The boy woke up in a pile of ashes. The sky was as the ash around him, a diminishing grey that caused him to blink away the dust in his eyes, eyelashes, as if he had been buried here for quite some time. Around him lay bare nothingness; the only stirr that moved was the tentative motions to sit up slowly and finally rise. His legs were numbing cold, but with a bit of movement they began to gravitate toward warmth, not without stiffness. His voice was dry and would no doubt choke if he tried to use it, if anything to break the soundless place he found himself in. Then there was a soft strumming in the distance.
Walking toward the song, and finally met a man clothed in the barest of essentials, rags in comparison to the boy’s shirt and shorts. At first he was surprised that he had no shoes, until he realized he didn’t either. When he looked down, he realized he mismatched his socks this morning.
The guitar man’s hair almost touched the featureless floor, even without a hunch in his back. As he leaned to stretch, a tree sprouted itself to support his weight. And on he strummed again, as if such a thing was quite normal, not noticing the boy until he began casting his own little shadow over him.
“Ah. You’re new,” was what he said, and his fingers stopped moving, “Don’t remember inviting you.”
The boy suddenly found a fly near his ear and swatted it away. It circled around and went back to parading the man’s shoulders, delving between strands of hair.
“Sorry. Old habit. You’ll find people like me have a bit more of a developed air around them the longer they’ve been here, and I’ve…”
He batted the fly off his shoulder, despite it looking like the only aged company that’s graced him in some time.
“Well, I’ve been here for a bit.”
He started strumming again. The boy took to sitting on the ground next to him, going cross legged as he listened to his song for a while. It followed a simple tune, turning into humming, and finally nearly mumbled lyrics.

Candle candle, did you go outside?
My, did you find it alright?
It was cold and windy, fierce and bright.
It was all the things you weren’t ready for.

Little candle, did you go out bright?
I’d like to think you managed.
There wasn’t much to see without you there.
Warming the grass gone so struggled for.

Candle candle, it’s a frozen land.
But I suppose that doesn’t matter to you.
All your life there’s fire and melting wax honey.
Dripping to mix down with the dew.

He stopped at the last line, propping the guitar with an arm as a boundary between him and them until the remnant of the song finally faded.

“Well, you seem confused,” he said, “You’re dead. Deader than disco. I hope at least you aren’t surprised?”
The boy shook his head.
“Mhm. Do you think you’re ready to go?’
He thought for a moment. Dead. He didn’t think it was right to be dead this early. But yet again, if this is what death was like, it wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t cold, he wasn’t tired. And for once, he could see the color, albeit unimpressive ones, on the man's countenance. The red in his cheeks, his sweating skin, the almost blackness of his brown, oiled, unkept hair. The tarnished chocolate of his guitar, he would have liked to stare at that color for at least a few more minutes. This question however, felt immediate, and the boy found himself less than hesitantly shaking his head once again.
“Alright then. You got a few options.”
He perched his hand proper on the guitar top before standing up. Two roads formed before him, and as they formed he looked a bit more sullen before swatting at the fly again that buzzed near his ear.
“Seems you really are dead, by the looks of it. Going back isn’t much of an option for you. The two other ones here are,” he pointed to an ashen road that led on ahead into the horizon, “One’s to pass on. It doesn’t look like too much because it isn’t. You’d eventually make that dust bunny over there that you fell into a little bit taller. And the other one here…”
He motioned to a road that gradually increased in color. As the boy looked down it, he began to notice brick etching themselves into the grey matter floor, intertwining with vines. There was the faint smell of grass, and if he had the opportunity to listen closely, the distant ambiance of birds and odd music. Tunes that so disproportionately misaligned with the man’s previous simple hums.
“That other path is something you might be interested in. A gateway to a waiting room of sorts. I made it for souls not yet ready to pass on, and it seems you qualify, even after all this time.”
