It was neither light nor dark; it had no thoughts, no senses, and certainly no awareness. Ba, the representation of Augustine’s personality, roamed the colorless waves of oblivion, desperately searching for purpose outside of this incorporeal realm. A bright white light shone hope and relief onto this colorless oblivion. Ba felt obligated to follow this shining beacon, so, without choice or decision, it was led to an almost-familiar body; an empty shell that resembled no one alive. This shell was called Khet, and the Ba and the Khet had merged into one; Ba-Khet.

  Ba-Khet’s eyelids rolled open, taking in color for the first time in what felt like eons, and staring up at the night sky. It laid on a gray, wet beach, where the water had washed up the body. It was left with tattered clothes, limbs contorted and bleeding from mysterious bite marks left by a beast possessing several rows of teeth. Parts of its body were a deep purple color, shiny and renewed. Its leg, apparently torn off, was replaced with a purple replica of the missing limb, and its wounds were sealed with purple stitches. It twitched in the slender body of a young man, possibly in his early 20s, with great eye bags, yellowed teeth, and trimmed brown hair. The stench of its body was most pungent and unfamiliar to it, yet unmistakably the foul and bitter stink of rotting flesh. It limped off the moonlit midnight sands towards the steep cliffside. The cliff’s dirt was moldable and slightly damp, yet steep and intimidating. Ba-Khet only followed its gut instincts to climb the natural wall that it was looking up to. Ba-Khet scaled this coastal cliffside and, about three meters up, lost its grip when a hardy plant betrayed it, pulling the spikey stem by its roots. Ba-Khet could have sworn it heard the plant mutter foreign curses before the stem went limp in its hands.

  Fortunately, pain is only a problem for the living, so Ba-Khet scowled at the inconvenience of falling off the cliffside and got right back up to try again. Ba-Khet could almost feel its fingers grip the mud, as if it were aware of external sensations but still did not feel the sting.

  Ba-Khet was finally able to scale the cliff. Most motor functions were restored after connecting with the body, but one would still take a look at Ba-Khet and find that there was minimal resemblance to a living man.

  Ba-Khet scanned the area before it. The landscape shimmered under the moonlight, revealing brown shrubs and large rocks dotting the landscape. There were no trees, only flat, brown grass. Ba-Khet could barely see the snow-capped mountains in the distance under the veil of night. Something foreign crept into its eyes as it felt something other than its ghostly pains. A wave of nostalgia, stored so deeply in Ba-Khet’s soul that no memory forgotten could erase its strange reminiscing. These dry shrublands and mountains left a familiar feeling in Ba-Khet’s soul, like the sight of a place it had been before.

  But at closer inspection, the feeling that this land gave Ba-Khet quickly vanished. The shrubs uprooted themselves and walked away, only to bury their roots once again in a new location. The rocks, gray and dull at first glance, were translucent, slimy, and let out a little growl when Ba-Khet passed them. The grass twisted itself around Ba-Khet’s bare feet whenever it took a step. The terrain itself reacted to Ba-Khet's actions; it was aware and condescending toward someone so unkempt. The dry shrubs looked at Ba-Khet as it passed, nodding their fragile blades out of respect for a man with no purpose.

  There was a small, wooden shack in the distance, with bright, yellow-tinted light falling out. Ba-Khet’s vision was too blurry to see into these foggy windows, and its hearing too quiet to hear what was going on inside, but it still understood that it was a place of warmth. Ba-Khet ambled its way to the short wooden door. Its hinges were detached, so Ba-Khet lifted the door and chucked it inside in a discarding fashion.

  Ba-Khet wandered in, wary of a large man who had brown-green skin with protruding cactus-like thorns. There was another person, a small, inhuman man covered head to toe in dark tattoos. The shack was decorated with faded banners and lit candles placed wherever there was space. Glassware, some empty and some filled with indescribable substances, covered all the counters and tables, with evident signs of previous spills. It was an absolute mess.

  “Lactor, I thought I told you to place the door not—” Said the cactus man, covered in gray attire that was seemingly thorn-proof. He paused after seeing a disheveled man drained of all color from his skin, except for plentiful purple lines and marks. He continued slowly, “—Throw it…”. The prickly man quickly switched subjects, asking, “Are you one of the southern recruits? I knew their job was rough, but one, two- five shalsanander bites is just pathetic on your part.. Come join us and have some tea.”

  Shalsanaders, as Ba-Khet believed, must have been a kind of beast living near here.

  “Take a seat, please,” said the cactus man. He poured a pulpy, vile, green drink, which was anything but appealing, into a wooden cup and slid it over to Ba-Khet. “So, what do people call ya?”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Mm,” Uttered Ba-Khet. Ba-Khet didn’t have to think about its name; something natural from within was spoken. “B Ba….”.

  The being paused, “Ba-Khet.”

  “Ba-Khet? That’s… intriguing.” Pondered the cactus man. “I’m Chollito, Guild Secretary. Pleasure meeting you.”

