Tangible darkness seeps through the skull of his eye sockets, cradling his body with a delicate yet ghostly embrace. Through a velvety veil shrouded in darkness, his body remains lifeless, for his once-beating heart is black, scorched, and shattered. Icy tendrils thread through his pearly shoulder-length tresses, elevating them off his shoulders and pulling him further into death's embrace. Claws for teeth sink deep into his flesh, tearing the skin like glass as it cracks.

The void swirled around him, flowing like an endless stream of his once-dying soul. Muffled screams and cries for avail fracture his being, sending his body into an electric frenzy. An electric spark sends his back into an arch as the base of his skull remains heavy. Endless thrumming reverberates through and beyond, crashing against his eardrums. Almost as if his head was underwater, another jarring scream lurches his body forward. Hot searing pain licks his skin as the slits of his emerald eyes shoot open before slowly rolling to the back of his head.

Memories flickered, elongated and distorted as an invisible pressure gripped his face, pressing against the bridge of his nose. The faint smell of ash and smoke lingered in the air as enraged voices roared, calling for his death.

"Burn him!"

Threads of pine dug into his wrists, rubbing the sensitive flesh of his wrists raw. His body fought tirelessly, thrashing against the restraints of his bound wrists. The field of his view began to swim and blur as his head hung low. Orange hues illuminate the darkness of his vision as the torch kisses the wood beneath him.

"Burn him!"

"Please. . ." he croaks, his voice weak and strained from the lack of water.

Panic clawed at his gut as he watched the flames below his feet crawl up the wood, starved of air. Gradually, smoke began to infiltrate his lungs, gripping his throat and squeezing his lungs dry, causing him to choke.

"Scorch those who lie closest to his wretched heart!"

"No. . . please! LEAVE THEM ALONE!" he screams, fury igniting his green gaze at the mention. The saliva in his throat began to bubble, and his chest burned, matching the flames licking his limbs. Squeezing his eyes shut, he throws his head back, his skull colliding with the wooden pole behind him. Lysandre grits his teeth, pressing the surface of his tongue against his pearls.

"Don't hurt them!" he cries out through the pain, "it's me you want, not them!"

His stomach was thrown into a frenzy, flipping and squeezing the sensitive bundle of nerves until they finally snapped. Tears clouded his gaze, spilling over the edges of his eyelids. Smoke tickled the wet barriers of his sclera, burning it in its wake.

"Please! I'm human, too! Not some useless husk. . .-" His cries grew weaker and weaker until he could no longer see straight. His heart thrashed against his rib cage, hammering his rapid beat in his ears. His mind screamed in panic for him to find a way out, desperately searching for a solution. A tumult of emotions churned in his head like the swift tides of the sea. A weak smile ghosts his lips as the faces of his family flashed through his memory—those worth fighting for. The flames quickly engulfed him, and the light in his emerald eyes faded, extinguishing the vibrant spirit that once burned brightly.

As the memory dissipates into an ink-like smoke, so does the life from his veins, sending his body motionless. A deep rattle from above shatters the silence of the eerie veil, shrouding his body deep within. Adminst the darkness, a soft shimmer of light shifts through the endless veil, its wings fluttering faintly. The prasine glow from its jade-like wings blooms to life, finding the answer it had been searching for.

Him.

Gliding gracefully through the darkness, its tiny form sways, tilting back ever so slightly as soft shimmers of emerald shards dance across the stark canvas of his pale skin. Slowly, each wound weaves together with delicate seams as gentle fingers repair the fragile cracks with a tender touch. Below the flutter of its wings, it glides itself closer to his lifeless corpse, lowering itself before faintly disappearing into his chest.

The remaining green sparkles cascaded over each wound on the canvas of his body, painting each crack and dip like a constellation of stars scattered across the midnight sky. A wispy, radiant glow blooms just above his heart, illuminating the space beneath his translucent skin with a soft, ethereal light.

Delicate green sparks tap against the stone of his heart, and a faint pang resonates through the air. Like a hammer striking a stone, the spark continues to chip away, rapping at the chamber of his hollow heart until the final crack splits the barrier. The flames in between ignite, burning brightly as they rekindle the forge of his heart.

Life glides swiftly through his veins, coating the dry tunnels before spiralling through his entire being, illuminating the dark passages once deprived of life. Leisurely, his heart thrashed against his chest, knocking against his ribcage before kickstarting to life. Ghostly gears began to turn in his chest, throwing his body forward and causing the skin of his lids to crack and break apart. A haunting glow engulfs the dull gems of his eyes before they roll into the back of his head, retreating into the shadows of his mind. Bringing his head back, his body surrenders against the invisible embrace that cradled him.