The boy stared down the two roads. Even at simply looking down the ashen trail, he felt his lips dry as if stricken by a winter wind, numb and unpainful. When he began staring down the other road, the colors seemed to invite him as the vines became green, the bricks growing their dirty clay color. He didn’t notice, but the man was smiling at him as he picked up his guitar, hefting the bulk under his arm.
“Seems you got your place cut out for you then. I don’t blame you,” he said as he made a motion with his free hand. The colorful path before them expanded, transforming into a fully formed trail brimming with color. It almost pained the boy’s eyes to see it, yet he couldn’t find himself willing to blink.
“Just remember, you can always come back. I’ll be here if you want to return, maybe rethink your decision. The souls in there tend to forget that.”
The boy realized his mouth was open when the fly nearly flew in, and he snapped it shut. Then he looked at the man. He seemed to understand the state of his voice, or rather, the complete lack of one. The absent ability of a thank you.
“Remind them, would you?”
The boy looked up to nod at him, but the light had already absorbed his vision.
His feet were planted among the bricks, almost as if the vines intended to grow around him. Instead, they pointed to a new direction, and that was forward. Finally, he was here, at the beginning of his pathway to a better home.

When the boy woke again, it came not so welcomed or friendly. His eyes seemed two tiny marbles, a burden to open yet stinging to be closed. The noise here pestered his ears not unlike the fly from before, but in the form of grassblade ends and pollen sifting onto his nose. When he sneezed suddenly, his eyes opened to nearly a pop, and the blurry figure in front of him jumped back.
By the time he cleared his vision with a few good rubs, it was gone. And he was stunned, looking around at all the green. True green, intertwining with shades he hadn’t seen before. Brown trees, reaching up so high that they ventured into black, despite the sunlight that pressed down like a firm blanket.
And the pollen! He saw it sitting on the end of his nose, yellow, sticky, but fluffy. He reached out his fingertips to gather it up, and feeling his eyes sting in a different way. The man had done it, fully so even. Color, not dulled or blurry, but full and right here in his fingertips. He turned in his place, quickly spreading the pollen to another flower, where it belonged.
“Another friendly face!”
The boy looked up from his little duties to see a tall, haunched beast perching on one of the trees ahead of him. In the light, he looked to be a narrowly winged bat, his black body providing contrast to the fleshy backdrop behind him that gleamed through with the sun. Once he hopped down from his place however, much of that imaginary’s beast’s form dissipated. Instead he found himself looking long at a tall figure in a dark black suit, seeming to be all bones save for shiny, thin skin that only kept him together in his three piece attire. Complete with white gloves and a red bowtie, the tall figure bowed low to reveal the backdrop that the boy had mistaken for wings earlier: they were actually long, thin rabbit’s ears. Now in the dimmer light, they mimicked a rustic color, not so eldritch as before.
“One so cleanly kept as well. Don’t fear little sir, my name is Icarus, and I guard these woods for newcomers such as yourself. Me and my friend here in the bucket, you see,” he propped up his arm at an angle to reveal a rather large blue bucket, and inside was a small boy, cradling a tiny gaming device. Without looking up from his pile of chip bags and old cartridges, he gave a halfhearted wave.
The hasty introduction failed to make the boy recognize that his voice was no longer tight shut.
“Do you have a name?” Icarus asked, “Or rather, do you remember? Lots of folk forget theirs when they enter here, so it’s no worry if you can’t summon it now.”
“We could call you pollen nose,” a monotone echo from the bucket.
“Yes, we rightly could!” Icarus said.
“My name is Samuel,” he said. The hitch of hesitation came from the two, black orbs blinking at him from Icarus. He felt he should be terrified at such a creature, nothing but a gigantic rabbit’s skull behind a film. Yet, all at once when he landed here, he looked upon the tall thing as strangely normal. And the small boy in the bucket, there wasn’t a shock along with him either.
“Wonderful! That’s a nice name,” Icarus hummed his words out, “And see, I would tell you my partner’s name, but unfortunately he’s forgotten it over a number of years. He goes by...what is it now?”
