Mist. Mist everywhere, as far as the eye could see, and probably even where it couldn’t. Up, down, left, right – the entire landscape was a sea of swirling, pearly-grey mist. It was impossible to say where the place was, or even if it was a real place at all.

Off to the left, two small, blinking red dots appeared. Time meant nothing in this place, so it was impossible to tell quite how long it took them to grow bigger. But no – that wasn’t quite accurate. They weren’t growing bigger . . . they were coming nearer.

On the right, the mist seemed to coalesce into a slightly darker form. It was shapeless, constantly shifting. It seemed to spin in a fast circle, and then slowed, turning as if to look out over the paler fog.

When the things met in the middle, it became apparent that they were, in basic shape at least, humanoid.

“Why have you brought me here?!” two echoes roared, crashing together like waves against a cliff.

There was a pause, as the two entities seemed to back off and eye the other suspiciously.

“This is not your doing?” one queried, finally.

The other shook what head it had. “Not mine,” it agreed. “What is this place?”

Dark Shadow twisted itself around, peering off into the murky distance. “Limbo, maybe,” it said, finally. “Or perhaps one of the Demonic Wastelands. I have not visited them all.”

Red-Eyes seemed to perk up. “Limbo?” It, too, looked around. “Then my plan for immortality worked – I am not dead!”

“You may not be completely dead, but neither are you completely alive,” Dark Shadow pointed out. Its shape shifted again, and almost seemed to grow a pair of wings, before they wrapped around it like a cloak.

Finally, Red-Eyes remembered its suspicions. “And just who are you to know so much about this place?” it asked, eyes narrowing until the red gleam was barely visible.

“I am the Source,” Dark Shadow proclaimed. The shadows at the core of it twisted tighter into an almost black mass. Red-Eyes snorted, not impressed. “You doubt me?” Dark Shadow purred.

“Somehow, I can’t see people fleeing in terror yelling, ‘The Source is coming!’. Just doesn’t have that . . . ring to it,” Red-Eyes jeered.

Even though it couldn’t see it, Red-Eyes had the sudden impression that Dark Shadow was smiling – and it wasn’t a nice smile. A chill went down what passed as its backbone.

“Oh, believe me, it has ring enough,” Dark Shadow said. It stretched out what passed as an arm – although it looked more like a claw – and beckoned to Red-Eyes. “If you want to be what you once were, then come. I will help you. For I, Voldemort, am the Source of All Evil.”

In a castle in the remote highlands of Scotland, a dark-haired man sat straight up in bed, his heart racing, gasping for air.

 On the second floor of a Victorian house in the hills of San Francisco, a woman with pixie-cut brown hair sat straight up in bed, her breath leaving her in a gasp.