The rain fell in relentless torrents, a symphony of chaos drumming against the windshield, each droplet shattering into rivulets that raced down the glass like frantic rivers seeking escape. The wipers swung with desperate urgency, their rhythmic swipes barely cutting through the storm’s fury. Lightning tore jagged seams across the heavens, illuminating the narrow, serpentine road that lay ahead. The headlights pierced the murk, catching fleeting glimpses of trees bending under the wind’s savage grip, their skeletal branches clawing at the night like restless specters.

In the backseat, Elias Verne, a ten-year-old with wide, watchful eyes, clutched a small wooden chessboard as though it were a talisman against the chaos. The carved pieces inside rattled with every jolt, their polished surfaces colliding like miniature soldiers locked in battle. His fingers curled tightly around the knight, its smooth, worn contours offering a fragile sense of comfort.

The tires hissed over the rain-slicked asphalt, the car swaying ever so slightly. Elias’s breath hitched, his heart thundering like the storm outside. He stared at the knight in his hand, imagining it poised mid-leap, a resolute figure defying an unseen foe.

“We should’ve taken the earlier exit! his mother’s voice sliced through the cacophony”

“I said we’re fine!” Greg’s voice was tight, brittle.

But Elias saw it before either of them.

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Out of the swirling mist, a shadow loomed—a massive tree, its gnarled trunk sprawled across the road like a barricade from some ancient battlefield.

“Greg!”

The brakes screamed in protest as Greg slammed his foot down. The tires skidded, the car spinning into a desperate pirouette. For a fleeting second, the truck’s headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, a pair of blazing, merciless eyes bearing down on them.

The world shattered.

Metal screamed as the car crumpled under the force of impact. Glass burst outward like a thousand tiny stars scattering into the void. The chessboard tumbled from Elias’s lap, its pieces thrown into the storm of chaos.

Elias felt himself lifted, untethered, weightless as if suspended in the eye of the maelstrom. The knight slipped from his grasp, vanishing into the darkness between the seats.

And then, nothing.

A deafening silence swallowed everything.

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Setting – Hospital Room

The steady beep of monitors punctuated the sterile stillness. The room was a world of white—walls, sheets, the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic clinging to the air like a shroud.

Elias lay motionless, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, where fluorescent lights buzzed faintly. His ribs ached with every shallow breath, each pang a jagged reminder of the night before.

Fragments of memory swirled in his mind—the rain’s ceaseless drumming, the blinding glare of headlights, the cascade of glass splinters glittering like shards of ice. His parents’ voices, raised in fear, echoed faintly in his ears. And then… the void.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor had said, his tone flat and distant, as though reciting a line he’d said too many times before.

Lucky.

The word gnawed at him. His fingers crept beneath the blanket, finding the familiar, solid weight of the knight. It had survived, its smooth surface pressing into his palm, grounding him in a way no words could.

The storm had taken everything—his parents, their laughter, the warmth of their presence—but it had left him untouched. Why?

Was it truely luck , or was it something else? 

The question clawed at his mind, looping endlessly, evolving into something sharper.

A whisper.

 Chaos.

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