  The small man in the corner winced at the sight of Ba-Khet, with its purple scars covering its body, as it was truly out of this world.

  “Guild?” Ba-Khet asked, staring into its cup of the still-bitter-looking substance.

  “Uh, yeah, the Desert Alchemists Guild? You fought a shalsanander, but you don’t know what guild you’re doing it for? Okay…” Chollito inquired as he squinted. Chollito, somewhat indecisively stated, “Drink up, Ba-Khet. It’ll help you with your shalsanander bites.”

  Ba-Khet downed the juice in what felt like milliseconds, only to be disappointed after its taste buds seemed to dissolve.

  “More,” said Ba-Khet flatly. Ba-Khet never let the green pulp go down its throat, so it sat there gurgling this mysterious liquid. “Ay, Chollito, what’s wrong?”

  “Who are you?” Asked Chollito, flabbergasted at this defiance. The tattooed man wiggled in his chair. “What are you? Two drops of Lactor’s jugla juice can kill any beast of any size, let alone a shriveled man like you…”

  “More,” demanded Ba-Khet. “I could almost taste it... Wait, did you say kill? Why would you give it to me then?”

  “To… kill you?” replied Chollito aggressively. “You’re no guild member. And anyone who walks into guild property without permission must be made an example of. Plus, weighing in all the options, no one will know you’re gone, the shalsananders already got ya.”

  “Shut up, cactus man! I’ve heard enough!” Ba-Khet declared before regurgitating the vile green liquid onto Chollito. Chollito wasn’t able to stop the liquid from seeping through his lips, proving the potency true. His body tumbled to the ground, twitching as the poison flowed through his system.

  “Huh,” Ba-Khet blinked, now turning his attention to the tattooed man in the corner. “Got more?”

  The man dashed out of the small shack through the doorless opening, which Ba-Khet had created, and it lost interest. It looked around, continuing its search for purpose. The vials of mysterious substances intrigued Ba-Khet, who then decided its purpose was to blindly consume anything interesting. There was a vial of a clumpy black powder, which Ba-Khet immediately ingested. With the soot-like powder sticking to its dry mouth, Ba-Khet reached for hydration, so it grabbed a small, almond-sized vial of a clear, shimmering liquid. The clear substance glimmered for a moment before being introduced to the bottomless pit known as Ba-Khet. It fizzled with the black powder for a moment, and time froze for Ba-Khet.

  Like drinking a million rainbows, its senses were rejuvenated. It could feel every splinter in its toes, and the smell of its decaying flesh was more apparent. Ba-Khet coughed out the slightly damp black powder, licking its lips, trying to get rid of it. Its wounds became ever more evident as flashes of immense pain. But as quickly as its senses were brought back, they disappeared, and time resumed.

  “That’s enough unknown substances for now,” Ba-Khet announced to itself. It stepped over Chollito’s now still body and through the wide-open door. Slowly, Ba-Khet’s poor gait turned into a swift hustle. The color in Ba-Khet’s ghostly face had returned for a moment, and its skin was lukewarm. There was no return of life, only a revitalization of Khet, someone’s soulless body.

  The dawn had broken, and the sky was painted orange and pink in the most spectacular way. Ba-Khet gazed upon the sea in the far distance, upon which it had arrived. It was a vaguely familiar sight to see, but it did not know why. It turned its attention to the mountains, whose snow shone so bright it could be mistaken for the sun. Below the snow line, the mountains were gravelly and bare; one’s steps would move the ground immensely.

  “I need to get through that,” declared Ba-Khet after realizing it lacked a purpose to continue. A decision was made without knowledge of what the journey would entail. So, as it had been decided, Ba-Khet would trample through the mountains.

  After a morning and an evening of walking through rough prairies, it had reached the foothills. At that point, the welcoming herbs had vanished, as it was too cold for their roots’ tastes. There was one plant, however, that moved in the shadows. It was a vermillion, thorny tumbleweed, shaped and informed by who-knows-how-long of unending winds. The tumbleweed may have been months, years, or even decades old, constantly learning and growing wiser.

  “Augustine,” The plant said (somehow), “find the Sah. Follow your instincts to discover your remnants.”

  “Augustine?” Ba-Khet asked the knowledgeable red tumbleweed while noting the absurdity of the situation. “Is that some sort of person?”

  Before Ba-Khet could get its answer, the red tumbleweed blew away, forever shielding its knowledge from the world. How the red tumbleweed rolled to the foothills amazed Ba-Khet, for the wind had always blown down the slopes. The few thoughts that might have entered Ba-Khet’s rejuvenated mind vanished quickly once the mountains took the foothills' place.

  By now, the moon had replaced the sun, and dusk had concluded with the frigid mountain breeze. Ba-Khet could imagine that it was cold, as its fingers were rock solid, and its eyes crystallized, obscuring its already blurry vision. The task before it, the enormous snow-capped mountains, however daunting, gave Ba-Khet hope of imagining warmer days, if only it could bypass this mammoth obstacle.