Chained Fates

Harsh panting.

Loud whines of restless wind.

Looming shadows of an unspeakable beast.

I could not afford to spare any energy moving my neck to look back. With bated breaths I jumped over a fallen tree and rolled. I sprung back up and powerfully push myself upwards. The ground beneath me opens up to a ravine. It was so deep that the bottom was engulfed in impenetrable darkness. My tired back strained to move its muscles and pushed down the wings behind my back. The wind quieted until I could only hear my ragged breathing and pounding heartbeat. I hovered forward and tried to rest in the few moments where movements are not necessary. The wind could not endlessly carry my human body thus I strained my sore back again, urging the muscles to flap the wings and keep me airborne. The shadow behind me has temporarily halted on the edge of the dark forest where I used to hide. I spared a thought to apologize for the forest's corruption caused by the shadow. Even then, I barely had enough consciousness to even think a single thought.

The wind was as chilling as winter and the cuts and bruises all over my body keeps me permanently aching. I could not sense any energy in myself and thus could not heal even the tiniest prick of wounds. My legs hangs like dead weight and my arms wraps around my body in an attempt to keep some of the lingering heat. My fingers tightly gripped the barely warming leather coat and only stopped gripping tighter when I felt the fabric almost tear. The wings behind my back helped cover some of the wind as I soar but only temporarily. Once they became too cold, I could only find a place to land and warm them. Stiff wings were not that great for any above-ground activities. I could not even remember the last time I did not run from them.

A pause.

In fact, I could not remember the last time I opened my mouth to speak at all. In order to confirm, I opened my mouth... and a gust of breath left my lips. No sound left other than the sound of air. I shook my head. No matter then, I do not need to talk when no one will hear.

The other side of the ravine approached my sight and I glared at it. I did not hate the lands but it was only on air that I felt free from this meaningless chase. As I lower myself, the land became clearer and I closed my eyes. Just a little bit more on the air.

I opened them when my back and wings felt more aches from overexertion.

The land was closer now, close enough to see that there were barren desserts and plains with small hints of civilization here and there. I contemplate my choices and decided to stick with my plan. I forced my tired wings to flap harder and switch directions. I then gauged the amount of energy I've recovered and decided on what to do while hovering. I could use a simple space displacement magic a couple of times with the recovered energy so I reached my stiff hands inside the leather bag strapped across my chest. I brought out a piece of white feather with a black shaft. Before I could do anything else, that loud noise came.

An incessant ringing from a distant place that brings me an alarming amount of panic.

I stuffed the feather back in my bag and struggled mid air to stay afloat.

I gasped in pain as if my soul was ripped out.

That noise became clearer.

White light blinded me.

Familiar warmth.

Then...

No more.

* * *

The confused and out-of-the-world feeling of waking up crashed into him all at once. It was the noise of an old-school alarm clock rattling his eardrums to wakefulness. His hand instinctively attempted to slam it shut and it fell off the bedside drawer, still well and incessantly ringing.

With a groan, he threw his (already sprawled) blanket off him so that he can release a suffocated breath. His eyes were blinded by the gap between his curtains and so he used one hand to attempt pulling it closed. Once he did, his eyes lowered to the still-ringing alarm clock and briefly considered stomping the cursed thing to death. He decided to play nice today and simply used his feet to expertly pick it up and throw it on the bed. That move effectively shuts it up and almost strained his calf. It wears off in a second and he stood up.

His eyes drifted to the calendar hung near his bed and frowned. The crosses marks the days he has passed but a new additional mark was what caught his attention. He marked every single day where he dreams that certain nightmare with a little triangle and his calendar showed that... He had that dream approximately 3 or 4 times a week on random days. For the past month.

He eyed the last cross he made where there had been no triangles for the past week. Although he didn't immediately mark all occurrences, he knew that enough was enough. Still, those 7 days of peaceful sleep had brought his hopes up and then stomped it down. He sighed and flipped the calendar, marking May 1st with both a cross and a triangle.

He promised himself that he'd look into it if it doesn't stop by the end of the month so he scratched his head as he looks around his small apartment.

It was small, cozy and fit for a single adult male working in the field of internet medias. His work mainly consisted of grilling three chapters out in a single week, grinding loot and items as well as streaming on Tuesdays and Saturdays. He also needed to edit about a few gigabytes worth of photos and videos every month.

The thought of deadlines, endless emails (from his editor) and undying screams of love (or hate, if you count the last cliff hanger) made him easily shake the suffocating fear and breathlessness of his dream. It filled him instead with dread and cold sweat as he stumbled to the bathroom so he could clean up.

He decided to order breakfast and finish his chapter before looking the dreams up after breakfast.