A gentle breeze—musty and cold—floods his dry lungs and coats the wilted skin, infected with spiderwebs, before expanding slowly. His cracked lips part, taking in another greedy breath into his starved lungs. The tight bundle of nerves in his chest snaps, releasing the pressure from the confines deep within him.

The edge of his forefinger twitches before the rest follow in pursuit, curling in the process. A faint crack pops from each joint, instantly sparking a slight tingle in the tips of his fingers. As the light disappears in his chest, so does the remaining faint glow from the tapestry of his veins.

A haunting yet desperate gasp for air escapes his cracked lip, pulling from his lungs like a fish choking on a hook. His eyes are forced open, but his mind remains foggy and throbbing. Almost in a dream-like state, everything moves around him like a rock in a flowing river. Glancing down at the palms of his ivory hands, the outline at the edges of his hands shifts away, almost as if the void around him were trying to reanimate him. Questions arose in his mind as he noticed he was now standing. He was unsure of how he was standing despite the lack of solid ground beneath the soles of his feet.

He wasn't supposed to be here, where the land of the living and the dead transpire. He was supposed to be met with death's embrace, not wandering in endless darkness.

"This isn't the Garden of Eden," he mutters. His emerald gaze scans the horizon, searching for a direction—a sign.

Closing his eyes, he draws in a shuddering breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he exhales slowly, straining to catch a pattern in the stillness. A ghostly breeze stirs, grazing his cheeks and elevating the silver strands of his hair off his bare shoulder blades. Inaudible yet unnerving whispers weave through the locks of his hair, sending a chill racing down his spine and raising the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Lysandre. . ." a whisper kisses the shell ear while ghostly digits dig into the pale matter of his arms.

Turning his heel with swift precision, his muscles tense, expecting to be met with the face of an unknown nemesis, Lysandre slowly begins to lower his guard. His lips part, and he lets out a quivering breath as his gaze locks on the creature before him. Tilting his head, he carefully observes the specimen glowing in front of him, watching as its jaded wings gently flutter, cutting through the darkness with grace. Something in his chest began to stir while he watched it flutter closer as he flattened the palm of his hand before beckoning it forward.

Lysandre's deprived gaze observes the butterfly hovering directly above his palm, drawing him in with fascination. He wondered how something so fragile and ethereal ended up in a place like this, searching the depth of the unknown for something unlikely.

Like a needle in a haystack.

Watching it rise to eye level, he felt it land on the bridge of his nose, causing his lips to form a thin line. A soft green glow caresses his features, illuminating each jagged crack in his face. The flaked skin of his bottom lip grazed his upper lip, and he dared not move an inch. His gaze flickered ahead, and he wondered what the fragile specimen was searching for. His gaze told a story of pain, with written tears of blood that would forever stain the pages. Icy hands caress his brain, connecting his thoughts with the creature before him.

With a final conclusion, its jaded wings beat gently, departing from his nose and gliding a few feet in front of him, haunting its movements before beckoning for him to follow. Stepping forward, the bare skin of his soles presses against the whispering world below, pulling him forward as he follows the remaining light in the darkness.

His gaze locks with the minuscule light before him, acting as a guide for him. Shivers ran down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck sprang up. Whispers thrum through the air, causing his lips to form into a thin line, having the lingering feeling he wasn't alone. Heeding his eyes forward, a flurry of haunting voices hit him all at once.

"Traitor!" a chorus of voices booms, striking the side of his head.

Squeezing his eyes shut, his nails carve moons into his palms, wincing as he presses forward. The smooth edge of his teeth dug into his bottom lip, trying to ignore how familiar each voice was, unlocking something well forgotten.

"King Slayer!" Another voice bellows, striking the right side of his ear.

His chest tightened, a band of pressure wrapping around him as he gasped for air. Each breath was a desperate attempt to stabilize his pounding heart. Widening his gaze, he continued to follow the tiny being, hoping it might offer solace in a few minutes of wandering.

"My father trusted you, demon!"

Stumbling forward, a flurry of hot pain raked down his back as phantom-like claws tore into his flesh. Anger bubbled within him, fueling the fire of his agony. Gritting his teeth, his jaw clenched tighter as a sharp exhale escaped his lips, a guttural sound laced with fury and desperation.

