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The Catalyst
The Artifact

The Artifact

Part 1: A Late-Night Encounter

Ron adjusted his backpack, the weight of unfinished assignments and a half-eaten sandwich pulling awkwardly on his shoulders. The dim yellow lights of the campus flickered as he trudged along the gravel path leading to the outskirts. His day had been as uninspiring as the ones before it—failed quizzes, ignored presentations, and that unbearable sense of being "average" in a college full of overachievers.

“Another day wasted,” he muttered, kicking a pebble into the bushes.

The silence of the evening was comforting. The hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves felt like a temporary escape from the noise of his thoughts. Ron's feet carried him further away from the main campus, past the sports ground and into the wooded area that students usually avoided after dark.

It wasn’t intentional—he just needed to clear his head. But as he walked deeper into the shadows, something caught his eye. A faint, bluish glow emanated from the base of an old banyan tree.

“What the...?” he murmured, stepping closer.

The ground near the tree was disturbed, the soil loose as if something had recently been dug up—or unearthed. A metallic glint caught the light, and Ron knelt down, brushing the dirt aside with his hands. His fingers touched something smooth and cold, almost unnaturally so.

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He pulled it free, holding it up to the moonlight. It was a small, circular object, about the size of a pocket watch, but with intricate patterns carved into its surface. The designs seemed to shift as he tilted it, glowing faintly with that same eerie blue light.

“What is this thing?” Ron whispered, turning it over in his hands.

As if in response, the artifact pulsed once. A strange warmth spread through his fingers, up his arm, and into his chest. It wasn’t unpleasant—more like a surge of energy, invigorating and almost addictive.

Then came the voice.

Not a voice in the traditional sense, but a whisper that seemed to echo inside his mind.

“Chosen...”

Ron staggered back, dropping the artifact, his heart racing. He looked around wildly, expecting someone to emerge from the shadows. But the woods were silent, save for the rustling leaves.

He glanced back at the artifact lying in the dirt, its glow now steady and inviting. Against his better judgment, he picked it up again. The warmth returned, stronger this time, coursing through him like an electric current.

Before he could process what was happening, his vision blurred. For a brief moment, he saw flashes of... something. Symbols, equations, and images of people—some familiar, others completely alien. And then it was gone, leaving him gasping for breath.

The artifact dimmed, its glow fading into a dull sheen. Ron stuffed it into his backpack, his hands trembling.

“This... this isn’t normal,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

The world around him seemed sharper now—the stars brighter, the breeze crisper, the distant sound of a squirrel scurrying through the underbrush clearer than ever. Something had changed, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

Ron took a deep breath, glancing back at the path leading to the campus. Whatever he had found, he couldn’t risk anyone else knowing about it. Not yet.

Clutching his backpack tightly, he began walking back, his mind racing with questions.

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