They said that a million died in a single day. According to the legend, they flooded the gates and many were lost in the space between. No one knows exactly how many. It was a giant ripple on the surface of their next worlds and the feedback was tremendous. It was known they would all die on this day, but that didn't make transition any easier. There was simply too much energy. Too many faced their own inner realizations at one time and the energy became confused. It was almost like a power outage at the dam that threatened to break it down. Too many of the million dead had intertwined realities and sought each other out in the storm. It was not a smooth transition.

The garden is yet to be planted.
Get out of the water.

Their suffering was extended, the result of what would otherwise have been unapparent delays. They looked to their beliefs. They looked to their religions. They looked into what they believed and tried to draw a picture of their passage, but the tunnel became longer and often the light would flicker. They could not let go of the lives they had left. They held onto memories. They held onto each other. There was a thunderstorm across the plains. Some were swallowed by the clouds.

Clouds make their own music.

Thousands of voices were crying out at once. Many of those who were trapped knew no other way to react. They sensed they would find eternity cold and dark, lacking in any of the promise they intermittently believed it would hold. Those with true faith were able to pass. Those with questions were held in a waiting room without walls or doors. The air around them smelled like nothing.

Where there is nothing there is an opportunity for something not yet defined.

Those with too many questions and not enough answers were cast as bit players in the dreams of another who was stronger. They populated a new dream that would develop into a nightmare. They did not know how to escape the dream and it became them. They failed to realize that they could create their own reality and allowed themselves to accept one that had been provided. The dreamer wrestled with another sleepless night and found his dreams becoming more tortured. The taste of lost souls was not one he was prepared for.

There is no wind.
Thus we cannot use our sails.
Here there is no water.
Our ships cannot move across the land.

He awoke from the dream. He did not feel right. The feelings that washed over him were not ones he was comfortable with. He tried to sit up and felt a pulling in his chest. He clutched his left breast and tried to catch his breath. The pain worsened and the pull became more like the thrust of a blade. The stabbing stopped for a moment and he felt his chest constrict very powerfully and then the pain was gone. When he opened his eyes, the familiar sights of his bedroom were gone. He took control of the dream and drove the horses. Those who had been trapped there looked to him for direction, but he did not know what to tell them. They honored him and showered him with praise, but it did not move him. He looked out over his kingdom and wept, for he knew not what to do.

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