"LEAVE THEM ALONE!"

Throwing himself on his knees, his chest grew tighter by the second, panic settling in. His breaths grew ragged as the saliva in his throat began to bubble. A fury of voices crashed against his body from all sides like the raging tides below, choking him of his remaining air. Ghostly digits dug into his skull, pressing down like a crown of thorns, and he fought frantically to break free, clawing at it. The world around him twisted and contorted, swallowing him whole as the shrieks grew deafening, anxiety gnawing mercilessly at his insides until the bundle of nerves snapped in his chest. A jarring scream of madness burst from his lips, drowning out the pain around him until he could no longer breathe.

The world around him grew silent, and he raised his frosted gaze toward the tiny creature before him. Tousled tresses stuck to his forehead, and a war of emotions rang in his head. His mind screamed for answers, and he wondered what this creature was trying to show him. Slowly, his gaze flickers beyond the creature, noticing he was missing the bigger picture.

A gate.

The stone gate rises beyond the veil's ceiling, ascending higher and making ancient tales of giants seem small. On either side of the gate, old runes are intricately carved, their faded symbols recounting long-forgotten stories of ancient magic.

(2000 words)

A sharp, trembling breath escaped from the depths of his lungs as he tried to regain control of his racing heart. Placing his palms on the void below, he bent his arms, pushing himself up to stand. His forest gaze flickered before him, noticing the jaded creature land on the edge of a stone slab resting on a worn pedestal.

As he strides forward, his gaze fixes intently on the weathered stone slab beneath his feet, ancient scripture etched into its surface. With delicate grace, he runs his slender fingers over the jagged edges of each word, the texture of the stone awakening memories buried deep within him. He closes his eyes, allowing the coolness of the surface to guide him, each rune revealing its secrets through touch. The ridges rise and fall under his fingertips, worn dips echoing whispers of a lost language.

"The language of the mortuus." He recounts, running the pads of his fingers over each word, trying to decipher each word.

"I am the hue of envy and untamed growth. Born of the sun's kiss on chlorophyll's oath. I represent both life's vibrant array and the decay that precedes the new day. . ." he recites, skimming to the next line.

"I am the gemstone's heart, a serpent's sly gaze. The shade of a battlefield lost in a haze. What am I?"

His heart sank deep within his chest as he frantically searched for an answer. The ancient gate loomed before him, each rune etched into the stone pulsating with a subtle glow as if whispering secrets he was desperate to uncover. 

His gaze flickered from one rune to the next, the air thick with tension, before it settled back on the ominous slab before him. He sucked in a deep breath that scraped against the dryness of his lungs, the dusty air clinging to the inside of his throat. The taste of fear mingled with the stale aroma of stone, making it hard to concentrate. 

Summoning every ounce of focus he could muster, Lysandre began to recount each word of the incantation in his mind, threading them together with precision. As he furrowed his brows, deep lines etched into his forehead, his thoughts spiralled into a chaotic whirlpool. He felt each tick of time echoing in the silence, the weight of his answer weighing heavy. There must be an answer, he told himself, wracking his mind for an answer. He felt his pulse quicken, a frantic rhythm that matched the beating of the ancient gate's heart, urging him to dig deeper, to search the many webs of his mind for an answer.

A deep sigh escapes his lips as his gaze drifts toward the butterfly, captivated by its soothing luminescence. The longer he gazed, the more enchanting details he uncovered. Each wing is intricately sculpted and adorned with exquisite jade patterns that dance gracefully along its shimmering edges. Its gentle, emerald glow bathes the stone before him in a mystical light. Without thinking, an answer carves its way onto his tongue.

"Viridis."

A deep rumble echoes through the void, shaking the whispering world below him. One by one, bright green wisps ignited, dancing over each rune etched into the stone, their glow pulsating rhythmically until they reached the towering gates above. With a low groan, the ancient door began to crack open, sending a cascade of tiny stones tumbling to the ground like raindrops from a shattered sky. Lysandre stood firm against the oncoming force, the wind whipping through his long hair, lifting it like flames around his face. He pushed his arm forward, bracing himself. Squinting against the sudden brightness, he felt the intense light pierce through his vision, fracturing him in a blinding embrace. The world shifted, causing everything to fade, ripping each web of his flesh apart until there was nothing, pulling another scream of madness from his throat.

And the world grew silent.

For the green-eyed zombie would rise again.

Mortuus: the Latin word for dead.

Viridis: the Latin word for green.

Word count: 2651