, barely standing up to the wind and weather since then. A hot wind blew from the west, a wind that made everything in his vision ripple and shimmer. The wind carried with it tiny, smoldering embers, as if from a fire. He turned back around, now facing the west, as he was before... and then he saw it.

He stared, incapable of blinking. He gaped at it, a huge, hulking behemoth, powerful muscles rippling eagerly beneath its blood red skin. It glared at him with bright, predatory eyes set in a massive face, its long red snout baring yellowed knife-like fangs. Its lips pulled back like a dog's, and it snarled, its voice the thunder he had heard earlier.

Don't wonder.

Don't ques--

Nothing.

nothing...

Nothing. The beast was gone. The buildings were gone. The voices were gone. Everything was gone; everything had been swallowed into the darkness. Rolfe groaned wearily, then sat up and rubbed at his bleary eyes. He stared at the wall in his apartment bedroom, not really sure if he had truly woken up or not.

He stood up, meaning to get out of bed; then, suddenly overcome with a wave of vertigo, he sat down and massaged his temples to ease the headache that was now throbbing there. He waited for a few moments, then stood up again, slower this time. He stepped across the tiny, near-empty room and peered out the window. He sighed with relief when he saw people walking about down on the ground; saw cars rushing down the streets; saw normal, familiar buildings... saw Detroit as he knew it. It was still dark, but the eastern horizon was already brightening with the light that heralded the rising of the sun. He turned and looked at the clock he kept on the nightstand next to his bed; it wasn't there. After turning to glance out the window one last time--just to make sure everything was still there--he walked around his bed and noticed the black digital clock on the floor, its screen shattered.

He sighed and picked it up. He looked it over for a moment, then set it back on the nightstand next to the lamp. "Must've knocked it off last night," he grumbled to himself. He walked across the room and opened the drawer of his desk--the only piece of furniture in the room, save the bed and the nightstand--and removed his watch. After fumbling with the buttons, the screen lit up with a bright, fluorescent green, its black transistor numbers displaying "5:06:03."

Great. He was going to be late for work. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to waking up so early. He headed for an unpacked suitcase that sat by his door, intending to get out some clothes. He reached for the lightswitch above the suitcase, then paused.

Wait... what day was it, anyway? He didn't have a calendar in here yet, so he wasn't exactly sure... but it really seemed like yesterday was Friday. Hmm. Saturday. Good. And if it isn't..? he asked himself. ...Oh well. Too bad.

He headed back to bed, meaning to get a few more hours of sleep. Or maybe a few more days. That sounds pretty good right now. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief. Right now, he wanted nothing more than sleep.

Darkness. Silence. Cold. A thin, ragged line of red bisects the black, widening into a great, infernal abyss. Silver eyes glare at him from the flaming chasm; three whispery voices speak to him in unison, using words he does not understand.

He cried out and sat bolt upright, once again staring at the walls of his room. His heart pounded, its pulse echoing in his ears. It was all that he heard. The dream he had had that night, which he had mostly forgotten upon waking, came back to him with sickly vivid clarity. He gasped for air, realizing that he was hyperventilating. What was wrong with him? He'd had nightmares much worse than this before, but never had a reaction like this. ...What was happening? What was wrong?

He managed to calm himself down slightly. He just wanted to sleep, but now he knew he couldn't. Not now. Not with this dream haunting his mind. Wearily, still in his nightclothes, he walked into the living room and turned on the 13" screen TV he had there. He grabbed the remote from the floor next to it, then collapsed wearily into his armchair. He punched a button a few times, flipping through the various channels. Finding nothing of interest, he changed to the news channel and waited until they confirmed the date. Yes, it was a Saturday. Good.

He was about to press the remote's power button, but the TV had other plans. The screen went dark before he could hit the button; seconds later, it flashed on again. This time, there was nothing but a blank white screen and a faint electric hum.

Wait... no; listening closer, Rolfe was sure he heard more than just the hum. It sounded like laughter... faint, chittering laughter. He stood up and looked behind him warily, and sure enough the eyes were there. Tiny, bright eyes that looked like stars in the night sky. Two. Four. Twelve eyes. Sixty. Hundreds of little eyes, staring at him from somewhere outside his reality. With a yelp, Rolfe turned and hurried back to the bedroom, slamming the door shut. The eyes were gone... but so was everything else. He stared out the window, desperately hoping that this was all just part of the dream.

