Into The God's Hourglass

Owen Creeks is his name. The name of the boy who wakes up with purple sand covering him. As he claws his way to the surface, gasping for air, he searches around. This land he woke up in is not the land he left. What used to be his hospital room is now a forest made of purple sand. As strange as it sounds, it's the truth.

The trees around him are made of this purple sand, and the sky above him is filled with a purple haze and curling storm clouds. The wind is vicious as it bites at the sand and carries it away, stealing it from its resting place. Thunder bangs in the distance, demanding the attention of the boy.

Owen is frightened and stunned. Has he died? What is this place? How could his afterlife be so desolate? Didn't he do everything right? Is this a punishment?

After gathering his wits a little, he moves forward through the twisting and winding purple forest. With nowhere to go and nowhere to be, he just wonders. The sand is like shards of glass, and the wind carries it past him. Still, Owen continues for the sake of his sanity. He tells himself that there's a light at the end of this vast wasteland.

At last, he reaches a clearing. It's nothing but desert, but the wind is quiet and peaceful finally. The stinging fades and evaporates as Owen searches the land he stands in and holds himself together.

There, he finds what he is searching for. Someone, something, anything. As he peers into the distance, he sees someone. However, this person is walking away from him. Owen felt a surge of panic through his veins; he couldn't bear to wonder any longer.

"Hey-" Owen calls out as he begins to chase after the person.

As he moves, the land beneath him follows. In a sudden moment, he is swept away in the sand as though it were becoming alive. Before he knows it, he is thrown to the ground at the feet of the person he is chasing after. He was so far away; how could he have gotten to the figure so quickly?

"What's going on?!" Owen lets out a noise of exasperation. He looks up at the figure he was chasing for some sort of answer, and he's surprised by what he sees.

It's a boy, about his age. He doesn't look like he belongs in this land, just like Owen. His hair is black and goes down to his chin, and he has dark eyes. His clothes are ragged but comfortable, and he carries a spear.

"Welcome to the Veil. The between of the afterlife and the mortal realm from which you came." The stranger spoke with an unfazed expression. "I am The Keeper. You can refer to me as Keeper, or sometimes people can't bother with the extra syllable and call me Keep."

"What just happened?" Owen speaks again, finally getting a bearing on his situation.

"With the sand?" Keeper starts with a slight glance behind Owen at the vast wasteland. "This place has a way of taking you where you need to be."

"So, where am I supposed to be?" Owen slowly stands and brushes the purple sand from his clothes. He wonders why the Keeper is being so vague with his answers.

"I reckon with me. Some of the legends in your realm have stories of guides in death. The grim reaper, the ferryman, and psychopomps? That would be me." The Keeper speaks again with a monotone voice and little facial expression.

Before Owen could ask anything else, the Keeper began walking, motioning Owen to follow him. Owen follows closely behind him and watches the short boy lead him through the purple desert. Of all the things Owen imagined death to be, this was not one of them.

Keeper leads Owen to a small cottage buried in the side of a dune. It doesn't fit in with the purple sand, which is a relief to Owen, seeing that it looks like a typical home. The exterior is built of stone with moss growing on it. Owen and the Keeper can see a faint glow of a fire from the windows.

"Take your shoes off at the door," Keeper mumbles as he shakes his clothes clean of the purple sand. He grumbles as a sign of annoyance. "I hate sand…."

Owen takes his shoes off as the Keeper enters the cottage. To Owen's surprise, the place is warm and contains books and plants. Keeper takes off the coat he was wearing, sets it on the coat rack near the door, and goes to a pot hung over the fireplace and stirs what looks like a stew.

"How did you die?" The Keeper asks, finally breaking the silence. "Murder?"

"What? No!" Owen responds, a little surprised by the first assumption to be murder. "I was sick…."

"Hm. Strange." The Keeper just sighs and tilts his head to the side as he stirs the stew.

"What's strange about that?"

