(Wake up…)
Am I asleep?
(… Just wake up…)

The return of his consciousness is a rogue tide slamming into him, bringing him back from an abysmal darkness he didn’t realize he succumbed to. There are no images, no specific voices of his past crooning to him or urging him to stir. A faceless noise is what speaks to him, a sound that he has never before heard.

(Wake up…)

There it is again, but there is no one and nothing around him.

That’s all there is… just him…
He is under a spotlight – perhaps it’s the silver light of the moon during the twilight hours? – but he is entirely alone where his responding voice carries in an eerie echo. A slow turn of his head to the left, then the right, confirms the emptiness of his consciousness where nothing else remains.

(Tiphon)
Yes, that is my name.
(Son of Infection and Starlace)
Okay.
(Twin to Candle)
I have a sister… a twin.
(You are a beacon of light)
Well, maybe in this twilight zone.

Why is the voice telling him this? Why is there a faceless voice speaking to him in this black void?

A breath catches in his throat as he moves around and remembers the sensation of his muscles and the mechanisms of his body. Wings! Yes, he has wings! He looks back over his shoulder to see the appendages standing vigilant, seeming to glisten with the rest of his porcelain body. A smile stretches across his lips and a fuzziness blossoms throughout his core. Happiness? Is that what this is? A pleasurable ignorance traces across his face as he lifts his eyes to continue looking around, desperately trying to fathom this wormhole he has found himself in.

Where, exactly, am I?
(Beqanna)
Yes, yes, I remember that name! Where in Beqanna?
(Just wake up)

He walks forward again and spins in a circle. Halfway through, he notices a distant light as though he is locked in a tunnel. The moon’s silver spotlight diminishes from his body, leaving him shrouded in darkness. There is nothing except that small light. Narrowing his molten eyes, Tiphon walks toward that strange illumination. Then he’s running. His wings clutch to his sides as he hurls himself into a steadfast gallop with a sole purpose in mind.

The light.

This world of shadows claws at him, but he persists until he is swallowed by the silver light. It clutches his entire being, forcing air into his lungs.

He gasps.
His eyes truly open.
There are trees, meadows, mountains, and hills, but there is also turmoil and decay.
Beqanna. He is in Beqanna.
And he is awake.

Knives drag down his throat to his lungs, the winter air clawing into him and leaving him raw. Another painful gasp of air confirms that he is here, among them again, but he is confused as to why. The abysmal world he fell victim to has receded, but his new surroundings aren’t any more fruitful. When his molten eyes sweep curiously across the meadow, he sees only destruction and mayhem. Winter sighs across them, chilling Tiphon to the bone, but this isn’t only a seasonal fluctuation. There are many scrambling away, shouting away the peril that looms dangerously near. Plague, he overhears someone scream, disease. Oblivious to the intricacies, Tiphon roots himself and watches the world pass him by.

No one is familiar. No one calls his name above the crowd of heads or rushes him. So why does he remember this place, but nothing else?

As the numbers thin out, he takes note of a few stragglers, but it is a solitary girl that dislodges him from his stagnation.

”I am,” he whispers, his voice almost lost with the wind, but he walks toward her, drawn to her. Perhaps she can answer questions, he considers as he steps gingerly forward, desperately trying to remember how to walk, run and fly. His neglected muscles scream in protest, and yet despite his inactivity, Tiphon still resembles a perfectly fit stallion in his prime. Blanketed in moonlight, he challenges the silver glow of the moon with his own pure aura. It catches the soft edges of her face, highlighting her sweet but confused eyed. ”I am here,” he repeats while curving his lips into a gentle smile despite how distraught he is about the penetrating cold. ”But I’m so lost. What is going on?” Wisps of information have reached him, but the understanding of it lies just beyond his reach, taunting him.

”Tiphon,” he almost repeats what he had been told in the darkness: son of Infection and Starlace, but he catches the redundancy of it. ”My name is Tiphon.” The taste of his name seems right, perfectly settling into every pore and fiber of his being.

