The gentle lift of the eyelids, the breath of new air, and the soft hums of the heart.

The Wanderer awakes from his slumber on the birth of this universe. He lifts his hand from which his head rests and asides from the empty sound of air, the sound of endless sand falls and cascades along his arm. He sits up with the remainder of the sand on his body falling like a soft and quiet avalanche. He sits for a couple seconds, moving his appendages, learning his form that to him is both familiar and new. He swivels his head to scan his surroundings, confused on where he is, he wonders what he is. Though momentary the eruption of thoughts, his attention is then averted to the greater world around him, which was an arid and sandy landscape void of the bright light we humans know best and occupied by the quiet winds of flying grains of sand. The temperature he feels from piercing cold air on his hands subsides as he closes and actuates his hand generating heat. Immediately from a couple of steps away, the Wanderer notices a flickering warm orange light emanating from the sand that surrounds it. Inconsistent in its way of flickering, he feels drawn to this source. His legs begin to move, before his mind commands it do so, and he feels the weight his feet move towards this light. As the small remaining grains of sand fall off of him he approaches precariously. Wondering if this light will aid him or hurt him he stand over the light. The aid he knows that of his eyes guiding him and the hurt he knows of his own bones creaking. Light is known to us humans to provide hope, direction, and clarity, but to the Wanderer, he knows only of his innate draw to this light, its almost as if this light is speaking to him. He slowly reaches down to dig through the sand, the sand fighting him to fall back to its predetermined spots and keep this light covered. He then hits something hard amongst the soft sands around his hands. Upon further discovery he holds in his hand a hollow glass cube and within it the primordial flame that has given us humans the gift of life. The Wanderer notices almost instantly the wavering warmth of the cube on his fingertips and the sharp edges of its corners and sides, unsure of what this thing is, he holds it still with the careful fragility provided by his weathered hands. The pulse of light emanating from the object shines on him to show a tattered outfit that has seen the force of moving sands break down the very fibers that hold the garments together. His garb which had wisps like strands of smoke, fluttered in the winds of sand. It is almost as if his clothes were made of the sand itself. The thought of who he is came intensely now, as he speaks into existence his first words in this story, “Who…..Am…..I?”. No answers came to be, all he now knows is the flame. Upon further inspection of the cube, he notices it shining more brightly as he points it away and ahead of him. As any human would, he continued to walk in that direction, as the fervent little flame grows ever so slightly brighter and iridescent. His journey begins.