At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. The strange, tall man flying through the sky. You live in a small village, and there’s always tales of monster lurking in the woods nearby. Stories told around campfires.

But he is no story. He is real, the flying man, is. You seen him. His cold, blue eyes and his half-burned, mangled face. You catch glimpses of him, when you go out to pick crops.

He stares at you through the trees and through the clouds. You think he follows you.