You keep slipping in and out of sleep.

Your consciousness wavers, floating to the surface of reality for a minute or two before sinking again into the abyss of slumber, leaving your brief moments of alertness blurred and the details indiscernible.

The first time that your fuzzy brain awakes, it's to the unclear image of something massive and white with a splotch of turquoise blue floating in the middle. There's a lot of shouting, something growling in a low animal timbre, and you think that there's loose soil cradling your head.

You sleep again.

Your next reality is an unfamiliar face and a quiet male voice, warm hands pressing soothingly to your forehead. Your eyes are barely open so you can't see well, but the man appears to have skin made of sheeny metallic gold.

"You're gonna be fine," you hear his voice say from far away before you lapse back into oblivion.

The darkness is so peaceful to you, so blank. You have no thoughts, no feelings, no fears. It's just a faint cognition, a vague existence of yourself floating freely through the everything of nothing.

The third time you wake up, you wake up for real.

It's a stark contrast to the pleasant darkness of being unconscious .

When you're awake, you're in pain.

Your body aches a little and your head hurts; the soil that you can barely remember has been replaced by warm cloth, heavy and soft, but somehow not soothing at all to your pounding head. The air tastes balmy and warm, a soft breeze carrying in the scent of water.

You try to open your eyes, but instantly close them again when they're flooded with painful light. You gasp at the stabbing hurt, turning your face into the firm pillow resting beneath your head.

It smells floral, not like roses but something a little sweeter.

Underneath the floral scent is a deeper musk, spicy but so subtle that your nose barely picks it up.

It takes a while until you're able to fully open your eyes without pain, readjusting your pupils with small stints of light exposure until your ability to see is returned.

The vision that comes into light with the readmittance of your sight is one that sends shivers of indulgence down your spine, filling the cavity of your chest with your caught breath.

Billowing silk waves like a sea of light in the gentle breeze, hanging unhindered from the ceiling in a ring around you and allowing tiny slips of air to flow in, bringing with them the taste of an exotic, foreign place. The material of the bed drapes are so fine that you can almost see through them, the edged outline of objects beyond rendered a soft greyish-pearl, only a faint impression of existence.

The bed you're reclined on is low-slung and massive, littered with intricately patterned brocade pillows in vibrant jewel tones and embroidered with gold thread.

The blankets are heavy, too, a simple white color that seems to glow amidst all the heavy reds, golds, and blues around it.

Fascination outweighing the throbbing of your head, you push yourself to sit up and slide out of the bed, the snow-pure silk sheets chaffing against your skin in a way that make you tremble at the atmospheric touch. You're still barefoot and in the same clothes as when you were taken, your feet dirty and bruised from all the running around you did in Servus.

The second your feet grace the cool stone floor, vicious pain rips through your calf.

"Crap," you gasp, falling back onto the bed.

You're such an idiot.

Of course you got shot - your calf is on fire, the entire length of your leg aching with pain. A thick white bandage is wrapped tightly around the wound.

How could you forget?

The handcuffs that had been clasped around your wrists are gone, revealing a circle of raw, abused skin.

You grimace at your wrists, then down at the bandaged bullet wound, feeling alternating pings of pain coming from each.

It'll hurt like heck to move, but...

You sit back on the bed, chewing on your lip as you consider.

You're most likely on an alien planet, in a canopied bed fit for a king which is probably located in a bedroom just as grand, and you may or may not be forced into slavery when whoever took you from Servus realizes you're awake.

Considering the fact that you have absolutely no chance of running away with a bullet wound in your leg, escape isn't an option.

You're stuck here.

Therefore, how can you not explore when you have the chance?

Nodding with determination, you push yourself up again and grit your teeth through the pain. If you perform a hobble-type step and keep the weight off of your injured leg, it isn't so bad.

You're lying - it's really bad, but once you take a stumbling step through the bed hangings, any semblance of hurt slips like an errant thought from your mind.

Just from the tiny sliver of white and gold and dark wood that you can see, you can tell that this place is breathtakingly gorgeous.

