The boy found himself standing in a world that defied understanding. The ground beneath him was an endless expanse of cracked, blackened earth, fissures glowing with a faint, portentous light that pulsed like a dying heartbeat. Above, the sky was a bleak, formless void, neither day nor night, a canvas of swirling shadows that seemed to stretch into infinity. The air was heavy with a sense of foreboding, thick and still, as if the entire world was holding its breath.
At a glance, he might have been mistaken for a man—a figure with broad shoulders and a confident stance—but upon closer inspection, it was clear he was just a boy on the cusp of adulthood. His eyes, however, were older, carrying a weight of knowledge and experience far beyond his years. But here, in this strange and twisted world, that wisdom felt small and insignificant.
"Everything is wrong here," he whispered, his voice swallowed by the oppressive silence. He walked through the thick, churning mist that clung to the ground like a living entity, winding around his legs, pulling him back with every step. There was no path, no clear direction—just an endless expanse of desolation that seemed to shift and change with every glance, disorienting him, mocking his attempts to navigate it.
After what felt like an eternity, he stumbled upon a cluster of buildings, their forms warped and distorted, as though reality itself had twisted them into grotesque shapes. These structures were ancient, older than memory, their stone walls crumbling and covered in a layer of thick, black soot. Yet, it was the holes that caught his attention—perfectly round, unnaturally smooth, and too precise to be the result of natural decay. They were like wounds on the face of the world, leaking a dim yet stange light that flickered like the last embers of a dying fire.
“These buildings… they look like they were destroyed on purpose,” he muttered, his voice trembling as he approached one of the structures. The holes, each one surrounded by scorched stone, seemed almost alive, outsending pulsific tremors with an energy that he could feel deep in his bones. As he reached out to touch the edge of one, he felt a strange warmth, like the lingering heat of a fire long extinguished.
He moved cautiously through the decaying doorway, stepping into a vast hall where the air was thick with the scent of ash and something metallic and bitter. The walls were etched with strange symbols, carvings that twisted and writhed as his eyes tried to focus on them, leaving him with a sense of unease that crawled under his skin. The ceiling above was partially collapsed, beams of dull light filtering through the gaps, illuminating the room in a ghostly haze.
“This place… it doesn’t make any sense,” he sighed, feeling a growing frustration as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The symbols, the holes, the pervasive sense of dread—they were all pieces of a puzzle that refused to come together. It was as though the world was actively working against him, keeping its secrets hidden just out of reach.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
And then, a sudden thought struck him, clear and sharp like a blade. “Wait… If there’s fire at the edges of these holes, something must have caused it,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the empty hall. His mind raced as he tried to piece together the clues, but with every new thought, more questions arose, each one more perplexing than the last.
As he stood there, lost in thought, a high-pitched screech pierced the silence, so loud and sharp it felt like it was splitting his skull. He spun around, his heart pounding in his chest, just in time to see a ball of fire barreling toward him. Instinct took over, and he dove to the side, the fireball passing so close he could feel the heat singe his skin. He landed hard, rolling to his feet in a single, fluid motion, his eyes wide with fear and adrenaline.
More fireballs followed, each one trailing smoke and ash as they hurtled through the air. Panic gripped him as he realized he was trapped—no matter which way he turned, the fireballs kept coming, faster and faster. He ducked, dodged, and rolled, his body moving with a speed and grace that surprised even him, but it was only a matter of time before one of them found its mark.
And then it did. The impact was like a hammer blow, slamming into his back and sending him sprawling to the ground. "Haaaaaa" He cried out in pain, the sound raw and desperate, as blue blood—his blood—began to pool around him, seeping into the cracked earth. But even as the pain threatened to consume him, "what in the world is that?" He moaned as a burning curiosity drove him to look up, to find the source of the attack.
Through the haze of pain and smoke, he saw it—a massive dragon, its scales black as obsidian, each one reflecting the flickering light like shards of broken glass. Its eyes burned with an intense, fiery glow, and its mouth dripped with molten lava that hissed and sizzled as it hit the ground. The creature moved with a terrifying, predatory grace, every step sending vibratory shakes through the earth. It was a force of nature, ancient and unstoppable, and it was coming straight for him.
As the dragon approached, a strange countdown appeared in the corner of his vision—“3… 2… 1…”—and everything around him began to rewind. The pain in his back faded, the fireballs disappeared, and he found himself back at the moment he had first said, “Wait…”
Time had stopped rewinding. Dazed and disoriented, he found himself repeating his earlier thought, “If there’s fire at the edges of these holes, something must have caused it…”
Before he could think any further, a new voice echoed in the vertically extended down of his mind space, deep and resonant, a voice not his own: “THE CHOSEN ONES.”
The words reverberated through him, filling him with a sense of purpose and dread. His eyelids grew heavy, and though he fought to stay awake in that world, but nothing about awakening was on his side, he yelled out in the loudest of his voice-- "NOOOOO!", but the pull of unconsciousness was too strong. When he finally opened his eyes, the world had changed. The oppressive heat and darkness were gone, replaced by the soft light of a hospital room.
He was lying in a bed, his body wrapped in sleek white sheets that felt alien against his skin. The air smelled clean, antiseptic, and the only sound was the steady beeping of a heart monitor. As his vision cleared with each subsequent eye twitches, he realized he wasn’t alone. A familiar voice, filled with relief and excitement, broke the silence. “Nurse! Doctor! It's my son! He’s awake!”