The bells rang out in a distant, discordant rhythm, their sound bouncing off the high stone walls of the city of Eldara. Zane sprinted through the winding, narrow streets, his heart hammering in his chest. He could barely catch his breath; every inhalation felt like fire in his lungs. The alley was dark, the shadows deepened by the twilight above. Panic coursed through his veins like ice.
He hadn't meant to run. It had all happened so fast. One minute he was at home, arguing with his father about the family business, and the next, his frustration had pushed him past the breaking point. Zane's father had laid down the law: "You will learn to run the business, Zane, or you'll have no future at all." But Zane didn't care about the family's legacy of trade and wealth. He wanted freedom. He wanted adventure. He wanted to make his own choices.
So, he'd bolted, tearing away from the safety of his father's mansion and into the maze-like streets of Eldara's marketplace. At first, it felt liberating—the cool evening air on his face, the sound of the city coming alive for the night. But then he had stumbled into something he shouldn't have seen. A tall, imposing figure—a man cloaked in shadows—surrounded by a group of rough-looking individuals. Zane hadn't heard much, just a few murmured words, but he saw the glint of a blade and heard a muffled scream cut short.
His foot had slipped on a loose stone, and the sound had been enough to alert them. The figure's gaze had snapped up, eyes like chips of ice locking onto him. For a second, Zane's blood ran cold. He'd turned and run without looking back, hearing the shouts behind him, footsteps pounding after him like a drumbeat.
Now, the alley seemed to close in around him, narrowing with every step. He could hear them coming—could almost feel their breath on his neck. The distant tolling of the bells was the only sound that seemed steady, an ominous metronome counting down his final moments.
He rounded a corner too fast, his foot slipping on a puddle. He crashed to the ground, pain shooting up his leg, but he forced himself up, ignoring the sting in his palms and the blood trickling down his arm. He kept moving, knowing that stopping would mean death.
But there it was—the wall. A dead end. High, unscalable, with nothing but a pile of old crates stacked against it. He was trapped. He spun around, panic surging through him. The figures were closing in, silhouetted against the faint light of the moon above.
Zane's mind raced. He pressed himself against the cold brick, desperately searching for any escape. He grabbed a piece of broken wood from the pile and held it out like a makeshift weapon. "Stay back!" he shouted, his voice raw with fear.
They laughed. It was a hollow, cruel sound. "Looks like you're out of options, kid," one of them jeered, stepping forward, a long knife gleaming in his hand.
Zane swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the piece of wood. "I'm warning you," he said, though his voice trembled. His hands were shaking.
The man with the knife grinned wider, his face illuminated by a dim shaft of moonlight. "Oh, you're warning us, huh?" he mocked, taking another step. "I'm shaking."
Zane's heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. The world seemed to slow as the man lunged forward. Zane swung his makeshift weapon wildly, but the man dodged easily, catching Zane's wrist in an iron grip. The knife flashed once, twice—
A sharp pain blossomed in Zane's side, spreading like fire. He gasped, his vision blurring. He staggered back, his hand going to his side, and when he pulled it away, it was slick with blood.
The men advanced again, but Zane's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, his back against the cold brick wall. The pain was intense, overwhelming. He felt a coldness creeping through his limbs, spreading up from his fingers and toes. He could barely breathe, each breath more shallow than the last.
The world grew darker around him, and the figures above seemed to blur and fade. Zane's mind raced, panic giving way to something deeper, a realization that cut through the haze of pain: This is it. I'm dying.
The cold crept higher, enveloping him, and the world seemed to shrink to a single point of light—a flickering flame against the encroaching darkness. He tried to hold onto it, tried to keep his eyes open, but it was slipping away.
And then, just as the darkness seemed about to swallow him whole, there was a shift—a presence. Someone was there, standing over him, looking down with an expression that was… curious. He couldn't make out the details—his vision was too blurred—but he felt the warmth of a hand pressing against his chest, steady and calm.
The darkness didn't recede, but it softened. He was still fading, still slipping away, but there was something… different. Something almost comforting. The cold wasn't quite so biting now, the pain not quite so sharp.
He heard a voice, faint and distant, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel. "You're not done yet, little one," it said softly, almost teasingly. "Not by a long shot."
Zane's eyes fluttered shut, his consciousness ebbing like the tide, and then there was nothing but blackness.
---
Zane awoke to the sound of distant, muffled music and low voices. His eyes blinked open, his vision hazy, but he could make out dim lights above, the smell of smoke and something sweet and bitter mingling in the air. His body felt heavy, like he was trying to move through water.
He was lying on a soft surface, a bed or a couch, and there were soft, flickering lights around him—candles, maybe. His head throbbed, and his side ached dully, but he felt… alive. Somehow.
He struggled to sit up, his movements sluggish. "Where… where am I?" he murmured, his voice hoarse.
A voice from the shadows answered, light and almost amused. "You're in The Afterlife, friend," it said, and Zane could hear the smile in the words. "A place for the lost, the wandering, and the in-between."
He tried to focus on the source of the voice, but he couldn't make out anything beyond the shadows. "Why am I here?" he asked, his heart racing again, confusion flooding his senses. "Who brought me here?"
The voice chuckled softly. "That's a story for another time," it replied. "Rest for now, Zane. You'll need your strength."
Zane felt a shiver run through him at the sound of his name. He hadn't told anyone here who he was… had he? He tried to ask another question, but his eyes grew heavy again, and before he could fight it, he was pulled back into the depths of unconsciousness.