Grimacing at the though of how much dirt and filth have transferred to the beautiful fabric of the sheets, you stand on the cool marble floor, ignoring the wobbling of your knees as you let the swaying silk slide past your hands, revealing to you the rest of the room.

Your eyes are drawn instantly to the balcony, which is less of a balcony and more of a missing wall. The entire room is opened up here, revealing an outcircling terrace of mosaiced marble with a gold-ringed, waist-high wall turning along the outside.

It looks as if there are some sort of sliding doors on either side of where the room's fourth wall should be: a way to enclose the space in case of rain, you would assume.

Although you're eager to visit the balcony, first you take the time to devour the aesthetic glory of the rest of the room.

The floor is white marble, broken up by rings of colorful Moroccan-like mosaic patterns in tile that arch out around the bed in semicircles, rays of cool color cast out by a gentle fabric sun.

The bed itself is raised on a slight platform.

It sits a little higher than everything else in the room, a silk-circled centerpiece. A collection of low, polished shelves with gold flecked through the dark wood are scattered around the room.

Another slightly raised level across the room houses a low, dark wood table. It's surrounded by tasseled cushions, red and blue and purple and gold.

You limp in place, feeling guilty for even standing on the pristine floor.

This is a scene straight out from Arabian Nights - certainly a huge leap from the sky-domed, brass-treed atrium of Servus.

Where are you?

Who brought you here?

A glimpse of the memory of silver specked eyes flashes through your brain, and with it a nagging sense of hopeful elation through your chest.

You shove that elation back down.

There's no reason to believe that it was - what was his name again? Taehyung? - who brought you here.

Any creature in the spaceport could've picked up your unconscious body and carried you off. In fact, you realize as some vague memories come floating back, you distinctly recognize that the man who held you comfortingly while you slipped in and out of consciousness was not Taehyung.

That man's skin was gold, every bit as gold as the lining of the wall along the balcony, and his voice had given off a reassuring kind of comfort, his hands large and gentle.

He doesn't resemble, in your questionable memory, any one of the beings you encountered in Servus, from the man on fire to the angel with the black eyes.

You could be anywhere in the universe.

"Might as well thoroughly explore before I'm drafted into slavery," you mutter to yourself.

Your calf is burning like someone's sewed live embers into the muscles, but you limp to the wall and use it as a crutch. The extra support aids your journey to the balcony.

When you finally make it outside you're panting, the sweat beading on your furrowed brow cooling in the breeze.

It only takes a second of being outside for your jaw to drop in bewilderment.

The sky is yellow - not the kind of hazy, dusky yellow of the sky on earth when the sun is rising or setting, but a kind of solid daffodil color that's threaded through with wispy veins of soft lilac clouds. The hue of the odd-colored sky darkens and lightens in places, a result of the intense beams of golden sunlight falling through the atmosphere.

The star that serves as this planet's sun is, thankfully, almost identical to the one you remember from Earth.

Peering at it fondly, you say a silent thanks that there's something on this planet that you can recognize.

Shuffling further out, you rest your weight on the balcony wall and bend over to look out over the view.

The white-stoned, gold-veined walls of the building you're in stretch out and behind you far and wide, giving way to craggy, mountainous cliffs.

The balcony overhangs a steep drop of barren sandstone that stands stark and solid in the soft sky, plunging down into a pool of turquoise water. Stubborn shrubs cling to the impossible planes of the cliffs, spattering green all around the pale rock that cuts in a circle around the lagoon below.

You lean over the wall a little, breath catching in your chest at the height of the drop from the balcony to the water below.

The body of water is similar to a large lake - it ripples in a misshapen circle, ringed by sheer rocky cliffs all around, except for one area where the cliffs gentle down into a golden-sanded beach. This water is completely landlocked, no rivers or streams that you can see able to escape the heavy barrier of the surrounding cliffs.

It's paradisiacal, a mishmash of blue and green and gold. Palm trees grow here and there, heavier in the lower levels of cliff so they cast greenish shadows over the water.