“Trash kid,” a murmur from the bucket.
“That’s not nice!”
“Thought of it just now.”
“Well, do try to think again,” Icarus said, pinching a bit of skin near where the bridge of his nose would be, “Ah, and Samuel, do try to remember your own name, if you’d please. It gets very hard to keep track for others, as you can see.”
“I will,” he said, and stood up from his place on the grass. His legs felt wobbly, like they were thinner than Icarus’ arms, one of which ceased to bring it long around Sam’s back.
“There now. You’ll need your legs to get on and moving to Bearing. That’s the nearest town from here, and you sure did show up late,” Icarus said.
“Late?” Sam looked up to him, “Were you expecting me?”
“No, no, unfortunately not. Most newcomers just arrive in the morning before the sun rises. You’re quite lucky that I happened to be taking Trash Kid out for some fresh air. Well, as much fresh air as you can get in the adventure bucket anyway,” he dangled the bucket around for measure, and what was inside groaned in annoyance.
They began to march on, in a seemingly random direction at first. After a few long moments, however, Icarus began to find his way. Sam wasn’t surprised; all the trees here did look rather similar, and as he began to notice, seemed very much the same. Only when he began to reach out and touch them did he realize that everything, right down to a stray branch near the edge of the toppest treeline, was the exact same as the next. Once he experimented to take off the bark of one, he noticed bark slowly falling off of all the others.
“I wouldn’t be too hasty, although I know the bark here is tasty,” Icarus sang out from ahead, “But if you were to eat even one tree, all the rest would fade away. Such is the way of this little forest where we were all born.”
Feeling suddenly a slight bit guilty, Samuel put the bit of bark he had back on the place where he pulled it. To his surprise, the bit of bark and the area around it began to melt within one another, until the piece was entirely whole again. Similarly, the rest of the trees surrounding them followed in the same way, each returning whole.
“I like to think this forest is a bit like ourselves, in a way,” Icarus said as they walked, “As we all have been due broken, I think we can all eventually heal here. With enough time, of course.”
“You mean, here in this forest?” Sam asked.
“Oh, no,” Icarus said, nearly laughing, “This forest would make anyone go stirr crazy. No, I mean here, the general rightful here. Here in Remoria, where you now live.”
Samuel looked down at his socks as he kept walking. The fogginess in his head was now beginning to clear, as if he were waking up from a long sleep. He was truly in a different world now, just as he tried to be, yet it all felt imaginary. Despite the vividness of his vision, one that no dream had ever graced him with, he felt as if a smack to his side or a blow to his arm would wake and pull him all away from this new world. Within him grew a sudden desire to pinch himself, perhaps to ensure this daydream didn’t stay too long and grow him accustomed to seeing color. But as he reached for his own arm by pulling back his sleeve, he noticed a small bracelet, laced tightly in gold around the wrist, against his veins. Once his walking slowed, Icarus looked back at him with a knowing glance.
“Ah, I see you’ve found it,” he hopped, or rather bounded longly, over, “That’s the beautifulest thing here, or anywhere you’ll see in all of Remoria. Take a look.”
Icarus put down his adventure bucket that contained Trash Kid and went to turn Samuel’s hand over. However, before his fingers reached Sam’s arm, he hesitated before pinching the end of his glove between two fingers.
“May I?”
Sam nodded, and he removed the glove. Underneath was nothing but bone, thinly covered by shiny, clear skin, with almost nothing but a barely perceptible fluid in between. Samuel felt Icarus study his expression for a moment, and when he looked inside the vacancy of his eyes, the toothy skull seemed to smile.
“Apologies. Some new ones are frightened of me. But I’m glad you seem quite acclimated already.”
With this Icarus turned Samuel’s wrist gently over to reveal a small chain on the end of the bracelet of gold. On its end wrapped around the golden holding loop was a small glass bottle with a candle burning brightly on the inside. Even simply touching it filled Samuel’s entire body with warmth, and the instant he saw a bony hand reach out to hold it, he felt that warmth dissipate. Similarly, he felt the wind begin to fade on his ears, even the grass below his socks didn’t sting his feet nearly as much. The sensation nearly felt suffocating until Icarus quickly let the candle fall back onto the boy’s arm.
