Steps

 The world was a blur of blue and green, like looking through a kaleidoscope. I was floating, weightless, yet with an odd sense of gravity pressing down on me. I tried to move, to speak, but found myself paralyzed. My vision began to sharpen, and I realized I was lying on a cold, hard surface. The sky above me was no longer a peaceful blue, but a deep indigo, speckled with tiny pinpricks of light. I forced my eyelids open, squinting against the brightness.

I was in a garden, or at least what remained of one. The carefully tended flower beds were now overrun with weeds, and the statues that once adorned the pathways were toppled and cracked. The air smelled of dust and decay, and a chilly wind rustled through the leaves of the few trees left standing. I sat up, wincing as pains shot through my body, and glanced around for any sign of life.

As I scanned my surroundings, I noticed a small, battered notebook lying on the ground nearby. Curiosity getting the better of me, I reached out and picked it up. The cover was made of rough, worn leather, and it felt strangely familiar in my hand. Flipping it open, I saw that it was filled with meticulous handwriting, each word neatly formed and carefully inked. The first entry read: "Steps taken: 0." I frowned, trying to remember what that meant. Just then, a distant murmur broke the silence, growing steadily louder.