Dust. Darkness. Black flames rise from the abyss, reaching up towards the invisible sun. Outside the window, nothing is the same. A dark, burnt wasteland stretches as far as the eye can see; the red sky is all but swallowed up by a dark inferno. A hot western wind shoots across the land, stirring up the flames... and then the land flickers. Disappears. Reappears. Flickers once more. Detroit is back to its normal self once again. ...Or is it? Will it ever be the same?

What was happening? Thousands of unanswerable questions burned through Rolfe's mind, and soon his head was throbbing. He sat down on his bed and stared at the twisting, swirling vortex in his bedroom wall. The eyes gleamed in the darkness of the void, watching him suspiciously. Rolfe grabbed the broken clock off of his nightstand and hurled it at the eyes; it struck the empty hole and shattered. A mass of dark forms and bright eyes clambered out of the vortex, surrounding the broken clock. Their maddening, cicada-like laughter rose in volume until the room shook, and the clock was gone. So was the vortex. There was nothing wrong with his wall; nothing wrong with the world outside.

Is there something wrong with my head..? Rolfe wondered.

The answer came instantly, but he wasn't sure from whom. Of course there is. ...But that doesn't mean what you see is not real.

All real, the voices told him. The eyes nodded in agreement. All real. He felt the searing breath of the red beast on his neck; he knew that the behemoth was right behind him. Regardless of the fact that its head alone would not fit into the room. It was right there. And yet it was--

no it wasn't

it is

it can't be, that's not--

but it is

no it isn't

oh yes. yes it is.

The beast, like everything else, was gone. Everything. Gone gone where is it? it's not here

Rolfe hung in the air, suspended above an endless field of white. What's happening what's happening what what what is what's happen--

Don't wonder. Don't question. Have you forgotten so soon? ...Such a shame. We had such high expectations of you.

Who--

No. Don't question. That's the first law. You'll learn the others soon, if you can survive that long.

I'll survive.

Maybe.

Am I--

No. You're not. I'm not what? Are. You aren't. I'm not..? ...No. Not anymore. Maybe not before, either. Are you talking or am I...? No more questions!

The beings to whom the diamond eyes belonged danced and frolicked all around him as a strange yet familiar sound became audible. The sound rang through all of eternity, reverberating through everything that existed and everything that didn't. A veil of some fashion was torn by the sound, pulled away to reveal something that might or might not be important: Rolfe saw the sunset, saw it in a spectrum of colors that could not exist. Black lightning raced through the sky, diving down towards the ground like a falcon after its prey. Golden rain poured from the cloudless sky in great, shining torrents as a short, thin woman with dull brown hair knocked at Rolfe's door a second time.

"Mr. Brinnon..?" she called out cautiously. "Is something wrong?"

The knocking sound. He heard it again. It grew and expanded into infinity, duplicating and dancing all around him. Rolfe's mind reached for the sound like his hand would have reached for a rope were he falling to his death. The sound pulled him back, gave him some small sense of direction, until he could find his way on his own--if there was a way to find--a way where? Where was anywhere?

Don't ques-- Alright! I'm sorry!

"Mr. Brinnon?"

What was that? The thunderous sound of the great beast's wingbeat reached his ears. The creature was coming for him. What did it want? Should--

Stop! Stop it now!

stop what

you know what i'm--

no

yes

no i don't

of course you do

what?

"Rolfe! Rolfe, I know you're in there. I'm worried now. Are you okay? I heard you yell. Something's going on, I know it is. Please say something!" the nervous, flighty woman said, babbling mostly just to break the terrifying silence that was building up around her. A faint click was heard as she tried to open the door and found it locked. "Mr. Brinnon, if you can hear me, please say something! I heard you scream. What's wrong? I'm going to call the police now, okay? Something's wrong here. Say something! Please! ...Anything! Are you okay..?"

He recognized the voice of his neighbor, Sarah Johvich. He didn't know any of his neighbors well, nor did he like them much, but right now he didn't think of that. Reality shifted and he was lying on the floor, a sharp pain in his back and bruises all over his aching body. He felt as though he had been... dropped? From where? How--

Don't question. ...Or we'll kill you. We've had enough.

He stood up, wincing at the aches and pains, and called out, "It's okay, Ms. Johvich. I'm fine. It's... okay. You can go."

"Are you sure? Can I come in for a moment? Just to make sure everything's okay?"

Rolfe groaned and reluctantly agreed. He walked to the door, ignoring the barely audible chittering and the bright eyes peering out from under the couch, and opened it. Who he saw was not Sarah.

