Hill stared upward, awed by the sight of the stars above him.
Back in Agshaka, the city he had never left since birth, it wasn't possible to see the stars at night. The light pollution was horrendous. Some people would venture far out to sea to look at the stars, and even then it wasn't the greatest view.
In a sense, this was a dream come true.
He took a hesitant step forward, feeling the fine black sand move between his toes. His gaze drifted downward.
The sand, if he could call it that, was an intense black color. In fact, the darkness within those grains was so strong that his eyes throbbed just from looking at it.
He knelt down and scooped up a handful of the mysterious black substance. Immediately noticing how the sand seemed to cool the air around it, Hill concluded that this substance wasn't sand but something else entirely. But without a proper name, he wasn't enthusiastic about abandoning the sand label.
Allowing the black sand to trickle through the gaps between his fingers, he observed the grains as they fell toward the ground by his feet.
The sensation he felt... was strange.
It was like a static shock, but incredibly cold.
He raised one foot, shaking off the excess particles before placing it down again. His eyes widened.
It was brief, but he definitely felt a cold pressure pass through the skin of his foot just before it touched the sand.
"This calls for..." he began, "an experiment!"
Back when his parents could afford his education, Hill had a particular enthusiasm for experimentation. Even in death, that spark hadn't faded. Almost immediately, he began drafting different blueprints for various experiments he could conduct.
But then Hill realized he was getting distracted.
Right, this is a dream. Or is it?
He looked to the sky, spinning slowly as he fully absorbed the visuals.
This is much too detailed to be a dream. My senses feel sharper here than they do in real life...
He raised a hand to slap himself awake, but hesitated. Why would he end this supposed dream now, when he could enjoy this break from his pitiful existence instead?
He exhaled briefly before slowly inhaling, taking in as much air as he possibly could. Then he took one step. Then another. One more after that. Again and again until he was jogging, and then... into a full sprint.
As he darted across the sand, he began to giggle, and then he began to laugh.
His real body, riddled with asthma and other immune system issues, could never achieve such speeds. In fact, even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to maintain a jog for more than a minute. His body was just that pathetic.
And so he ran as fast as he could, and for as long as he wanted, thoroughly enjoying the high of freedom.
After several minutes of sprinting through the silent dunes, his eyes caught on a shape in the distance. It was a dark figure, stark against the endless black, kneeling with an odd sort of reverence. As he drew closer, the scene resolved from mysterious to utterly bizarre.
It was a man who looked to be in his forties, dressed like a character from an old Earth adventure film. He wore sturdy trousers, scuffed leather boots, and a durable button-down shirt under a small cloak that covered his broad shoulders.
His hat was a strange creation—a thick cossack-style cap from which a black tail of cloth draped down the back of his neck.
Sprouting from the top of the hat were three magnificent feathers, each one nearly the length of Hill's arm. The feathers curved along the contour of the back of his head, gently brushing against the man's spine.
This adventurer was humming a horrendously off-key melody while meticulously patting together lumps of black sand.
"No, no, that won't do," the man muttered to himself, frowning at the lump in front of him. "The base needs to be stronger somehow. Otherwise, I won't be able to mold the shape of the outer walls..."
Hill stopped in his tracks, completely and utterly dumbfounded. He immediately knew what this man was trying to do.
He was trying to build a sandcastle.
But don't you need water to build one?
He opened his mouth to announce his presence, but before a sound could escape, the man suddenly shouted.
"It's not working, damn it!"
He angrily scooped up a handful of sand, and with a careless flick of his wrist, tossed it over his shoulder. It sailed through the air and thwacked squarely against Hill's face.
Sputtering, Hill struggled to open his eyes as he wiped away the black sand from his face and mouth. "Hey!"
The man leaped to his feet with surprising agility, spinning midair to face him. He had a handsome face that was rugged in nature, a few days of stubble on his jaw, and intelligent green eyes that widened in genuine surprise. "Oh! Didn't see you there!" he exclaimed, his voice a gravelly baritone. "I must have been too entranced with my... work."
Hill just stared at him in disbelief. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"A fair question deserves a fair trade. Who are you?" the man fired back, a boyish grin spreading across his face. He dusted the sand from his hands and gave an exaggerated tip of his strange, feathered hat. "Name's Hero."
"Hero?" Hill repeated, the name feeling as absurd as everything else about this man.
"It's a great name, I'll have you know," Hero said with a theatrical sigh. "Now, you. The name?"
"I'm Hill," he said, deciding to file the man's strange name away for later. "Where are we? What is this place? Is this just some kind of fever dream?"
Hero's grin faded, and he stroked his stubbled chin, his expression turning thoughtful in an animated manner. "A dream? I considered that. But it doesn't quite fit, does it? Dreams are flimsy and chaotic. You're a dog one minute, late for some event the next. This place..." He stomped a boot on the ground, the black sand crunching softly. "This place is stable and consistent. You can walk for hours and the only thing that changes is your level of boredom." He looked at Hill shrewdly. "So, no. This is not a dream. By the way, that's a strange question to ask a stranger. Don't you think so?"
"I... I fell asleep," Hill said, completely disregarding what Hero had just said. There were more pressing issues on his mind. "I was sick and felt awful, so I was trying to go to sleep. I closed my eyes and the next thing I know... I'm in this place."
Hero froze. "Say that again."
"I fell asleep," Hill repeated.
"Ah, that explains the strange question, doesn't it?" Hero's voice was low. "And to be honest with you, I don't quite understand how I ended up here." He locked his gaze onto Hill. "But I think I can guess what this is."
"Guess what?" Hill prompted, his voice barely a whisper.
"It's not a physical place. It can't be," Hero stated with growing confidence. "You dreamed your way here. I just... woke up here out of nowhere. But because you fell asleep and woke up here..." He took a deep breath, his expression turning serious. "I think this place is a personal reality. Kid, I think we're standing inside a soul."
The words seemed to hang in the still air, heavier than anything Hill had ever felt. "My... soul?"
"It would explain a lot," Hero continued, thinking aloud. "Why you look refreshed, for one. You said you had a fever, that you felt awful. But now?" He gestured to Hill. "You look fine. Here, you are your essential self. Your physical body's weaknesses don't apply."
To prove his point, he said, "Do me a favor. Jump. Just a normal jump."
Confused but intrigued, Hill bent his knees and pushed off the ground. He shot upward with an astonishing lightness, rising far higher than he should have before drifting back down and landing as softly as a falling feather. He stared at his feet, then back at Hero, completely shocked.
Hero grinned, a look of vindication on his face. "See? Lighter. Faster. The laws of your physical body are more like... polite suggestions in a place like this. And since you're the one who arrived via sleep..." He trailed off, letting the conclusion become obvious. "It stands to reason this soul is yours."