“Apologies, apologies,” but Samuel couldn’t help but notice some bubbles brimming up next to the skull’s eyes, “I ah, it’s been quite awhile.”
Samuel felt the candle, rolling it around on his arm before letting it drape at his side. Despite being almost entirely enclosed save for a few holes near the top of its case, the candle burned regardless of its position against gravity, no bigger than the length of his fingers, and draping down no more than a few inches. At any time he felt he could grip it between both hands, and when he did, he felt the warmth from inside that much more strongly. When he let go, he found his eyes following Icarus’ long arm as he reasserted his glove, but there was only a broken chain, brown and unappealing.
“We should be getting a move-along then!” Icarus said with a newly heightened tenor, and then down at the bucket, which he picked up roughly, “Not that you noticed we stopped, even a little.”
A noncommittal mumbling echoed out to the both of them, and they moved onwards.

They walked in some silence for awhile, Sam looking almost sideways entirely as he experimented with his glass candle bottle. The green of the trees felt almost new if he gripped the glass with a single hand, and for both it nearly went on in a cycle of new color after new color. SImple tree bark seemed to reach his nose with the scent of fresh dirt, and at some point he noticed the smell of fruit, perhaps blooming well above all the pines. If he walked with his eyes shut for a few moments, he felt as if the darkness held a profound beauty, even in blackness, like it was made of perfect ink.
Then he bumped into Icarus, who had stopped moving as well, his ears flitting.
“Sorry, I was-”
“Sh!” Icarus hushed him and set the bucket down, slowly, as if it’s touch to the ground could stirr the grass around him. Samuel kept his mouth closed and waited, until he reached for his candle glass and, lifting it into both hands, gripped it to listen more closely.
A distant rustling met his ears, bounding in all directions as if mad or blind, behind them. He felt Icarus’ long ears twitch again, and before he could say a word to the man, he was scooped up by his waist in one arm, the bucket being in another.
“We haven’t time to stay, we’ll be late at this rate!” Icarus said to them quickly as he began running.
“What’s back there? I heard something running toward us.”
“Nothing to worry about, just friends one may not want so late at this hour!”
“It doesn’t sound like something not to worry about,” Sam protested, trying to right himself in Icarus’ painfully bony cradle, “It sounded like some sort of animal.”
“Well now that’s a number of assumptions,” Icarus huffed, “It could be an animal like me or an animal like you, but what sort of animal it is tonight, we simply don’t have the time to talk or eat now. We’re close to Bearing, a little more to the clearing and--”
Samuel felt a rush of wind above his head before he saw it suddenly in front of them, landing in mass of fur against a tree. He felt Icarus gasp between his teeth sharply as some bark fell off the animal and onto the forest floor.
“Now Arebald, good sir of mine,” Icarus gently put Samuel down as Trash Kid peeked his head out of the adventure bucket for the first time this day, “I understand you felt the warmth too, but you must be getting on your way and NOT bothering the little one. He could light your candle, you know. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
The ball of fur huffed, curling outwards into a shaking mass that only vaguely resembled a man. His hair was so long that it covered his back and arms almost entirely, spilling over to drape his face and shield any observers from discovering anything underneath. It huffed again, staring at Icarus with a primal hesitancy.
“Arebald, come now,” Icarus began to say softly, “You do remember me and my friend, hmm?” he picked up the adventure bucket which contained Trash Kid, who gave another wave, with a bit more effort and a half attempt at a smile.
The monster Arebald snorted distastefully, rubbing a long nailed hand across its eyes and nearly scratching while scrubbing his entire face. He then looked long and hard at Samuel, eyeing the candle’s holder enviously. He slammed his fist into the ground, digging his knuckles into the earth.
“Touch.” he demanded.
