Seven ONine
 
                                 ****
                                  A wasteland, dark and lifeless. The sky above was clouded, roiling with a storm about to waken.
 

                                  Alone.

                                  Zo'or shivered a little in the cold, looking around himself at the hills and valleys surrounding
                                  him. He was alone... he could see for miles in this hellish place. There was no one in this world,
                                  at least no one near him.

                                  Slowly, he began to walk, into the wind that sent the fine dust dancing across the ground. His
                                  bright blue eyes squinted shut at the rush of freezing air that hit his face. Then he heard it—a
                                  voice. Calling his name, over and over, almost pleadingly.

                                  "Zo'or?"

                                  Da'an. His parent, his only parent. The voice was coming from one of the hills, where a
                                  shadowy figure was standing. Zo'or stared up at the figure, shaking a little as it extended a
                                  hand toward him. "Come," the figure whispered, its features still indistinct in the swirls of gray
                                  that shrouded it.

                                  For a moment, Zo'or wanted to take the hand. He stared up, then shook his head and continued
                                  on the cold, lonely path onward.

                                  And then he heard it. A cry, a thin wail wafting over the hills. The cry of a child, calling for its
                                  parent.

                                  Me, calling for me, Zo'or thought, his eyes widening. It was his child, he knew—calling for him.
 

                                  He began to move more quickly, the winds dying down as he moved. The child's cry was
                                  becoming fainter, and a thin touch of panic threaded through his soul. Where are you? he
                                  called inwardly, urgency rising as the cry faded to a whisper. How can I find you?

                                  The cry died away. Zo'or stopped dead, his arms hanging at his sides as he looked at the sky...
                                  and his eyes flew open. The gray-clouded sky dissipated into a sea of stars...

                                  He was in his own chair, on the mothership. The wasteland was gone, replaced with the usual
                                  dimmed bridge, Volunteers drifting in and out of the room on errands... his usual life. But not
                                  the one that he knew he wanted.