July 18th, 11:20 AM.

The protagonist woke up, sunlight slipping through the blinds, casting lines across his apartment. It was late in the morning, an hour before lunchtime. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he gazed at the floor in silence. Yesterday’s events flooded his mind—a reality that had bent, a figure that had appeared, eyes like glowing amethysts burning into his memory. He felt the lingering weight of confusion pressing on him.

He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the weariness. Rising from his bed, he walked to the kitchen and approached the sink. He turned on the faucet, letting the cool water flow into the basin. He slid his hand beneath the running water, letting it wash over his fingers before cupping his hands and splashing the cool liquid onto his face. The refreshing sensation helped clear the fog from his mind. As he straightened up and turned to leave, his eyes fell on his tablet, still lying on the hallway floor where he had dropped it the night before. He bent down, picked it up, and tapped the screen, watching as it lit up with a soft glow.

As he walked back to his room, he began scrolling through his tablet's screen. He navigated through a collection of documents-old notes, detailed records from his time at the park, and various other files. He skimmed through the pages, reviewing the work he had done. The unsettling experience from earlier still lingered in his mind, but he chose to push it aside for the moment, not yet ready to dwell on it or delve deeper into the mystery.

Back at his desk, he sat down and booted up his computer. The screen flickered to life, revealing a notification that had appeared while the device was idle. An email. He clicked on it—an unexpected message from a publishing company he had recently submitted his digital manuscript to.

“Congratulations!” it began.

“We’re thrilled to announce that the first volume of your novel, ‘Britannica: The Rising Kingdom,’ has been published. Physical copies are now available in markets and online. We believe your work will resonate with readers and we’re excited to work with you on promoting it. Expect a full sales report at the end of the month!

Best regards,

The Publishing Team.”

He stared at the screen, feeling a rush of mixed emotions. There was a brief sense of satisfaction—his first book, finally out there for the world to see. He had spent years building the story, every character, every scene, and now it was in readers’ hands. Yet, as the excitement flickered, the thoughts of yesterday came rushing back. Even this achievement couldn’t shake the unnerving event from his mind.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

He exited the email, pushing away the brief moment of pride, and opened his digital journal instead. The journal entry from yesterday stood out, a stark reminder of the strange encounter at the crosswalk:

"July 17th, 6:35 PM

I saw... something. A distortion. For just a few seconds, everything blurred. People, cars—all of it became mist. A figure appeared in the middle of the crosswalk. A figure with eyes like glowing purple embers, and a body made of... space. It was reaching toward me. I blinked, and it was gone. Everything returned to normal. I have no real explanation for what happened.”

He read the entry again, his hands still cold from the lingering anxiety. What was that thing? Was it real? Was it in his head? He couldn’t tell. He found himself caught between scepticism and curiosity. His heart quickened as he leaned back in his chair, contemplating.

The dilemma gnawed at him. He couldn’t just ignore it—but what could he do? The questions swirled in his mind like a storm. After a few moments of silence, he made a decision. He had to return to the crosswalk and investigate the site of the event.

Cutting off to the next scene, the protagonist is now standing in front of the elevator, fully dressed and prepared. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself for the task ahead. Calmly, he centres his emotions, taking deep breaths and brushing his arms to shake off any lingering anxiety. As the elevator arrives at his floor with a soft ding, the doors open. He steps inside, presses the button for the ground floor, and waits as the doors close.

The elevator descended slowly, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound breaking the silence. The protagonist stood still, hands resting at his sides, his mind trying to calm the unease creeping back in. He straightened his posture, trying to suppress the thoughts of purple eyes and distorted reality.

When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, the receptionist greeted him with a polite, “Good afternoon, Sir!” He responded with a faint nod, acknowledging her but keeping his distance. His mind was elsewhere, already focused on what lay ahead.

The streets outside his building were quieter than the day before. Most of the morning rush had passed, and only a few people lingered, either heading to work late or leisurely enjoying their day. Cars moved down the roads, but there was no frenzy, no crowds. It was calmer now, yet inside him, the tension continued to build.

He walked quickly, his eyes locked on the path ahead. The crosswalk at 3rd and Main wasn’t far—only a few blocks away—but the memory of what had happened there weighed heavy in his steps. The closer he got, the tighter the knot in his chest became.

As he approached the crosswalk, everything from the previous day felt closer, as if just beyond the surface of reality. He had to know. He had to see if there were any traces left of that entity, or if it had all been some impossible trick of the mind.