Irrational--are they? or are you?--thoughts raced through Rolfe's mind, blinding him to reality. He heard none of them long enough to understand, yet each one's strange, musical voice rang in his mind for eternity.

why are you running? what's this

what's this? run there's nothing here

why?? what do you fear? run

i understand can you hear them?

they're coming for you, run, hide, what? why? where?

all for you now!

afraid? lost? it's them

and they hunger

hopeless? run for madness? why?

infinity is how

...broken all will be lost but it can be found

the darkness swallows all

why? all are lost they are here here here why?

no hope they're here

no time

hurry! You are the last.

...Now run.

What to do? Rolfe looked again at who should have been Sarah. Instead, she was a younger woman with fiery red hair and a hostile, piercing glare. She wore clothes that looked as though they had been made from deerskin and dyed black. A metallic hiss came to his ears, and he saw she now grasped the handle of a slender, deadly rapier. The blade had some sort of markings on it; squinting, Rolfe saw they looked like Nordic runes. What did it say? He used to have the symbols memorized. He recognized that one... yes, that one too... finally, he puzzled out their meaning. You are the last.

"I am the last?" he asked her.

She hissed, her voice forming the same sound as the blade had when she pulled it from its sheath. Refusing to comment, she turned, ran, and then leaped off of--

The edge. Edge? Edge of what? Rolfe hurried after her, then looked around him in confused amazement. The sun was just coming up over an ultramarine, watery horizon... Detroit was gone again. Rolfe skidded to a stop at the edge of a stone cliff, bleached bone white by the sun's brilliant rays. Before him was an immense lake... a sea? An ocean? In the distance, he saw bright specks of color, darting through the sky, diving from the clouds. Birds? He glanced behind him, nervously, and saw that his door was still wide open. Inside was his apartment, just as he had left it. Suddenly, he knew that that door was important. If the door were ever to close...

He didn't finish the thought. Instead, he looked down and saw a dark shape plummeting through the air, falling towards the sea. The woman he had seen earlier? She was still falling?! Of course, he now saw that the cliff he stood on was extremely high up; he wouldn't be surprised if it was more than a mile above the water. He watched her falling form... then heard a faint whoosh, as though the wind had shifted.

An immense black beast with an enormous wingspan shot outwards from the cliff, far below Rolfe. There must be caverns and caves in the cliff, Rolfe mused. What was it? A bird? One of the birds he had seen flocking in the distance? He only had a few moments to hope that's what it was.

A deafening cry, like the scream of a hawk but louder, reached his ears as the beast shot up above the cliff. It flew straight up, the wind from its passing nearly lifting Rolfe off of his feet. It arrowed up into the sky, its wings pressed against its side; as soon as it began to lose its momentum, its wings exploded outwards, and as the beast hovered in the air Rolfe finally saw it in all its horrifying glory. Two wizened, golden eyes stared down at him from an enormous, predatory face; its long, narrow snout hung half-open, exposing rows of glistening white fangs. Two golden horns curved backwards from its skull, and a regal crest of stiff black feathers ran down the back of its head all the way to its tail. Its black, membranous wings were like huge, billowing sails, the span of each wing along longer than the beast's entire body. The wings seemed to blot out the sky... no, the wings were the sky. Rolfe stared at the resplendent creature; although it was far above him in the sky, he could clearly see every tiny, jet-black scale that covered its body like a suit of impenetrable armor. Four muscular limbs ended in five long fingers tipped with curved white talons. It gazed at him--studying him, evaluating him--with curious eyes while hanging suspended in the sky for a moment that seemed to last hours. Its whiplike tail snapped back and forth impatiently. The dragon cried out once more, and the moment ended.

It rotated forward, its sinuous neck and steamlined body straightening out, its head aiming right at him. It dove towards him, arrowing towards the cliff; with a bellow, the creature snapped its hawklike talons into a tight fist, clutching the edge of the white cliff. Its twenty-foot neck settled into a curved, relaxed S-shape, holding its immense head high above Rolfe, while it held its wings out to stabilize itself in the harsh, cutting seawind. Rolfe saw several leather straps around its neck and chest; when he saw the woman from before, the woman who had fallen, scramble over the dragon's shoulder and drop to the ground gracefully, he understood that it was part of some sort of saddle. The woman dusted herself off, eying him warily.

"I am the last," he said. She nodded. "What does that mean? Last what? Do you know?"

"Yes," an airy voice told him. A dry, rattling wind picked up; to Rolfe, it sounded as though that air itself were speaking to him.

"Tell me."

"Of the aesiri. The children of the godlings." The wind-voice spoke again. Lightning flashed, and the sky grew dim as thunderclouds were strewn across its face.

"Godlings?"

