The Dance Part I

Adam opened his eyes. He lost track of the time, he might be here for days, or years, or maybe just minutes. For a very long time now, he suspected that he's on his way to nothingness, and what he experienced now is what people considered as purgatory, which for him was a fancy word for the last sparks of the brain, reliving random stuff from his life before it finally withered away. He thought it would be wonderful, to be entirely disappeared, to not think and feel any longer. It would feel like nothing, and he wouldn't worry about anything, just peace.

But he started to be annoyed that it took a very long time to happen.

What was the purpose of being in this place for too long? To ponder about his meaningless life? Was there something or somebody holding him back from death? What would be his purpose if that was the case? He tried to live as best as he could, and he died stupidly anyway. Just let it end.

"You promised her to do the dance," George appeared from the mist, and once again, the darkness changed back to the blue-ish and destroyed village. Adam was grateful for the company because he started to get bored.

"Her? Right. I'm sorry, who is she again? You keep telling me about her as if I know her."

"You've met her," George said, "well, she said she met you."

"I met so many women in my life, George," he lost interest. If George kept talking in riddles, so be it.

Without warning, the world around him slowly morphed into another place, an occurrence which he now used to. The limbo constantly shifting from place to place, as if it was trying to tell him something, but he didn't know what any of this mean. He only waited with minimal anticipation.

Finally, his surrounding became clear enough. He was now in an indoor area. Darkened walls of a tall room with a brass door. Sad rays of light struggled to shine through its clouded windows. He saw himself knelt in the middle of the room, hunched and cried while holding a black leather jacket. He remembered this, this was the time when he found out that Marco was dead. The brass door suddenly opened, and a misty figure entered. Although the mist never settled into a form, he could vaguely see that it resembled a veiled woman. The veil was covering her face.

The kneeling Adam startled and got up, yelled garbled words about some protective suit.

Then the world started to explode into another mist. When it settled down, he found himself in a back of a vehicle. Another Adam was on the steering wheel, with the same misty figure sat down on his side. They were chatting.

"I'm hoping… maybe…" the white misty veiled figure said, "…that those who are capable to be read by me, and can communicate with me, will tell me who I am."

"What if they never found out?" the Adam on the steering wheel asked.

Another explosion. He worried that these constant blinking in and out of different places in time would trigger epilepsy. But he was fully aware that he was not in a physical world, he hoped that the sensations he felt here would not affect his actual physical body. Besides, he never felt the pain in his right shoulder any more. His arms were totally fine.

Now everything around him was cloudy. He was on a hilltop, with violent wind blew from all over the place. At a mound in front of him, something sparkled. He walked towards it and found that it was a golden sword, being stabbed into the earth.

Another explosion, he was surrounded by dark waters. All around him were countless debris, wooden and metal as if they were initially a part of a ship. Was he drowning? Not far from him, he saw another drowning figure. A woman, clutching what seemed to be a hand mirror. Then suddenly light flashes prompted him to look up, the surface of the ocean was radiant with flashes of lightning. It was a violent storm.

Then everything changed again, he saw a lady with a richly ornamented robe walking alone in a desert. She was followed by what he thought were evil spirits. She was slowly followed by a black desert storm, with countless pairs of red eyes. He wanted to yell at her, to tell her to run, but he saw a determination in her crying eyes, and he could feel the strength she bore in her heart. She would be fine.

Another explosion delivered him to a jarring silence. He found himself in front of a domed building, stood along on scorched earth. The quietness was disturbing, unnatural. The sky was dark, without any cloud, just an endless, and still, darkness. There was no wind as if the time stopped, and if he tried to move, he'd anger whatever was in charge of the world. On the front of the building's double door, he saw a rugged man, wearing a grey tunic and a grey pair of pants. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, and his eyes were almost white.

He knew that man. Somewhere.

Unlike the figures he saw before, the man stared at him directly. His countenance could not be read. It was anger, but also sadness.

He saw a sketch of that face before.

A sketch.

That was Ogrario!

His acknowledgment somehow brought a smile to the weathered man's face, then everything changed again. Now in quick succession: the Prophet, Hagar, the five-sided pyramid, then back to where he was before, the cold blue-ish ruins of a village. George was in front of him once more.

"What happened, Adam?" George asked, "you were gone for a while then. Anything you wanted to say?"

Adam was tongue-tied. He felt sick.

"I hope you got some new insights..."

"I don't know. I see... stuff..."

"Ah!" George said, "you finally did your second dance with her! Good to know."

"Was she the one with the white veil?" As George didn't answer, he insisted, "who is she?" Adam finally wanted to know.

"You still couldn't tell?"

"Please George. I'm tired with your riddles..."

"The thing is, as a Hero of Her, you need to find your own destiny. You need to realize your purpose and answer your own questions. I already did my part," George smiled, "You were an investigator, correct? Investigate. We gave you enough hints. Now work on your destiny. A hero needs to have their agency, decide their future, not just being dragged away from plotlines to plotlines."