Matthias dreamt that he had been shot into the heavens. He approached a star that flickered weakly at the edge of the universe, and pressed it against his lips, devouring it whole. He could taste the sulfur on his tongue, the metal liquid burning the back of his throat. Galaxies spiraled in panic as he was thrown high and lucid. He could trace the path back home with his finger, and he followed a sea of fantastic gold as he was swept away by its currents.

He awoke in an empty field, devoid of any form of life. Even the grass had lost what little hope it had, and now lay cold and dead against the surface of the earth. He had no recollection of how he came to be there, though, he had little interest of finding out.

Plains spread out before him; he could catalogue the edges of the earth, as if all the world had been laid out for investigation. He took the northern route, and followed a silvery orb that raced through the night sky.