Voice (2)

Fynn stared, eyes wide with awe, into the yellowish-gray hue of the smoke that surrounded him. But he did not cough as he inhaled.

‘What is this? It looks like that misty haze in Mr. Eos’ palace... the substance that was always before every face and body.’

His vision was distorted by the fog, yellow as the flames that nearly consumed him. He moved slowly, limping, his steps light and careful as he walked along the narrow corridor. Just a few meters in, the ceiling was lost in the thick yellow mist.

He staggered, his right foot twisting beneath him more often than he would like. He clenched his fist and wavered on his feet. For a moment, his balance faltered, his body tipping to the right, but he twisted his left leg in a desperate attempt to right himself. His hair was matted and sticky with sweat, plastered against his forehead, when suddenly his left foot stepped onto something flat. He lost his footing again, pitching sideways.