“Arebald, I--” Icarus hesitated before another fist hit the ground as Arebald reared his chest up.
“Once!” Arebald shouted, before lowering his head, slowly and hesitantly taking his eyes away from the light, to the earth on the floor. He remained bowed, unmoving until finally Icarus gave a sigh.
“Just as I wished to experience the candle’s light for a moment, it seems this one does as well,” Icarus looked back to Samuel, “So, what say you? He may be more terrifying than I, and may try to- ah, Samuel!”
Samuel had walked silently around Icarus and toward the unsure yet unwavering monster before them. Upon closer inspection, there was a man underneath all this haze of matted hair, just one quite unkept...and smelly. He looked with intent eyes at Samuel, as if they had stilled from an uneasy restlessness for the first time in ages. Then, Samuel reached out his hand, slowly moving his bracelet past the wall of hair and into the dark. It illuminated what was inside, and quickly, as if grasping fruit during a famine, the beast clutched the candle glass with both hands. When he inhaled, his breath lost that vitality, that desperate clawing at life that had just been in his system moments ago. It held a peace, a serenity from one that has felt warmth when such feelings were deemed impossible. Once he opened his eyes, they were still and meaningful.
“Thank you,” his voice rasped, and he let it go willingly. Backing away, he set on his haunches before gripping the earth, and bounding above them in a mighty leap. Before Samuel could turn fully around, the beast was gone. Trash Kid gave a high whistle.
“Wow,” he said from an armed perch near the edge of his bucket, his gaming device in his free hand, “Haven’t seen him that happy in awhile.”
And with a plop he set himself back down in the depths of his adventure bucket again. At this, Icarus began to bubble underneath his skull again, looking down at Kid indignantly.
“SEEN him!? When did you see anything outside of your room, especially him? I’ve been looking for him for ten years at least!”
“He wanted chips. I obliged.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”
“You never asked. That was the last time he was that happy, I’m pretty sure.”
Samuel found himself laughing at the two before grabbing the candle. Then he saw them both in a light that shone past the setting sun. He saw the tall skeleton peering down, noticing the small bits of his skull that eventually moved into a patient smile as they talked. Samuel could almost see inside the bucket, even with the dwindling light, as he noticed the light from the Kid’s small device illuminating the pail’s blue sides. Samuel let the light go.
“Does that happen to you two very often?” Samuel asked. Icarus perked up, his ears alight.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone wanting your candle.”
At this Icarus stuttered, the bubbles now unceasingly wavering his vision, and everyone’s vision of his face. Trash Kid peeked up, looking at him for a moment before looking at Samuel’s candle.
“We don’t got them anymore. Not our kind of problem.”
He lifted his arm, covered in the dark green sleeve, and pulled it back. There was the same brown bracelet, similar to what Icarus wore, on his arm. But instead of nothing, there hung a wasted wick with no wax to spare.
“Burned all out. So now we’re stuck here, unlike you,” and with this, he dropped back into the bucket, although a little more heftily, as if the sentences had exhausted him, before he added, “Unless you’re just dying to stay here.”
When he began to chuckle at his own bad pun, this seemed to bring Icarus to his senses, although through annoyance.
“That was awful,” he said, “But Kid is right. Your candle gives you time, although in my experience not nearly as much as it should have. At any rate, we can discuss this further when we are within the safety of my house in Bearingtown.”

As they travelled on, the trees began to thin, although not in size. Eventually however, Samuel began to notice the trees were taking shorter and shorter forms, despite looking the exact same as their brothers and sisters. He soon  began to step over trees that appeared fully formed, despite only being a foot or so tall. And when he perused, he did discover that there was fruit in the tiny pine trees. They were berry sized in his hands, oblong like eggplants and orange skinned. He could only guess how big they were in the real trees that hung above his head.