He can almost taste her fear as it extends far beyond her skin, reaching for him. Tendrils of her fright nearly thread through him and sink into his blood had it not been for a chance step back as he watches her absorb the damage already wrought on the meadow. A tumultuous storm of voices, shouts, and groans thickens the air and almost takes his voice away. His initial whisper is lost on the wind and so he had tried again to coax her attention, this time with success. An image of beauty is rare in this grayscale place where trees have been stripped naked and blood splatters across the dead earth. Tiphon desperately wants to embrace her, to pull her into his chest as a reminder that this isn’t the end, but he restrains himself as she uneasily closes the space between them. Like others, her eyes are bright and wide as she drinks in the sight of him for the very first time, but he isn’t certain why. In reality, he hardly realizes who – or what – he is. Ignoring her gaping expression, he quickly glances sideways as an infected horse stumbles past, droplets of blood speckling its muzzle.

”Plague,” he echoes after she confirms his vague suspicion. It makes sense now. His mind reels as to why – or how – but he doesn’t ask her. She is as much confused as he is. Neither of them know; they just want to survive, to escape.

A single step draws him closer to her, but they do not touch, not yet. He is weighing the situation, considering the options as his observations lead him staring briefly up at the ominous sky. ”We obviously cannot stay here,” he finally says when his gilded eyes fall back to her, following her hesitant introduction. ”We can find refuge, together,” the offer slips sweetly from his tongue, unable to bear the possibility of leaving her behind. Playing it over, he confirms to himself that he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

There are so many like her – like him, that he won’t admit – that need help, that need a balm for their fear and pain.

Although limited, he can at least try.

Shifting his weight and ruffling the delicate feathers of his wings, Tiphon finally reaches forward, touching her with the velvet edges of his muzzle. ”It’ll be okay,” he hopes, ”and I will try to protect us both… I’ll try.” Although the fear of failure is climbing up his throat and hesitating his words, he pushes past with determination. It’s all he can do, all he can be. A light in the darkness, that voice said, and that’s all he wants to be.

He just doesn’t want to fail, not again.

Forward-thinking is all he can try to do. He wants so desperately to help, to offer a safe alternative. She is dreamily lost in this chaos, praying that it isn’t real. Even confused, she is beautiful. Tiphon looks at her fondly from underneath his forelock while trying to map out their destination. Like a fool, he offered her a float with no foundation. There’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes, and it brightens her worried face, but he didn’t consider a place they could go. It was an idea tossed in the air out of panic because he doesn’t want to see her beauty darkened and destroyed by this pestilence.

Heat fanned across his face when they touched – a reassuring gesture, but one of few he has experienced – and though it startles him, he is still slow to pull away. The smile that it blossoms across her face is enough reassurance of the direction they are headed. They are strangers, and yet the disaster is bringing them closer like missing puzzle pieces.

”Madelyn,” her name is sweet on his tongue, brimming with joy even amid the disease engulfing them. She confirms that they must flee, that there is nothing more for them here. A final sweep of his eyes finds most of the land barren and consumed. Contorted tree branches loom over patches of the meadow, the grass wilted and hopeless. ”There is an island offshore. Perhaps it’s safe there?” He doesn’t realize how long of a trek it is, especially for one grounded without wings. The name escapes him, but he remembers a grainy voice in his head mentioning refuges, an island being one of them. They would have to swim – he wouldn’t abandon her even for flight – but the gains may weigh out the costs of travel. Tiphon inches closer, drawn to her even in her silence. ”We will find the island together and stay there for now, yes?” The gentleness in his tone contrasts with the soldier-like aura he radiates – a softness underneath the steel.

Looking up briefly at the sky, he tries to capture the scents of the world – like flies in a web – before mustering her in the appropriate direction. ”We can stop whenever you would like, Madelyn,” his lips press to her shoulder as he aligns himself with her, his wings remaining clutched to his sides, ”and if you feel ill, I will do my best to help you.” He offers all that he can, not realizing that the infection is swimming in his own bloodstream.