Had he gone blind, or was there merely nothing for the vision to perceive? Did he lose his body, or did it merely have absolutely nothing to sense about itself? The surroundings had changed suddenly, but the movement between placed was not instantaneous. And in the period between there and here was a strange phenomenon. Vision, touch, smell and taste rendered temporarily obsolete, it was as though his hearing alone was left with something it could convey to its owner. And what it conveyed was a strange white noise. Though Zoen himself had little to do with it, the recognition of the sound came inevitably. It came from beyond. The sounds that had put him to sleep, throbbing in the skull of a man lying over his desk, pushed beyond his active cognition. And Zoen knew that this man right now had no place here. Yet the unnatural way in which he'd brought about his lucid dream clearly had some effect here. When the dream was rendered empty, the sound could be heard, the frequency, the overlaying waves, one lost beneath the other, each one eluding focus, merged and tangled into a signal, difficult to decipher, but compelling like a long-forgotten song.
He was more compelled however to have his other senses return. The sound was almost morbid, like the tapping of raindrops on the roof of a coffin, like nails driven into its cover with steady beats. Why such a frightening comparison would spring to his mind so soon he could not tell. Was he not inspired by the prospect of returning here? Was he not smiling genuinely at the sight of familiar places upon the world of Dreams? His journey was at least to an extent driven by necessity, but urgent as matters were, the Dream seemed ill at ease with being grasped forcefully. He needed to avoid tension and to calmly regard every step, else the waking man's rigidity would tear his very presence from this world. And what then? No one knows where a man neither dreaming nor awake could go.
Thankfully for both Zoen and the one beyond him, he remained dreaming. But the place to which he returned was far from welcoming...
Even getting to see ruins was better than the discouraging feeling of being sightless even with both eyes wide open. The kaleidoscope-like patterns in his eyes shifted around his pupils, the strange dance of patterns hidden by golden bangs falling over the upper half of his face. The man with the golden sash sat up from the uncomfortable seat of rubble, observing his surroundings. Was there not supposed to have been a city...? There must have been one, yet now it was gone. There was broken rock everywhere and he made an effort to stand up as soon as he felt enough power over the muscles in his body. Slightly sore, perhaps due to having spent an unknown amount of time on hard ground, he was nonetheless capable of straightening up and drawing in a prolonged breath. The dust had settled in by now, but the air was strangely empty. It got Zoen wondering whether his senses would only return gradually. How could he have made a switch from a place so alive to such an empty one...?
As if unwilling to accept such a twist of fate, he began to walk, treading carefully and testing every foothold in his path before leaning his weight on it. He was blessed with a fairly light body, proceeding onward with little difficulty. But his movement did imply a desire to get somewhere or at least to discover something. Namely whether he was alone here and whether there was a way out? He would often repeat that the Dreamscape followed one's intentions, therefore simply setting off with a clear goal in mind would often yield results, as if reality itself rearranged itself to fetch you that for which you were looking. Yet some kind of will must have brought about the destruction that had made all this rubble. Thoughts on the subject kept Zoen's mind anything but clear for the time being.
With the elevation of the ground changing as he moved, he would find himself both climbing and descending at times. Eventually it seemed to him the rubble became less similar to the remains of buildings and more akin to shattered or upturned boulders strewn about a trench of sorts. Was it made by an impact, or was it here before? Unable to determine how old the rubble was, Zoen touched upon a sturdier-looking rock and focused for a moment. The use of a pulse came naturally and as he continued to move along the trench, he had a shimmering golden string with which to support himself during the descent. Leaving behind the rubble in which he'd awoken, he would move along using the trench as a road of sorts. It wasn't long before he saw something ahead. A slight shimmer, like that of a flame and a large figure next to it. He made his approach, steadily, taking little effort to remain in hiding. He believed there were few hostile beings in this environment and believed that the figure by the fire would do him no harm...