They look at their hands. They flex them. The fingers ache, the skin sore and abraded.

They look up, and see the thing that flickers in a familiar shape.

One of their hands stretches through it, and touches nothing but air, cooler and denser than they are accustomed to, but it will not be something they may deal with appropriately.

They turn away from it. This body has been mistreated. It throbs deep within itself with each movement as they move through crumbling stairways and empty halls.

Where is this place, and where is their friend.

Where could they have gone.