The day was gray—a melancholy blur that hung like a fog over the city. Time seemed to stop, or at least stretch into something heavy and formless, the air thick with the weight of forgotten hours. Elliot walked the crowded streets, his every step a part of the humdrum rhythm that shaped his life. He was neither young nor old, simply *there*, one body among many, adrift in the ocean of urban anonymity. His mind, much like the skyline above, was dull, marred by routines and the longing for something he couldn't name, something he'd long since stopped believing in.

The city, with its concrete veins and towering glass limbs, surrounded him like a cage made of metal and ambition. Buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, each a silent sentinel, their jagged edges slicing the sky. People moved past him, their lives so distinct and yet so unreachable. A couple whispered in the corner, their laughter soft like a secret, a child's sneakers scuffed against the pavement as he ran ahead, leaving his mother behind. An old man leaned on his cane, the weight of years pressing down on his shoulders. And through it all, Elliot walked—just another face in the crowd, invisible, unheard.

There was nothing special about the moment. Nothing *he* could feel, no spark to ignite the mundane. It was as if the universe itself had moved on, leaving him in this suspended moment, a brief flicker in the grand expanse of time.

But then, a shift.

A sudden pull—subtle, but unmistakable. It was like a ripple in the air, a sensation of weightlessness that caused his feet to falter, just for a heartbeat. He stopped, his body instinctively bracing against some unseen change. And then, as if the world had chosen this moment to reveal its hidden hand, his eyes drifted upward.

A glint. A movement. A shift in the sky.

A brick—old, weathered—fell from the facade of the building above, tumbling toward him with a predestined inevitability. There was no time for thought, no space for reaction. The world seemed to stretch in slow motion, as if the very air had thickened to keep him frozen in place. The brick descended with cruel precision, the sound of its fall the only thing that existed in that suspended moment of eternity.

Then, everything went dark.

---

When Elliot awoke, it wasn't to the dull hum of the city or the sterile scent of hospital rooms. No, this was something entirely different—something alien, both terrifying and inexplicably familiar.

Stolen novel; please report.

The first thing he became aware of was the weight of water, cold and unyielding, tugging at him from every direction. His body felt heavier, slower, as though gravity itself had altered in this new place. His lungs burned for air, but there was no air to be found. The world around him was a void of darkness and soundless movement. Waves crested, lapping against him, pulling him in deeper, but there was no land to cling to, no surface to grasp. Only the oppressive, endless weight of the sea.

He forced his eyes open. Above him, the sky stretched wide, a vast expanse of swirling storm clouds. The light, dim and cold, seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the sea, as though the sky itself were breathing. There was no warmth here, only the chill that cut through to his very bones. Lightning flashed, jagged and violent, illuminating the darkness for a moment—like the flicker of memory before it's lost.

He was not on solid ground. He was adrift, suspended in a wreck, the remnants of a shattered ship scattered around him like discarded bones. Iron and wood floated in chaotic disarray, twisting and buckling beneath the surface. The ocean—the Sea of Monsters, as it was known—was alive, a creature unto itself, vast and infinite, pulling everything into its endless depths.

Beneath him, something stirred. Shapes, monstrous and silent, moved beneath the water's surface, shifting in and out of sight like great leviathans. Their eyes, glowing dimly in the blackness, gleamed with hunger. They were watching him. Waiting.

Panic stirred in his chest. His breath caught. His body thrummed with a primal fear, but there was also something else—a strange energy, a simmering warmth coiling through his veins. It wasn't just his fear; it was something deeper, something ancient and powerful. His hands—no longer pale, but covered in iridescent scales—trembled as he reached for something—anything—to hold onto. His skin was wrong. Alien. His fingers, sharp and clawed, felt unnatural and yet undeniably *right*.

In the depths of his chest, something stirred—a name, a memory, something half-remembered. The word came to him in a whisper, not in his voice but in his soul. *Rhaegos.*

*Prince Rhaegos.*

The name sent a ripple of recognition through him, though he could not fully grasp why. *Prince*—the word felt like it belonged to someone else, like a distant shadow of a life he couldn't recall. But it was his, and yet it was not. A weight pressed against his mind, a crushing pressure of unfamiliar memories clashing with his own. But there was no time for answers.

A great form broke the surface of the water, monstrous and gaping, jaws wide as it surged toward him. Its glowing eyes locked onto him, and in that moment, his body moved without thought. His hand shot out, instinct taking over. From his palm, a wave of darkness burst forth—a swirling, shadowy energy that tore through the air like a storm. The creature shrieked, recoiling, and retreated into the depths, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

He stared at his hand in disbelief, his breath ragged. *What was that?*

A surge of power—dark and ancient—rushed through him, and he felt his form shift, his body swelling with something that was both him and not him. His mind spun, but before he could gather his thoughts, a massive wave crashed over him, pulling him deeper, dragging him beneath the surface. The cold consumed him, the pressure unbearable. His vision blurred, the world slipping away into blackness once more.

And then, there were fragments—glimpses of a world far, far away. A kingdom of dragons. A city of towering spires. A crown of obsidian and gold. And exile. He could feel the weight of it—the exile from his kingdom, from his birthright.

*You are Rhaegos.*

The words echoed in his mind, wrapping around him like a shroud. And with that, everything faded into nothingness, but the truth remained—he was not lost. For he was home.