Cold curtains of air sweep upon a boundless landscape, pushing daffodils tainted of crimson edges like so many frail needles. There stands a lone silhouette on the horizon, holding a large shield and a flaming sword. While her cloak billows in the wind, the searing heat from her blade meets the petty flowers, and captures them into a cover of destruction.
The flames are not effected by the wind, but instead seem to be fed by them. Angered, the white hot blade covers the entire landscape, until the field is not unlike a doppelganger of hell itself.
Alone, and completely omnipotent the woman stands in silence as her hood falls to her shoulders, revealing a countenance unmoving and still as grey clouds over head. Her lips breathe a single word, yet completely unrecognizable to the unheeded. Abruptly, a crimson tear runs down her cheek to meet her lips, then it drops to freedom, only to be incinerated in the flames now all around her.
As the tear meets the wild flame a piercing shout of agony can be heard, raining a raucous cacophony which completely overbears upon the whistling wind.
With that a boy wakes in a small bedroom, as veils of amber sunbeams bear down through a window. Outside, the chirps of small birds can be heard, playing a soft ballad in respect to the mornings wakening. The boy opens his eyes with pain, and wiping a single forearm to his brow which is now covered with cold sweat, a smear of blood meets the hair over his eyes.