"Well… I don't normally see many people here that have died from an illness." He chuckles a little. "The Veil holds the souls of those holding onto something so tight that they physically cannot leave the mortal realm. That's why we must figure out what you're holding onto."

"So, people get murdered a lot and sent here?" Owen asks, sits at the table, and looks around at the nearby bookshelves. Owen recognizes the names of Aristotle, Descartes, Thomas Aquantis, and many other philosophers on the shelf.

"If they're angry or vengeful." He chuckles in response. "Mortals tend to be very vengeful, but I can't blame them. "

"So, what am I doing here if I have nothing I'm holding onto?" Owen looks back to the Keeper, who looks at him over his shoulder; for once, he seems to show some sort of expression.

"Well, then you aren't supposed to be here, but the universe doesn't make mistakes like that. So you have to be holding onto something." The keeper answers with a look of annoyance.

"No, I said all my goodbyes." Owen shakes his head, taking a minute to search for answers to this puzzle.

"Listen, I've had this conversation thousands of times. 99% of the time, I have been right." The Keeper just looks over his pot and pours himself a bowl of stew.

The two sit silently for a moment as the Keeper begins to eat, and the boy tries to think of anything he's holding onto. The Keeper sits at the table with his knees pulled up to his chest as he focuses on the soup in front of him. The boy grumbles in annoyance as he finds no answer.

"I swear I'm not holding onto anything. Why do I need to know what I'm holding onto anyways?" Owen sighs and looks at the stew. He feels his stomach growl; who would have thought he still needed to eat after death?

"You're on a time limit." Keeper sighs and puts his spoon down. He sits back and looks at the boy. His eyes give a look of pity, but the rest of his face remains stone-cold. "There are two sorts of death in the Veil. One is that you die in the mortal realm and end up here, and the other is that you are forgotten."

"So I could die… again?" Owen looks surprised as he speaks.

"Yes and no. It's… not exactly death, but your humanity dies. You turn into a beast that roams the Veil, feeding off of other souls." The Keeper starts, "You become my problem that has to be put down."

"So… you'd kill me if I can't figure out what I'm holding onto?" Owen speaks as a laugh of astonishment, and disbelief leaves his lips.

"No, I'd kill you if you became a threat." Keeper sighs. "That's why this place is so empty. People very rarely let go, but when they do, they get to leave to their resting place."

"What's a resting place like?" Owen shifts, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of losing his humanity.

"I don't know. Never made it that far." The Keeper grumbles in frustration at what he feels to be a pathetic question.

"Okay, so if I'm not holding onto something, how do I get out of here?" Owen feels his annoyance grow at the Keepers' impatience.

The Keeper just rolls his eyes. He obviously feels very annoyed by the circles they keep going in, and Owen feels the same. They keep going back to the same topic. Owen's presence in the Veil.

"Okay, say you're not holding onto something here. The answers to why you are here aren't great, meaning there is an attachment to you from the mortal realm." The Keeper pushes aside the bowl of stew in front of him and grabs a book from the shelf. "Which means that you're a threat. See where I'm going with this?"

"No, but I'm trying," Owen grumbles; the Keeper rolls his eyes at Owen.

"Fine. That's fine." The Keeper slams the book onto the table, opening up a page about necromancy. Owen feels a wave of confusion wash over him.

"Necromancy?"

"Yes, this is a bad thing. This means the mortals can access the unlimited supply of magic in the Veil." The Keeper sighs and answers with a sarcastic tone. "It's never a good thing when mortals get ahold of unlimited power, especially over the dead."

"Who would want to have an attachment over me?" Owen asks.

"I wouldn't know! I'm knowledgeable, not all-knowing!" The Keeper throws his hands up in frustration. "Do you have witchy aunts or anyone who would love to bring you back from the dead?"

"No…" Owen mumbles, pushing back memories from when he was alive. "How would we break the attachment?"

"The easiest way would be to kill you." The Keeper says as he raises his spear to the boy's throat.