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[u]Bedroom, Lost Haven, Dead of Night[/u]	

	Fire consumed the skyline, a cascade of explosions rocked the city streets one after another. Sirens blared, water hoses flared, and desolation claimed the night. A scathing heat brushed across the hooded figure’s face. Whether this was his mind’s way of re-painting the news reports of recent H.O.H. attacks or whether this was another prophecy of his illusion magic, Hassan couldn’t tell. The difference between prophecies, dreams, and illusions was all too slim for him to decipher. Another apparition formed before his sleeping mind’s eye—pure white, and she spoke riddles:

[i]I am the greatest virtue
Soft as sand
Stern as rock
Untouched by darkness.
[/i].

	None of this made any sense. Hassan’s eyes shot open, and he felt a deafening light swarm his visage. The apparition wasn’t fake—and by the heavens was this one bright; it almost blinded him. A split second elapsed between his rise from slumber and the sudden weightless nothing. His entire being, his soul, had been lifted from its coil. How? He felt the need to breathe, but there was no oxygen. There was no hunger, no fatigue, no binding. He was outside of space-time; a different realm entirely. Everything fell still. The blinding light that was once unbearable grew translucent—what Hassan saw next robbed him of all words.

	Space. The outer-reaches of the galaxy where no man had travelled; the universe in full expanse, stretched into the black abyss. He saw spirits of all types; angels, demons, uncleansed and yet innocent souls trapped in limbo. Wishes, hopes, thoughts, consciousness. A sudden pressure caved toward him on all sides, and everything he saw was sucked into one fixed point, one tiny sliver of light. Hassan floated—a grey, unfettered rendition of his spirit—in the mythic, extemporal darkness and in front of him the fixed sliver of light widened. A caped figure furnished in blacks and yellows from head-to-toe advanced toward him.

Silence crushed the atmosphere; a timeless silence, one no sound could breach. Whatever was in front of him had made its way toward him, its cape bellowed and touched the vacancy behind. When it finally reached Hassan (who hadn’t yet mastered how to speak while venturing the Astral Plane), the figure spoke,

[color=yellow]”When you learn the answer, I will come to you.”[/color] it spoke in unison with what seemed to be hundreds of others. 

And once again, everything in front of him had compressed and sucked into a single point—but this time it all vanished, and Hassan’s body jerked forward, a victim of nightsweats. His first set of breaths were thin; he was scratching for every morsel of air he could. His alarm clock added its own thoughts on the matter—time for school.