The Fake Player

Chapter 7 - These Ceaseless Changing Times I

November 26th, 2135. Location: Unknown.

Nothingness.

A darkness that would not subside, a fugue that would not dissipate.

Entrenched in its depths, Shirou was lost. And so he did what he only could - he marched, forward.

Where was he going? He did not know.

Why was he walking? He couldn't say for certain.

All he knew was that he had to continue forward. And so he ventured forth into the yearning abyss.

All he could do was walk, and so he did. He marched forward even if the reason behind this ceaseless action eluded him. All within a dark abyss that stretched without end.

Once upon a time, this world was illuminated by an incandescent sun, one that shined bright and beautiful. And when the sun would sleep, stars decorated the skies, illuminating the night sky like a million candles upon a canvas.

Shirou knew this...

How does he know this again...?

But long ago have they dimmed. Cloaking the world in naught but a blanket of eternal night. There was no light, save for one.

Shirou's only guiding light, a small incandescent flame within the palm of his hand. The fire emitting a soft glow and warmth, but with every step he took, the fire flickered ever so simply. Yet, he continued forward and flames flickered evermore as the shadow grew around him in his aimless journey.

And so, he would walk, and walk, and walk without rest. On and on it went, the concept of distance and time were all lost to him within this bleak world. With no end in sight and no intention of stopping.

His steps were slow as if weighted by the world with every step. An invisible burden that only grew as he continued. As time went on, he slowly felt weary, tired with every step he took. Yet, he continued to advance forward with nary a thought or concern for himself.

Even as numbing fatigue penetrated his body. The infection spread through his limbs with every step. Slowly losing all sensation in his arms, legs, and body until finally, his balance was lost, hitting something, and he tumbled forward.

For just the briefest of moments, Shirou caught a flash of something just before he fell.

A flash of steel...?

Shirou tried getting back up, only he couldn't feel his legs anymore. With the little strength he held, he crawled forward mere paces only for his arm to grow lame and drop then and there.

He tried mustering what little strength he could, but it was futile. So, there he remained; useless.

His eyes drifted back to the flame in his palm, only this time it was smaller than before. Ebbed away over his travel, until it was nothing more than a faint glimmer within a blackened void.

Shirou's gaze remained unemotionally transfixed on it, watching as the flame flickered, fighting against the encroaching darkness, but it was a losing battle. Naught but embers left and growing ever dimmer with passing second. Correlating, as his eye grew heavy with an unfathomable exhaustion.

Finally, the flame was extinguished, snuffed out as total darkness descended on him as the closing darkness of his eyelid shutting impaired his vision.

Yet, he endured.

In those precious extra seconds, gained through his characteristic stubbornness, he was able to glimpse at something.