The bar was alive with noise—the hum of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the steady clinking of glasses and bottles. It was crowded, chaotic even, but none of it seemed to matter to the man sitting alone at a corner table.
The table in front of him was littered with empty bottles, and at first glance, it looked like he'd passed out cold. His body was slumped forward, his head resting on the table, unmoving. But if anyone had bothered to look closer, they'd see the truth.
He was still conscious, barely, taking short, ragged breaths as his hand clutched his chest. Pain wracked his body with every inhale, and even lifting his head felt impossible.
He sat there, hidden in the farthest corner of the bar, out of sight and out of mind. At first, it had seemed like the perfect spot to drink himself into oblivion. Now, though, he was realizing just how bad of a decision it was. No one could see him like this. No one could help.
"Shit," he thought, panic creeping into his mind. "I just need someone to notice me. I can't die like this. Please, someone... anyone. I don't want to die."
But no one noticed. His silent pleas were drowned out by the noise of the bar. His strength ebbed away, bit by bit, until his hand slipped from his chest. His vision, already blurred, grew darker and darker.
"Am I really gonna die here?" The thought hit him like a final blow. "Well... fuck."
His eyes closed, and his body slid off the table.
---
The darkness didn't last long.
It was replaced by light—blinding, white light that burned through his closed eyelids. His chest heaved as he sucked in shallow breaths, the pain still fresh and sharp. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, squinting against the brightness, and tried to take in his surroundings.
The noise of the bar was gone. Everything was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
"Where... am I?" he croaked, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his head. His thoughts were a mess, the pain making it hard to piece together what had just happened.
He pushed himself up, wincing as his body protested the movement, and took a better look around. What he saw made his stomach sink even further.
Trees. Massive trees, stretching so high into the sky that their tops were barely visible. They looked nothing like anything he'd ever seen before—too tall, too strange.
"What the fuck?" The words slipped out as he stared, wide-eyed, at the foreign
landscape.
He kept looking around, hoping for something, anything, that might make sense of this. But the more he looked, the worse it got. The plants, the trees, even the air felt wrong. It wasn't just unfamiliar—it was like nothing from his world.
And for a guy who avoided nature at all costs, this was a whole new level of unsettling.
He sat there, surrounded by this strange yet oddly beautiful forest, trying to piece together how he'd ended up here. His mind felt foggy, and no matter how hard he tried, the memory refused to come.
After a few seconds of taking in his surroundings, he finally forced himself to stand, his body protesting with every movement. The pain that had gripped him earlier was starting to fade, but his muscles still felt weak, as though they might give out at any moment.
Once on his feet, he glanced around again, and that's when it really hit him—everything was huge. The trees, the shrubs, even the plants beneath his feet—they all towered over him in a way that felt unnatural. It was like he'd been shrunken down and dropped into some oversized version of a forest.
With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed against something cold and smooth, and for the first time since waking up here, he felt a flicker of relief. His phone. At least he had his phone.
He pulled it out quickly, holding onto that sliver of hope like it was a lifeline. But as he pressed the power button, all that greeted him was the cold, black screen.
"No... No... Damn it!"
He pressed the button again. And again. Each time, the small sense of relief he'd felt crumbled further. The phone remained lifeless, refusing to give him even the faintest glimmer of light.
He let out a shaky breath, trying to compose himself. The strange forest wasn't offering any answers, but panicking wasn't going to help either. After a moment, he slipped his hands back into his pockets, hoping to find something—anything—that might be useful.
Pulling out the contents of his pockets, he stared down at them with a mix of confusion and disbelief.
First, there was a knife, about the size of a small kitchen knife. It didn't look like anything he owned—it was handmade, with intricate carvings and drawings etched into both the blade and the handle. It gave off an unsettling vibe, like it wasn't just an ordinary tool.
Then there was the stone. A small, crimson-colored rock that seemed to almost shimmer in the faint light of the forest. Just holding it gave him a strange feeling, like it was humming with energy.
"What the... fuck," he muttered, his brow furrowing as he stared at the two objects.
As his eyes lingered on the stone, something changed. The faint shimmer turned into a deep, red glow, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
His grip tightened instinctively. The stone was getting warm—then hot. Too hot. With a hiss of pain, he dropped it to the ground and stumbled back, eyes wide in shock.
He watched in stunned silence as the stone began to move. Not roll, not bounce—rise. Slowly, it floated upward, as though lifted by some invisible force.
Jordan's mouth hung open, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing.
The stone hovered higher, its glow intensifying with each passing second.
"What the fuck is going on?" he blurted out, his voice trembling. "How is it floating? Am I going crazy?"
The questions swirled in his mind, but no answers came. All he could do was stare, frozen, as the crimson stone defied everything he thought he knew.
The stone continued to rise as he stared, dumbfounded. After a moment, it halted mid-air, then began to spin violently, making a faint whirring sound as its speed increased.
Then, without warning, it shot out, not in some random direction but straight toward Jordan.
"Sh...!!" he tried to shout, but the words caught in his throat as the stone seemed to attach itself to him.
He instinctively reached for his chest as the stone began sinking through his clothes, pressing against his skin.
A warmth spread from the point of contact, radiating outwards like tendrils of heat. His body felt alive with the sensation, not in a painful way, but like stepping out of a hot tub on a chilly day. The confusion only deepened. No pain, just warmth.
He'd just seen a stone levitate and bury itself into his chest. Who wouldn't be confused?
Pulling up his shirt, he looked down at his chest, his face twisting in even more bewilderment. A pattern began to form on his skin. It was a strange mix of the designs on both the knife and the stone, winding and intricate.
As the pattern finished, it glowed the same deep crimson as the stone. The warmth spread throughout his body, then slowly faded, leaving a strange sense of emptiness in its wake.
"I don't even have anything to say," he muttered, his voice hoarse as he stared at the mark.
His hand, still holding the knife, fell to his side as he looked back and forth between the two objects—the glowing pattern on his chest and the strange, intricate blade. The design on his chest looked like a star with a spiral weaving through the center.
"Shit..."
Before he could process more, a faint rustling came from a tall shrub just a few meters away.
His heart skipped a beat. Instinct kicked in, and he gripped the knife tighter, a small surge of fear rushing through him.