Mid 2018 - Sonnenfeld, Southern Germany
The first light of dawn crept over the rooftops, casting a golden hue across the quiet streets of Sonnenfeld, a serene suburban neighbourhood in southern Germany. The air was cool, the stillness only broken by the distant chirping of birds. Houses stood in neat rows, each with well-tended lawns.
Max stepped out of his room, the soft creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet the only sound in the stillness of the early morning. He descended the stairs, one hand trailing lightly on the banister, the other rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes.
As Max reached the bottom of the stairs, he almost tripped over Vroomy, the vacuum robot his youngest sister had affectionately named. Vroomy was dutifully roaming the hallway, completely unaware of the early hour. Max quickly sidestepped the little machine, muttering a quick apology, as if it might understand, before heading into the kitchen.
The kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of early morning light filtering through the blinds. Max placed his phone on the counter and instinctively checked it, his thumb swiping across the screen to unlock it. Immediately, his notifications flooded in—a flurry of over 40 messages from his friends in their group chat.
Max scrolled through the conversation, which had devolved into a heated debate about what everyone would bring to Lena’s birthday come next week. There was also the matter of who would be responsible for bringing the the good stuff, and more specifically, how Max would convince his older brother to buy them something a little stronger than the usual beer and cider. He smirked at the messages but sighed as he locked his phone again, placing it back on the counter with a soft clatter.
He opened the fridge, greeted by the sight of a fully stocked interior. Fresh fruits, juices, and neatly packed leftovers filled the shelves. Max grabbed a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink. The cool liquid refreshed him, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep.
Glancing at the clock on the microwave—5:30 AM—he knew he had plenty of time before he needed to start getting ready for school. Setting the bottle down, he took a deep breath, appreciating the solitude of the morning. With his heart rate tracker securely fastened around his wrist, Max headed for the front door.
Stepping outside, he was greeted by the crisp morning air of Sonnenfeld. The neighbourhood was just beginning to stir, with a few lights flickering on in the houses nearby. As he made his way down the driveway, he caught sight of movement in one of the windows across the street.
It was Mrs. Richter, the self-appointed watchful eye of Sonnenfeld. The elderly woman had a long neck that seemed almost purpose-built for peering over hedges and out of windows, and she never missed a thing happening in the neighbourhood. Max and his friends had long dubbed her "the Hawk of Sonnenfeld" for her tendency to involve herself in anything that didn’t fit her strict sense of normalcy.
He remembered the time she had called the police on a neighbour who had blocked the street for a week while doing some renovations. Sure, the guy was a knobhead, he didn’t have the proper permits, but still, Mrs. Richter’s approach was more about making a point than being neighbourly. She could have at least talked to him first.
This morning, Mrs. Richter was at it again, peering out from behind her lace curtains. The moment she noticed Max glancing in her direction, she quickly retreated, the curtains snapping shut as if she were afraid of being caught in the act. Max couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He waved in her direction, even though he knew she wouldn’t acknowledge it.
Shaking his head, Max continued down the driveway, but before he could reach the street, he had to swerve around the family’s Audi Q7. His older brother had clearly been in a rush last night, parking the SUV at an awkward angle that nearly blocked the entire path. As Max passed by, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glossy black paint—his dark hair slightly tousled, his blue eyes clear but still heavy with the remnants of sleep.
Max grinned. His brother’s questionable parking skills were a constant source of jokes in the family, and today was no exception. But he pushed the thought aside as he set off down the street, his feet moving in rhythm with the beat of his thoughts. The early morning quiet embraced him as he began his jog, leaving Mrs. Richter and the Audi behind.
As he ran, the early morning light continued to spread, casting long shadows across the ground. Max kept a steady pace, his breathing even and controlled. Running was more than just exercise for him; it was a way to clear his mind and prepare for the day ahead.
After about ten minutes of jogging through the quiet streets, Max reached a familiar intersection. He usually turned left here, following the main road back toward home. But today, something caught his eye—a narrow dirt trail veering off into the woods. It was a path he’d noticed before but had never explored. On a whim, he decided to take it.
The trail wound through the trees, the light filtering through the leaves in dappled patterns. The air grew cooler as he moved deeper into the woods, the scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs. Max slowed his pace slightly, his senses more alert in this unfamiliar environment.
He jogged along the trail for a few more minutes when something caught his attention—a small glint of light reflecting off the ground. Max slowed to a stop and crouched down, brushing aside the dirt and leaves to reveal a small, translucent shard half-buried in the mud. It was smooth and cold to the touch, almost like glass, but heavier and denser. There was something oddly compelling about it.
Curiosity piqued, Max held the shard up to the light, tilting it to catch the early morning sun. The moment the sunlight hit the shard, the world around him seemed to shift. The familiar woods of Sonnenfeld faded away, replaced by something entirely different.