Small houses and cottages made of creamy stone are built into the sides and tops of the cliffs, narrow staircases navigating the slopes of the cliff with precarious beauty. You can see tiny, ant-sized figures traversing the stairways along the cliffs across the way, crowding around what looks like broad marble markets cut into the cliffsides.

Turning around so your back is to the view, you close your eyes and let the sweet breeze wave over you.

The balcony itself is long, snaking along the cliff side and in a zig-zagged walkway. Keeping one hand on the top of the wall, you start to limp down the balcony, rounding a corner where the cliff juts out.

There's an alcove here, hiding a long settee-like bench upholstered with navy silk. You head directly for it, feeling the stupidity of your exploration in the tired hurt of your leg.

Taking a moment as you collapse onto the bench, you breathe deeply.

Utter panic has been eating away at the fringes of your sanity ever since the moment you woke up on Thing's spaceship.  Everything has happened in such a rushed blur that it's hard to realize.

Yoongi left you on Servus.

It's stupid, when you think back, but those few short moment of companionship between you had felt like the kind of life-lasting bond formed in the most terrifying of moments. Maybe you were the only one who felt an attachment to him - Yoongi obviously had no qualms about leaving you to chase after who knows what.

And then there are the men who saved you as you stumbled blindly through the crowds - the man with flaming skin who allowed you to escape from Mihal; the man with golden wings who saved your from Yoongi's kidnapper; the man with cherry-blossom hair that calmed a buffalo-like creature which was about to stomp you into smithereens.

The man in the flowered kimono, who could move water with a flick of his fingers.

The man with the eyes that encapsulate space, covered in cloth so that no part of him could be seen or touched.

That one was named Taehyung.

He keeps running back into your mind.

A slight breeze ruffles your hair and your thoughts, so the strands of both tangle up.

"What does it matter?" you murmur to yourself. "I don't even know where I am."

"You're on the Planet of the Sands," a voice answers.

Flinching against the sudden sound, you rotate to face the man that's now standing in the middle of the balcony's pathway.

He's tall and thin, with hair the color of moonstone coiffed elegantly on his head. And his skin is gold, sheening with a metallic shine that's jarring to see. His lips are of a deeper golden shade, more brassy, and small geometric patterns spread out from his cheekbones in infrequent patterns - diamond-shaped freckles.  Eyes the color of a glass bulb lit from within shine brightly, with a kind sort of gentleness that puts you at ease.

The man puts his hands out in front of him, a seemingly universal signal that he means no harm. 

"I apologize for not being present when you woke," he says gently. His voice is deep and smooth, a canyon of dulcet tones. "I was occupied elsewhere."

"T-that's okay," you say warily. Should you be afraid? You know you you should be, actually, but this man's presence quells any anxieties in you.

As if he can read that deeply-buried sense of fear, the man folds his arms flat across his abdomen and performs a slight bow.

"I am Namjoon," he says. "of the Vault. I was the healer who patched up your wound after you were injured during the purge on Servus. I'm sorry for touching you without your permission, but you had lost a significant amount of blood."

You do recall seeing golden hands in the vague memories between your unconsciousness. "Thank you for healing me," you squeak. "I don't- I mean, you don't have to apologize. I appreciate it. My name is Y/N."

You sound like a frightened mouse.

Clearing his throat, Namjoon motions to the empty space beside you on the settee. "May I?"

"Help yourself." Wincing, you can't help by be wary as he takes a seat beside you. His hair doesn't move out of place, even when the breeze picks up and twists your own dull locks around your face.

He must have a whole lot of gel in there.

You want to ask him what you're doing here, but you're afraid. All you can think about is old historical dramas, where the royalty and nobles chop people's heads off left and right for asking the wrong questions. You don't know what its like here on - where did he say you were? The Sands, maybe, or something like that. The Planet of the Sands. You don't have a clue where that might be, or how it might be.

You could be a pet.

