Everything around him still looked the same from the moment he began walking.
In every direction he looked, it all looked was just an identical copy of the other. If he had not kept his left foot pointing in the direction he was walking and looked by turning his head, he surely would have started walking down another direction. Everything was the same blue, green, and a distant, unreachable horizon.
He still could not spot a single landmark to let him know anything. There was nothing there. No mountains in the distance. To trees of any kind. No birds flying across the sky. And no insects jump between the blades of grass. There was nothing that could point to the existence of life anywhere.
The bottom of the grass was thick like a blanket over the dirt. Each blade of grass merged and intersected with other blades, creating an interlocked pattern. The grass itself was not overgrown. It looked like someone had been trimming it ever so often, but still, there was no one else there.
Praxis also had no way of telling the passage of time. There was no sun in the sky to let him know the passage from day to night. Even though the clouds were present, they were all still or drifted the same way he drifted. There was no shadow telling him the passage of time throughout the day. Because there was no night. There was no day. The sunlight was a constant, the same sunlight present at every moment in every direction. The sunlight with no source, but exists everywhere in every endless direction.
He again looked at the path in front of him. An overstretching field of green. He looked at what was above him, an overreaching blanket of blue. He turned to his left, and it was the same. He turned to his right, the same. Nothing changed. Everything looked just like everything else.
It all felt endless. It all began to feel hopeless.
So this is limbo, he thought. The place where even angels lose hope.
Suddenly, a thought popped into his head, "How long had I been walking?" Was it a few hours or a lot of hours? Or had an entire day already passed? Maybe a few days had passed. No, it was nowhere close to the exact amount of time. Praxis had unknowingly walked through the Empty for a month straight.
A month of walking with no sleep, no food, no nothing, but walking. It was probably a divine blessing or maybe a curse that he could not tell the time. If he truly knew how long it had been, he might have lost his mind. Or maybe this was how the Empty was designed so that all those who end up here slowly lost their sense of reality and became a part of it.
After a month of walking, he did finally encounter something different from everything else, a small bump on the ground. It was circular and about a third of a meter wide and a few centimeters above the ground surface.
Praxis kneeled and touched the surface of the bump. It was just grass and dirt. He pushed down on it and it caved in, aligning back with the surface. Still curious, he grabbed onto a handful of grass and tried to pull it out with the dirt.
Strangely, he could not. No matter how much strength he used, he couldn't pull the grass out of the dirt or even rip a single piece of it. He decided that this wasn't going to solve anything and continued his long trek.
Eventually, he came across another bump about the same size as the previous. He tried to dig out the dirt, but again it was impossible to rip through the grass, so he continued walking. He began counting the number of steps he was walking. He realized maybe there was some pattern with the distance between the bumps that gave him information about this place. He knew that it might not even result in anything, but there wasn't much of anything else to go by.
He split each count into sections of a hundred steps, so the syllables per step he counted were small. However, after counting for so long, his brain fogged up, and he lost track of how many sets he was then. His mind was getting foggier the longer he walked, but up until this point, he had just ignored it.
He tried to restart the count, knowing he had at least fifty-five thousand steps. After a while, he counted a few thousand more when he lost track again. Ultimately, he gave up on trying to count the steps, but tried to think of other ways to measure his progress.
He did notice that he was seeing more bumps now. Not a lot, but every once in a while, there would be one. He never found any right next to each other, but there would always be one coming up ahead. He also noticed that the bumps had been increasing in size. Not drastically, but in almost unnoticeable increments.
He gave up trying to find out what they were weeks ago. Not only because he did not want to, but the grass was impenetrable. He also could not think clearly anymore. The brain fog has increasingly gotten worse, and it was hard for him to even form a thought, so he only kept walking.
He walked for another month and the bumps continued increasing in size and in frequency. He stopped noticing a long while ago. His brain fog had completely impaired any function of thought.
However, his body felt completely fine. He noticed after he had walked for a few days that his body had suffered no fatigue. It felt better than it usually did. Physical activity was the bane of Praxis' existence, but somehow, even though he walked for so long, his body felt completely fine.
It wasn't only his body. He did not feel hunger or thirst. He did not feel sweaty or too hot. Neither was it too cold, nor could he sense the cold from anywhere. It felt nice like being hit by the morning sun and a breeze at the same time.
Even though the situation with his body was fine, the one with his mind wasn't. His brain was cloudy, and somehow everything started swirling and waving around. He had become a mindless husk with no thoughts or emotions, just the ability to keep walking.
He walked.
He walked.
And walked.
Everything he saw around him started becoming hazy, shifting colors, inverting about itself, and the world spun around him, but Praxis kept walking. He walked. He walked. And He walked.
Until he collapsed to the ground.