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The warm thick and humid atmosphere in the Valley of Desolate Angels is said to be the origin of all air on Pangaea. From deep within the crust, bubbling through the toughest of metamorphic bedrock. Splitting the bedrock apart exposing such precious minerals. They twinkle like the stars, the cosmos embedded beneath our feet.
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Fireball meteor showering the lands, ocean water boiling. The air gets thicker, the air is scalding, the air is saturated. Isolation for survival beneath the bedrock. Days turn to months turn to years. How long before He can start breathing fresh air?
He will never breathe. There is no air. He has no heart, he has no pulse. The flatline was destined... predetermined from the ancient prophecies. Isolated for nine months in the foetal position, not a glimpse of light, not a breath of air. Flatline. Never saw the light. Destined for greatness, but there is no air.
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Flatlined before any glimpse of light in the empty room with no air... Fading into darkness.
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