The light shined steadily, with no twinkle, with nothing obstructing its glow. It beckoned Lyla like a light house beckoned sailors after months at sea. But she was wary, wondering if the light was meant to be a warning, cautioning her against dangerous coasts that will bring her down.

It was the first thing Lyla saw when she opened her eyes to this place, and no matter how far she walked she still saw nothing but the light in the distance. The world around her was cold, dark, and unrelenting in the secrets it held. Whether a beacon of hope or doom, that glowing light was all she had.

So she continued toward it.

The ground beneath her felt slick, sturdy, but polished in a way that made her feel she should tread carefully. She walked slowly, one foot in front of the other, pointed toward the light. Something told her she should fear straying from the path—if there was one—more than what lay on it, ahead or behind.

For a time, Lyla feared she was trapped in a nightmare, that she would forever be walking toward a never nearing light. But eventually, gratefully, the pinpoint grew until Lyla could see the glow reflecting on the ground, a halo reaching into the darkness. A little further and the halo allowed Lyla a hazy view of the world within its boundary. The ground, though still dark, glistened in the glow, a large structure stood behind the light, and all of it was wrapped in a frosty haze.

A sense of peace krept into her as she walked, pulsing from her chest and traveling through her body with each step. Yet fear tugged at her mind like a distant thought, as if trying to pull her body back in the opposite direction, trying to remind her of…something. She knew it was something important, but she also knew it was something she didn’t want to relive. Her steps drew her away, and while she kept her steady pace, she wondered if she was running away from something.

Light grew now, not from the beacon ahead of her, but from around her—a sunrise with no sun—a day breaking over a dark grey sky. Lyla stopped to look around, to see the grey cloudless sky and the dark ice beneath her feet. Near-black water lapped lazily around where she stood, she was right to have feared veering off the path, and large broken structures appeared to emerge from the water’s depths—monolithic ruins of unknown origin. Everything was covered in that thick haze, even Lyla. It wrapped around her with a caress, its dampness coating her skin and clothes. She shivered against the sensation and realized she didn’t feel the cold. There was the expectation of cold, she knew the world around her was meant to be cold, but she didn’t actually feel it.

She knew where she was. Or rather, she felt that she knew. But that same fear that tugged on her mind kept her from recognizing the place. She looked back to the light, the thing that guided her forward, and now she saw a silhouette. A form took shape against the lightening space. Legs, a torso, arms.

Torn between wanting to rush toward anything even remotely human and a desire to run away, Lyla instead continued her slow steady pace. Then, when she was near enough, she decided to speak.

“Hello?” Her voice was swallowed by the vastness of the place, and no response came.

She walked closer, the form taking a more solid shape, and the light centralizing over the figure’s head.

“Hello?” She tried again. “Can you help me? I… I’m not sure where I am.”

A few more steps and the figure became whole. The light still shined brilliantly around the figure’s head, silhouetting their features, but Lyla could make out a mouth, tilted up at the corners in a gentle smile.

“I am so pleased to see that you made it,” the figure spoke. Lyla squinted against the glow and saw the small smile grow into a toothy grin. “I’m sorry you had to come, but so happy you didn’t get lost along your way.”

Again, Lyla felt that tugging fear trying to pull her away, but the voice that spoke to her was enticing. Against any logic, she trusted it—them—this…being.

She took another step forward, shifting on her feet in an attempt to see the figure from a different angle, hoping to get a better glance at their face. Instead she noticed the structure behind them—the large ruins of an aircraft, dark, empty…dead.

A sharp ringing started in Lyla’s ears, pressure building in her head as scattered images tried to organize themselves in her mind. Flashing lights, terrified faces, oxygen masks falling from the low ceiling, Lyla’s hands clasping at armrests, a stranger’s hand gripping her own in white-knuckled fear before Lyla closed her eyes to the terror of inevitability.

The fear tugged at her again, desperate and wanting—a deeply human desire to run from what lay before her. And the being frowned, not in disappointment or doubt, but with empathy.

“I understand you must be confused. Most are. I can answer your questions, but I suggest we do so on the way.” The being gestured to their side, and Lyla saw a large ferry boat floating beside the aircraft, bobbing gently against the ice in the otherwise still water. A ferryman stood at the back of the vessel, his strong arms poised and ready with the oar. “I’m afraid we still have a long journey ahead of us.

One question. Any others could wait, but one question she needed answered.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked. The being smiled at her again, and extended a hand. That unquestionable trust was back, pushing the fear away and reaching her hand out to take theirs.

“Your final journey,” they said, helping her step into the ferry.