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And as he stepped through the door to the Sanctum, he saw the ocean. Calm, gentle waves washed over his boots, lapping along the sandy shore. Behind him, the doors remained open, the view of the distant city etched into his mind like a rabid pest.
One step forward, and the water stirred, rings racing across the surface and distorting his reflection. His gaze trailed upwards, onto the first step of the staircase, along the railing until reaching the top. What was supposed to be the top. He watched as the stairs went on and on, until disappearing into the mist above. The wood of the walls creaked around him, as if groaning out his own unspoken displeasure.
Water rippled, wood groaned, and his knees hit the sand. His dark robes stained further, and the moisture seeped through the fabric to his bare knees. It seeped through the cracks of his boots to the soles of his feet and down to his toes. Cold.
The creaking of the walls reverberated through the ground into his legs, shuddering through his spine as he bent at the waist, palms stilling against the sand. One dry spot. The moon would never warm it like a sun once had, and it remained cold. A shiver in his shoulders spread into his neck, the small hairs rising. Goosebumps.
His reflection in the water. Pale, gaunt expression looking back at him. Breath a loud hush in the silence, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Far far away, the ocean still soared. Here, the stillness deafening, terrifying.
“… control everything …”
Echoes between walls that no longer existed. All he saw was ocean. All he saw was the mist, the stairs. Endless, endless stairs going and going, impossible to climb. Somewhere far up there, was he to see it all? Everything all at once. His failure. His fear.
“… most important lesson …”
Echoes, echoes, echoes. Darkness, despite the red, glowing shard of moon ahead. Glowing despite the mist, despite the clouds. Cheshire. Grinning through the stillness, wicked and cruel. Filling the empty halls with eerie, bleeding light. The blood of the past. The blood of his echoes.
A guttural cry, his own. Moisture down his cheeks, his fingers clenching in the sand beneath him. Forehead thumping gently against the ground, flyway hairs dipping into water, scalp chilling. Tension crippling stiff muscles, pain ricocheting. Pain, pain, and pain. His failure, his world, his people. His curse.
Echoes.
“STOP!” he cries. Growing small, sitting on his haunches, palms speckled with sand covering his ears, moisture down his cheeks. Everything is silent, yet it’s all too loud. The echoes bouncing between the walls deafening. “MAKE IT STOP!” It’s all too loud, his eardrums crying, moisture down his jaw. Moisture. Water. The ocean lapping gently, seeping up his thigh. More goosebumps.
There is no sound. The walls crumbled. The city a desperate reminder of a past long gone. It’s etched into his mind. Tainted memories never to be seen again, never to be relived. All gone, all lost. Echoes are all he has left. Echoes are all he can hear. Echoes, echoes, echoes.
Seconds, minutes, hours. Echoes.
Days, weeks, years. Echoes.
“What happened?” the other asks. No echoes. All is silent. Relief, yet fear. He knows what happens. He knows why loneliness now overwhelms. He knows why it’s silent, peaceful, still. Even the ocean is still. Even the moon is crying, though no rain is falling. The mist is breathless. It’s here. Years long past, though no time exists. Relief.
“I lost,” he responds. Silence.