The Old Cane

***

{Inside The Projection} 

A soft rush of warm air brushed Malik's face.

He opened his eyes to golden Shamslight spilling through tall windows.

The scent of citrus blossoms floated in the air, strangely comforting. Polished marble gleamed beneath his feet, reflecting light onto his face.

There was a hall, wide and high like a temple, yet somehow familiar. Painted pillars lined the corridor, each scribbled on with old tongue, their designs beyond intricate. 

Malik wasn't still in that hall.

He... or rather, a much, much smaller version of himself, darted across the floor barefoot, a mop of messy golden hair bouncing with every step, giggling wildly as he did.

His voice sounded like that of a kid, and his hands seemed to belong to one too...

There was no doubt about it; he was a kid, perhaps not even four years old.

Behind him, an elderly man gave chase—or at least attempted to.