It was quiet. Dark. Familiar, and yet not. A void of his own making, an emptiness all-consuming. A voice echoed around him.

It is not time. They need you. Return.

Falling. Faster and faster. Why was it always falling?

Golden eyes blinked open as he plummeted through the clouds that consumed Mythris. This was going to hurt. Resigned to his fate, he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact.

But this time he did not find water, nor the cruel bite of sharp trees. Instead, he was greeted by a pillow of soft snow piled high in a drift. With a muffled plop and an explosion of powder cast into the air, he landed safely.

Unharmed.

A miracle.

Lying in the drift for several moments, he tried to orient himself. Where the hell was he? Where was the Howff? Where was his wife? His children?

Dread coiled in his belly, and he quickly fought his way out of the snow that had so kindly caught him. Looking around, nothing seemed familiar. It was an open field, yet it was littered with horrible fissures that glowed an eerie blue.

What the hell had happened?

Sarge’s mind was foggy. All he could recall was the intimacy he had shared with his wife. That… didn’t seem quite right. Nothing else came to him, though, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

He needed to get home.

To her.

To them.