It was a burning, roiling light that woke the crimson Ksat. By all accounts, she should’ve been awake already. She lay in a field of wheat, where the stalks, set ablaze at the tip like candelabras, could put her homeland's stars to shame. Yet, she felt no pain. Her scales remained plastered to her flesh, unbothered by the licking flames. It was pleasant, if Baskoro must describe it at all. The same sensation you’d feel at a campfire, warmed up after a rainy day. If she waited any longer, she’d sink into the soil. Fertilizer for the ashen field. She pushed upwards and began her march. For the walk and plains alike, there wasn’t an end in sight. Father Time broke his hourglass. Everything slowed to a crawl. Further and further she weaved, ‘til she found herself getting lower- or did the stalks grow taller? That which laid her path snuffed out with a blink. The land turned into an ocean of black. -–-Gravity no longer cradled Baskoro. Though, she did not drift. An unknown force kept her in place. At any moment, she could’ve drifted off, back into some wonderful, dreamless state. Mirthless laughter, the cry of a cherubim, grasped for her attention. Radiance surged all at once. It’d burn a sinners eyes right from their sockets. Baskoro gaped at the familiar pyre. "OH BASKORO... DO YOU THINK YOU'VE GAINED WINGS?" -–-She awoke with a start, a gasp, a kick. Claws ripped the duvet and sent down drifting towards the floor. For a long moment, she could only claw for her breath. Her faithful hound whined below, roused from her slumber. Such a piteous sound grounded Baskoro just long enough to remember herself. A warrior beyond her past, beyond burning light. With a pinch of her talons, Baskoro snuffed out the candle by the bedside table.