They moved out of the forest as the trees that overtowered them grew fewer and fewer. Finally Samuel could see the sky in this place, and that it glowed in a dark purple hue. It matched the grass in this field, which began to transition from a natural green into a faint purple. Without the sun, he felt as if he were underwater, skating along the sea floor, the horizons blending colors and hues together in a circle of tones. Even the air around him seemed hung in a purple haze, and he felt as if he could blow bubbles to its surface. Suddenly, he noticed that Icarus was not ahead of him, and turned around.
Icarus was a few paces (admittedly long ones, at his stature) behind him. His ears were down and unpoised, flat against his back and lit aglow like a purple backdrop to his dark overcoat. He was looking at Samuel, but with, as much as Sam could tell, a gaze unmeanacing. Like someone watching a child with pride. Such a feeling felt so blatantly unaccustomed that Samuel found himself turning completely around, placing his hands on his hips and mimicking in his best impression of the creature’s high tenor voice,
“Are you coming? We must be getting to Bearing Fall or Something Another, very quickly or else we’ll be late!”
At this he heard a new high of laughter from the bucket, so much so that it rolled on its side in the grass. Icarus’s ears sank low as the higher parts of his sockets seemed to flatten down in an exasperated expression. He let the bucket roll beside him, past Samuel, who reached for his arm to give it a tug.
“That didn’t insult you did it?” He asked.
“Ah little sir, you’re doing well at not fearing my face, but you have much to learn about reading it. I haven’t heard quite a good impression of me in a long time.”
“Yeah man, he’s smiling, I can tell.” the bucket tapped against the back of Samuel’s heel repeatedly, and he picked it up.
“Thanks kid.” Trash said.
“You must be younger than me…” Samuel said more to himself than anything.
“Yes and among other things, I’m sure you have numerous questions. All those for those of more nightly hours than I. It’s past my bedtime.” Icarus continued walking as Samuel followed, bucket occupying both of his hands.
“I’ll be up though,” Kid said, “Gotta see if that candle can help me get past this boss.”
“You have video games here? Which ones?” Samuel asked, peering down into the bucket to get a better look at his screen.
“Uh, all of them? New ones show up in the library all the time,” he said, not taking his eyes off his screen, “But if you want anything else outta me, you’re gonna have to give me a rub of that genie candle, got it?”
“Ok,” Samuel said, and proceeded to lift it into the bucket. Once it rested on Kid’s shoulder, he looked up and Sam in surprise, “I don’t need it right now. You can use it while we walk.”
For a moment Kid looked at the candle in a wave of disbelief, placing one, then a second hand on it to test it’s firmness, realness. Then he grinned at Samuel, leaning back against the bucket wall to fully hold the game in his hands.
Not another word passed between the three of them, until they finally reached Bearing.

From a distance Bearing seemed a pile of black stone against the purple, cloudless landscape. Behind its form were no trees or mountains, but the stretching paths of purple grass that rolled in gentle hills. With no landmarks for what seemed like miles around, Samuel could only guess the town cropped up here from an agreement that yes, this was the place, and the place it would be. So Bearing became closer with his wandering steps, as he now carried the asleep Trash Man at his side, Icarus ahead of him with ever lengthening steps.
Upon closer inspection, Bearing was not a town made entirely of black stone, but of some other materials as well. Bits of bark from other forests, long logs used to make excellent craftsman work of cabins and tall structures. As they entered the town, he noticed the tall grass did not stop its assault at the borderlines of the city, but simply trifled through wherever grass could be; in yards, on sidewalks, sometimes trailing through pathways not so keenly paved with stone.
Buildings that tried to tower reached no more than a few stories tall, being made almost entirely of wood and a dark stone. No matter where Samuel looked, despite the seemingly random assortment of houses, he noticed “Work In Progress” signs scattered about in even more random locations. A pile of bricks in one spot, a ditch in another, a bubbling bucket of oil with the sign halfway drenched within.
“Perhaps we can make quick chip soup out of our little sleepy sir here.” Icarus mumbled to Samuel.
“I can hear you up there you,” Trash boy rolled over with much crunching, “you tall...cloud...gazer person.”