As if he can read your mind again, Namjoon begins to speak. The sun reflecting off of his golden skin almost blinds you. "I want to assure you that you are safe here," he mumbles. He turns earnest, glowing eyes onto you. "You've been taken into the custody and protection of the Prince of Oasis until further notice. Your freedom is your own - coming from Servus, I know that must be very important to know. You are from the planet called Earth, are you not?"

"Yes," you whisper. It's hard to speak, when relief is pummeling you into a pile of exhausted goo. He did say that you're free and safe, didn't he? With no take-backs. "I'm from Earth."

It's like a fire has lit inside Namjoon. He sits up straighter, like he's been pulled up by a marionette string, and he smiles widely. Edging closer to you, he leans into your personal bubble. "Fascinating!" he exclaims. "You're the first human I've encountered in person. I'd love to sit down and ask you some questions, when you have time. There's so much about your race that I haven't been able to observe in reality."

"Oh," you laugh awkwardly. "Sure, I guess? We aren't very exciting."

"You're a new species," Namjoon laughs in delight. "Not to mention, one of two species found within the same galaxy, the same solar system! That is utterly rare. Were you truly not aware of the race of intelligent beings that exists on your planet Mars?"

Yoongi, and his people.

The thought makes you frown.

You never knew there were people on Mars, or that there was an entire society outside your own planet. The vast amount of things the human race has been unaware of truly frightens you.

"No. We didn't know," you mumble soberly.

Seeing your expression, Namjoon draws away from you. "I'm terribly sorry. I was making you uncomfortable." He grimaces, and looks away from you. "I can escort you back to your room, if you'd like. I'm sure that wound is quite uncomfortable to walk on. Then I can fetch my things and finish healing your wound, unless..." he glances at you. "Would you like it to be healed?"

You balk at the question. "Of course I would. It hurts."

"I see." Namjoon smiles at that, pushing himself up from the navy-clad bench. "Some cultures value their scars, and wish to let their bodies heal with time. I did not mean to offend you."

Backlit by the dandelion sky and breeze, Namjoon's metallic skin looks like it's been wrapped in the soft amber glow of the afternoon sun.

"I'm not offended," you say.  "I'd really like it if you'd heal me. And could you also, uh, help me up?"

You feel so drained by you short excursion to the balcony that you aren't positive you'll be able to stay awake for much longer. Not to mention that Namjoon's easy-going countenance is lulling you into a state of strange contentment.

If you think too hard about it, you wonder why you aren't in a state of panic at the moment. You have no reasons to trust this strange man, or to believe that he won't harm you. Although he might've told you that you're safe, the reality is that you have no way of knowing whether his words are honest. You feel at ease with him, but that feeling of ease is part of what's scaring you.

You want to be alone, because you're worried about what might happen when you aren't.

Namjoon takes your arm is his hand, helping you to stand, and the two of you begin a slow journey back towards the room you woke up in.

Looking out on the cliffs diving down into the water, you ask, "Where are we? You said something about sand."

"Right." Drawing to a halt, Namjoon turns you so that you face out towards your beautiful surroundings. "I forget that you wouldn't know these things, being from Earth. This is Oasis, the capital city of the Planet of the Sands. Located in the Second Corridor of the 26th sector. of discovered space. The leader of the Planet of the Sands, Empress Khyun, is a council member for the Intergalactic Union."

You stare blankly at the cliffs, because your pea-sized human brain can't process all the information that's just been thrown at you. The Planet of the Sands, though, you can understand.

"How far are we?" you say. "From Earth, I mean. How far?"

There's a moment of silence from Namjoon, where a hollow hopelessness begins to burn inside you. You know what he's going to say before he says it.

"Far." His eyes won't look at you now. "Very, very far."

You don't ask anything else as he turns you away from the cliffside and leads you into the room.

Very, very far.

[A/N]
Unedited.
So I think I want to rewrite the chapter before this (Crossing) because I reread it and it seems like it's a little confusing? Anyways, I'm sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoyed!

Thank you for reading!

❤️PB