Bold = Narrator/God  

Italic = Something Written Somewhere  

Normal = Holland Perspective  

Ch. 1  

Written obituary of Holland Graves survived by his mother Carole Graves  

I love my child, and I do still believe he is somewhere out there. Growing up, Holland was a quiet but sweet child. While kids would go outside and play recess, he would read. He never wanted not to talk to other kids, he simply did not understand how to. High school was where my baby got to be happiest. He found friends, love, and found meaning in life. He would write the most audacious stories filled with characters that would breathe life into the pages. I remember him being always so happy, that smile, I will never forget it. I will hold onto his stories and pieces until he finds his way back to me. If he is never found, I will die happy knowing his legacy can live on.  

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Sitting in the front of a Biology lecture at Northwestern College is a tall average looking student who this story is centered around. Of course, at this point there isn’t anything special about him. His name is Holland Graves, a mediocre sophomore in college who, like any other stays up to crack of dawn studying. There were the friends, the girlfriend, the stress, and day to day living in a dorm. All of these ordinary things shaped Holland into the run of the mill kind of person he was. Along with an ongoing project he put his blood sweat and tears into.  

 Holland was reaching the culmination point of this undertaking which was a book. Like a real, full book, well more like an instruction manual of sorts. Aptly named How to Industrialize a Backwards Society. As the title announces, the job of this manual is to describe the complications of bringing science and industry into a world where no such thing exists. Holland had been slowly building up multiple journals filled with chemistry, metallurgy, architecture, economics, and a whole slew of other details.  

 He wanted to do something, leave something behind before he died. While that sounds morbid, it was the understanding that legacy lived beyond himself. When death hammered the nail into his coffin, his writings would live on.   

It was a frigid afternoon when Holland walked back to his dorm. The weather may have been freezing cold and raining, but inside he was happy. Today was the finalization of his project. Everything was there; he only needed an organized compilation of all the information, thick as a Yellow Pages. He was so excited he had been working on it in class under the guise of schoolwork. Now in his bag, it was time to finish what he had been working on for years once the dorm room was reached.   

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

 RUN  

Without a warning he gained a sense that something dreadful was about to happen. Making an effort to fire his neurons as fast as humanly possible to his legs, Holland jumped. Whether such an action was futile or not, Holland would never know.  

Then he was gone...  

/  

In a different place, another time, was the planet of Earth. Not our planet of course, the lands we have stood upon for thousands of years were given names at the beginning of our species. That name has of course changed since our propagation, but it still has the same connotation to its actual meaning, dirt. To avoid any confusion, let's simply call this place Terr, the Latin version of Earth.   

If an English speaker was suddenly taken to these foreign lands, they would find themselves easily understanding the language. To be specific, the nations of Mouria and Azam would speak it, although in this world, such said language would be called Hatz. To the east of the Sorrean sea, past the neutral peninsula country of Tut, lay Azam. An island nation that came into existence around 350 years ago. This great island nation was a hub of trade with agreements ranging from the Holy Canma empire to the far west to the Seibetan barbarian empire to the south. This is where we find the man once known as Holland Graves. Right in the middle of the king's bed chambers to be exact.  

…  

Holland had experienced crazy before, the normal kind of crazy. Like climbing every college campus building in one night, doing a double twist flip while skiing, and even committing arson.... once. But this had to top it all off. While most would have likely enclosed themselves away from such illogicalness, Holland did not. From an early age, Holland came to control his emotions with such a strength that kids hated him for his difference. Analyzing his emotions and locking down annoyances like fear and awkwardness.  

 The insanity of his situation was starting to settle in. His current location was one of luxury. Vibrant silk blankets and pillows were randomly skewed throughout this illogically humongous bed. Filtered light pierced through purple curtains, enclosing Holland in like some kind of egg. A sound was penetrating through the curtains, yes, it was the sound of a man crying. Not the crying of someone who had lost a friend, this cry was a milk curdling scream that could only come from someone whose dreams of life had been shattered. Holland knew whatever was happening in his current situation, defied logic. While staying inside his prison of plushiness sounds nice in a variety of ways, there were facts to face. And they were waiting for him beyond the veil, he stepped through.