In that dreamlike world, everything seemed like an illusion, shrouded in absolute darkness where only Daven's soul wandered, drifting through the twilight of his own memories. A scene so familiar that it reminded him of the first time he fell into total unconsciousness—that moment when his memories swirled
Similarly, the translucent silhouette of his soul paused before an almost destroyed image. At first, he didn't think much of it, but with lightning speed, the mist coalesced and formed a scene. It was the perfect fit for a forgotten piece. And like a movie, his past began to play out before his spiritual eyes.
At the center of the projection, a familiar silhouette knelt submissively beneath the cold moonlight. A figure Daven could never forget, seared into his heart: "That figure was Helena."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" hissed an incorporeal whisper from the shadows of memory.