The dragon held its head higher and looked down at him, amused. "Us," the wind-voice spoke.

He nodded towards the woman. "These... creatures are your gods?" he asked her.

"These are the godlings. We worship them as such. But the true gods..." she tilted her head to the side, and motioned to the sky. A cloud dissipated, faded away into nothingness, and behind it Rolfe saw two half-moons. They moved, coming closer and closer... a form grew out of the clouds, a draconian head formed of mist and rain. Its jaws gaped open; stars and lightning dotted the inside of its mouth, and with a thunderous roar a great bolt of blue-white electricity blasted outwards. It forked off and then flickered out of existence; the head was gone, the clouded sky exactly as it was before.

"Raithu-shiera-korathin. They are the masters of the stars. We are the masters of the winds." The dragon was speaking to him again, still using the voice of the dry wind.

"And the aesiri are..?"

"The children of the wind."

Rolfe couldn't believe a creature so large could move so insanely fast. That thought was in his head almost before he realized the beast had moved. It beat its wings once, lifted off, and snapped its talons around his body before he knew what was happening. It cried out as a hawk once more, then lifted Rolfe into the air and effortlessly tossed him over the edge.

Rolfe plummeted through the air, falling towards the water; miles up, there was no way a human body could withstand the impact. The air rushing past his ears, what had at first seemed so loud, seemed to fade into a tranquil silence. He peered up into the sky, falling face-up, eyes locked onto the gliding shape of the black dragon. There was a loud whoosh of air, different, then his mind faded into unconsciousness as he hit something with a loud thud. Not water, but something more like a pillow of feathers.

He struggled to see again, to look at the world. He was only blacked out for a few seconds. Hesitantly, the world before him swam into view. He was

nowhere

home?

"Hey! Hey, what?" a loud voice said. Rolfe's vision cleared, and he saw that he was still standing in front of the doorway, holding the door open. Sarah had already walked in. "Rolfe?"

"Sorry, I.." he sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry. I'm a little out of it today. Just woke up. Still asleep," he muttered. He shut the door, then sat down in his armchair again and stared at the blank TV screen. Two bright eyes looked up at him from the lower left corner of the TV screen, as if to remind him that they were still watching.

"You just... I dunno... starting daydreaming or something for a minute there. You just... nevermind. Anyways, are you okay? Anything I can do for you?"

Should I tell her? Rolfe wondered. I--

No. She can't stay here. She's...she's...not right. She can't help. She won't help. You don't want her help. She's not trying to help. She'll poison your brain, your mind, blinding you. That's what she's here for.

"No, it's alright. I'm fine. Just.. tired. If I need anything, I'll let you know, okay?"

She sighed. "Alright. You want me to stay awhile?" She glanced around at his apartment, sizing it up.

"No."

Sighing again, she nodded, then walked to the door without a word. She was about to close the door behind her, when Rolfe leapt to his feet and ran to it, grabbing the door.

"Don't... don't close the door."

She gave him a strange look, then let go of the door handle and walked away hurriedly. By now, she was well past concern for his safety, and was starting to be concerned about her own. He listened to her footsteps, and they echoed inside his mind like the knocking on the door had.

Leaving the door resting against the wall but not latched shut, Rolfe groaned and slouched back into his chair. He stared at the eyes in his TV, and asked, "You guys have something to do with the aesiri?"

The shadows, the voices spoke inside his brain. We are the unsiri, masters of the shadows. There are seven. Seven. Wind, shadow, cloud, dust.

"Four."

There are others.

"Ah. So... the aesiri, the unsiri, the godlings... is this some sort of freaked-out polytheistic religion I've stumbled into?"

This is how your brain interprets reality. There is a section of your brain that controls logic and rational thought. When you dream every night, this part of the brain sleeps while other parts remain awake. Logic is not the true way of the world. It blinds your mind, keeps it from comprehending true reality. It is a form of control that you, as a human, were born with. When you dream, your mind opens a brief window into reality. Rarely is your mind capable of remembering these things.

"Let me guess. This is nirvana. Enlightenment. Whatever."

This is truth.

"What about everyone else? Everyone else in the world? Do they have this too? These visions?"

There is no one else. You are the last. You are the first. You do not exist, nor do I. This piece of your brain still exists, still works after a fashion, but something has...happened to it.

"...What?"

The universe is a figment of its own imagination.

"Okay, nothing that you're saying really means anything or has any sort of relevance, does it?"

Your brain interprets the voices of the shadows in strange ways. With that last thought still echoing in his mind, reverberating around in his brain, the world around him turned grey and faded into quiet, cold nonexistence.