Max found himself standing on a battlefield, but this was no ordinary war-torn land. The ground beneath his feet was slick with blood, forming rivulets that pooled into lakes of crimson. The air was thick with the stench of death, and the distant roar of battle echoed across the expanse. All around him lay the bodies of giants—massive, fallen figures, their once-mighty forms now twisted in death. These were the Titans, he could feel it, their golden armour shattered, their ancient weapons scattered across the field.
The boy trembled as he took in the scene, his eyes wide with terror. The shard in his hand seemed to hum with energy, vibrating with a pulse that matched the thunder above. He knew, deep in his bones, that he was witnessing something far beyond his comprehension—an ancient memory, a cataclysmic event that had been lost to time.
In the centre of the battlefield, a figure stood alone, towering above the chaos. Cronos. His presence radiating an aura of raw, unchecked power. His eyes, glowing with an unnatural light, were fixed on the weapon in his hands—a blade that seemed to be forged from the very essence of time itself. The Aegis of Cronos, they called it, a weapon so powerful that it could bend reality to its wielder’s will.
But Cronos was not alone.
Surrounding him were the forces of the usurpers, humans and magical beings who had risen against the Titans, determined to end their reign. They came in waves, their spells lighting up the darkened sky, their war cries filling the air.
The magical creatures looked like ants before the towering figure of Cronos, their combined might seemingly insignificant against the Titan King. The Aegis, raised high in his grasp, momentarily froze the battlefield, bending time itself to his will. The boy could feel the weight of centuries pressing down on him, the very fabric of the world straining under the power of the blade.
With a roar that shook the heavens, the beings unleashed their final assault. A storm of magic descended upon Cronos; each spell more powerful than the last. The sky cracked open, and the earth trembled as the forces of the world itself turned against the Titan King.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The beings, united in desperation, invoked a powerful spell. Pillars of radiant light shot into the air as they raised their staves in unison, chanting in a language long forgotten. The boy watched in awe as they held their ground, even as monstrous harpies descended upon them, their screeches tearing through the battlefield. Many fell to the onslaught, but those who remained stood resolute, their magic unwavering.
And then, it happened.
From the very heart of their incantation, an avatar of light, equal in size to the Titan King, descended from the heavens. It emerged from a portal of pure, blue sky—a stark contrast to the dark void that consumed the rest of the heavens. The avatar was a towering figure of ethereal energy, its form crackling with life. With a force that shook the very ground, the avatar clashed with Cronos, their battle lighting up the sky.
More joined in on the fray, some without staves, wielding magic with their bare hands. They emerged from the shadows, filling the ranks of their fallen comrades, their struggle desperate yet determined. The Titans who had been lying dead on the battlefield began to stir, their wounds healing, and their colossal forms regenerating as if time itself was reversing. It was as though the very force of their existence defied death, and the tide of battle seemed poised to turn once more in their favour.
And then, in a fleeting moment—a single chance, or all would be lost—Cronos faltered. The Titan King, his strength waning, loosened his grip on the Aegis.
The avatar of light, seizing the opportunity, wrenched the Aegis from Cronos's grasp. The blade, once a symbol of unmatched power, shattered in an explosion of raw energy that ripped through the battlefield. The shockwave tore through space, sending everyone present—human, magical creature, beast, Titan, and even Cronos himself—plunging into the void. The Aegis splintered into nine pieces, each fragment tearing through the fabric of reality, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
Max barely had time to register the impact before everything went dark. The world around him dissolved into nothingness, leaving him floating in a void. There was no pain, only a strange sensation of weightlessness, as if he was being pulled into another dimension.
In those final moments of consciousness, Max’s thoughts raced back to his life in Sonnenfeld—the quiet mornings, the safety of his home, and the predictable routine he’d often taken for granted. He thought of his parents, still asleep in their beds, blissfully unaware of what was happening to him. His mind flickered to his older brother and his careless parking job, which now seemed like the smallest of concerns. Then, he thought of his little sister, who would be up soon, no doubt causing Vroomy to buzz around the house in a frenzy as she got ready for school.
Max’s thoughts scrambled as he remembered his first period today: Physics. He hadn’t done the homework yet. A pang of anxiety shot through him—he’d need to ask Christoph for some pointers before class, which really meant copying what Christoph had done.
Suddenly, an intense pain surged through Max's body, as if he were being sucked into some unseen vortex, pulling him apart from the inside. The world around him twisted and contorted, his vision blurring as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. He felt a sharp, overwhelming force, like every part of him was being stretched thin.
In his hand, the shard, once unbearably hot, grew cool and smooth again. He looked down at it, just in time to see a crack splinter across its surface. An intense surge of energy shot through him, so powerful it felt like it could tear him apart. Then, everything went still.
And then, there was nothing.
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1927 - University College Hospital, London
A strange sense of warmth enveloped Max, a gentle contrast to the cold void he had just experienced. He drifted in this warmth, his consciousness flickering in and out like a distant light. Slowly, muffled noises began to reach him—distant, unintelligible sounds that grew louder and more distinct. There was a sensation of pulling, stretching, and then, as if the walls around him were closing in, the warmth disappeared, replaced by an intense cold that shocked him into a heightened awareness.
Suddenly, strange hands touched him with little care, cold and unfeeling. The overwhelming flood of sensations—his skin prickling from the cold, the harshness of the hands gripping him—left him disoriented. His senses of smell and touch were bombarded all at once, more intense than he had ever known.
But then, amidst the chaos, he was passed to someone else, and for a fleeting moment, the cold was replaced by something familiar. The scent that reached him was comforting, inexplicably familiar, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp. He felt a sense of security, of belonging, that he couldn’t explain.
His consciousness slipped in and out of existence, moments of awareness blending with periods of complete darkness. Time lost all meaning as he drifted in this strange new world. Days, weeks, months—it all blurred together into what felt like an eternity.
As Leonard grew from a newborn into a toddler, the remnants of Max's consciousness lingered, guiding him through his early years in a world that was both alien and eerily familiar. By his first birthday, Leonard could finally recognize the faces of his mother and father, their features becoming clearer as his sight sharpened. He couldn't yet speak or communicate the thoughts that floated in his mind, but he understood more than anyone realized. He was aware of his surroundings, of the changes happening around him, even if he couldn't fully grasp their significance.
By the time Leonard reached his second birthday in 1929, he was accustomed to a life of quiet comfort. The family’s flat above the shop was spacious and filled with warmth. His days were marked by a predictable routine, where he enjoyed the attention and care of a devoted nanny who doted on him and his siblings. His world was filled with soft toys, books with colourful illustrations, and the gentle hum of domestic life. His older siblings, a brother and a sister, were often busy with their lessons under the careful watch of a governess, but they always found time to play with him, filling the house with laughter.
Meals were served promptly, with the kitchen always stocked with fresh bread, fruits, and meats. Leonard’s mother was the heart of the home, her laughter and songs filling the space with joy. His father, though often busy with the shop, was a comforting presence, his voice steady and reassuring whenever he spoke.
But as Leonard’s third birthday approached, subtle changes began to creep into his world. The trinkets and toys that once cluttered the shelves started to disappear, one by one. At first, it was small items—a silver spoon that had been a gift, a porcelain figurine that his mother once admired.
The nanny’s visits grew less frequent, her once bright smile now shadowed by concern. Leonard missed her presence, the way she would sing to him as she rocked him to sleep, or how she would sit him on her knee and read to him from his favourite picture book. She still came, but the warmth in her voice had faded, replaced by a weariness that Leonard couldn’t quite place.
By the end of 1929, the absences became more noticeable. The silver candlesticks on the dining table were gone, as was the ornate mirror in the hall. Leonard’s mother, who had once laughed so freely, now seemed burdened by a sadness that she tried to hide. Leonard often found her standing in the hallway, staring at the spot where the grandmother clock had once stood, long after it had been sold. She no longer sang as she worked, her voice replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to hang in the air.
Leonard’s father, once a pillar of strength, began to show signs of strain. His brow was constantly furrowed, his movements tense and hurried. The shop, which had been in the family for generations, was struggling, and the weight of its decline was etched in every line of his father’s face. He spent long hours trying to make ends meet, but the prosperity they had once enjoyed was slipping away, no matter how hard he worked.
As 1930 dawned, Leonard’s world continued to shrink. The governess who had once tutored his older siblings was no longer a daily presence, her visits reduced to a few hours every other week. The maid who used to sing while she cleaned had stopped coming altogether, and the once-bustling household was growing eerily quiet. The laughter that used to echo through the rooms was now a rare sound, replaced by long silences and the distant hum of worry.
Leonard’s mother began to take on work of her own, sewing and mending clothes for others to bring in extra money. He often saw her sitting at the kitchen table late into the night, her hands moving tirelessly over fabric as she stitched with a determination born of necessity. His sister, once free to study and play, started helping their mother with the laundry and stitching, her childhood slipping away in the face of their growing need.
His older brother, too, was no longer just a pupil. Leonard would see him coming home late, his clothes dirty and his face drawn with exhaustion. He had taken on work wherever he could find it, trying to contribute to the household as their situation became more desperate.
By February 1931, the final blow came. Leonard’s family was evicted from the flat that had been their home for as long as he could remember. The shop, their livelihood, was lost—sold to cover debts. The family had no choice but to move to a poorer part of London.
Their new home was small, cramped, and dark. He had to share a room with his siblings. The neighbourhood was a far cry from the bustling, friendly streets Leonard had once known. Gone were the familiar faces and the warmth of their old flat, replaced by narrow, dirty streets and a sense of unease that Leonard couldn’t shake. The few belongings they had managed to keep were crammed into the tiny space, and the comforts Leonard had once taken for granted were now distant memories.
His father’s temper had grown shorter and his patience thinner. The sense of security he had once felt was gone, replaced by uncertainty and fear.