Ethan's feet crunched against the scorched earth as he wandered aimlessly, his mind a tangled mess of confusion and dread. The air was thick with ash, and the once-thriving cities that dotted the landscape were now nothing more than ruins—hollowed-out shells of what they used to be. Skyscrapers lay in jagged heaps, their windows shattered, their steel beams twisted and broken. Streets that once bustled with life were now silent, the pavement cracked and weathered by years of neglect. The world, once full of promise and possibility, now felt desolate.
He passed the remains of schools, their playgrounds deserted, their classrooms empty. The ghosts of the past seemed to linger in the air, but there was no sign of life. No children running, no laughter echoing through the halls. It was as if everything had been erased, wiped clean from existence.
His breath hitched in his chest, and his heart ached as he called out for them.
"Dad! Ava!" His voice was hoarse, but the sound barely carried across the wind, which only whispered back, indifferent.
Ethan clenched his fists, his heart sinking lower with each passing second. He tried again, but this time, he reached deep inside himself, tapping into the strange ability he'd learned from the others—the high-pitched sound, sharp and piercing, the one that only vampires could hear. He let it rip from his throat, his voice echoing across the wasteland, hoping that someone, anyone, would hear it. The noise cut through the empty air like a blade.
But nothing.
Not a flicker of response. Not even a faint stir of movement in the distance.
He collapsed to his knees, his hands trembling as he dug them into the ground for support. His chest tightened, his breath shallow as a sob broke from him. The emptiness swallowed him whole.
"What's the point…" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "What's the point of being a guardian if there's no world to guard?"
The words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on him, suffocating him. He had devoted his life to protecting others, to ensuring that the balance of the world remained intact. But now? Now there was nothing. Only death and silence.
Ethan staggered to his feet, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and began walking again, aimlessly, desperate for some shred of hope. He found himself at the remains of a crumbling building, a forgotten stall where goods had once been sold. The roof had caved in, the walls were half-fallen, but it was shelter. He crawled inside, curling up in the dark corner and closing his eyes. The cold gnawed at his bones, but it was nothing compared to the numbness that had taken over his heart.
What had happened here? How had everything gone so wrong?
The questions spun in his mind, over and over again, but there were no answers. Just the deafening silence of a world that no longer cared.
---
As sleep claimed him, a strange sensation overtook him. The air shifted, thickening, and his surroundings blurred as though reality itself was distorting. And then, there was a voice.
A low, ethereal sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air around him. He wasn't sure if it was a dream, but the figure before him was undeniable. Tall, cloaked in darkness, its features indistinguishable, but there was a presence to it, something powerful, ancient. Ethan couldn't look away, though the urge to run was strong.
"You're the guardian," the figure said, its voice reverberating through his chest.
Ethan's breath caught in his throat. "I… I am," he stammered, unsure of what it meant. "But how can I be? There's nothing left to guard."
"The world," the figure spoke, its tone shifting, deepening. "It is your duty to restore it."
Ethan furrowed his brow. "Restore it? But how?"
The figure's form flickered, its features coming into sharp relief for the briefest of moments—eyes glowing with an ancient fire. "You must discover that for yourself. The solution lies within the distance between cause and effect."
Ethan shook his head. "What do you mean? To find the solution, you need to know the cause. I don't even know what happened here."
"The solution to a problem is always simple," the figure said, its voice growing cold. "The distance between the two is where the mystery lies."
Ethan stared, trying to understand. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The figure's eyes glinted with impatience. "That's not the point. You can't just sit here, drowning in despair. You have to act. Do something. Anything. Find the cause of this. Start looking. Look for the answers where the destruction is greatest."
"But how do I even know where to start?"
"The place with the most prominent destruction," the figure said cryptically, "will most likely be where it all began."
Ethan clenched his fists, frustration building. "How do I stop it?"
The figure opened its mouth to speak, but before a word could escape, the dream shattered. The world around him swirled, and he found himself jerked awake, his heart racing, his body covered in a cold sweat.
---
Ethan lay still for a long moment, trying to make sense of what he had just experienced. He felt the heaviness of the dream in his chest, the words echoing through his mind, urging him to act. But how?
With a frustrated sigh, he stood up, his limbs stiff from the awkward position he'd fallen asleep in. His mind spun, and he knew he couldn't waste any more time.
He ventured out again, dragging himself through the wastelands, his heart heavy with the weight of his thoughts. His eyes searched the barren land, and after what felt like hours, he spotted something—a glimmer of metal in the distance.
A motorcycle.
Ethan hurried toward it, his hopes rising, though the sight of the damaged machine didn't fill him with optimism. It was battered, rusted, parts hanging loosely, the wheels deflated, the frame twisted and broken. Even a seasoned mechanic would have given up on it.
But Ethan wasn't just a man. He was a guardian. And he had magic.
A flicker of excitement sparked within him. He crouched down, surveying the bike, remembering the small pieces of magic he had absorbed from watching Galen, Riona, Aiden, and Lira perform their spells. With the heartstone amplifying his powers, there was nothing he couldn't fix.
He closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic, feeling the crackling energy hum in the air around him. Slowly, carefully, he began to work, his hands moving with precision, mending the damaged parts of the motorcycle. In no time, the machine was whole again—an impossible task for any normal human, but not for him.
Ethan climbed onto the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him. He revved the throttle, kicking up a cloud of dust as he sped off into the wasteland, the road stretching out before him like an endless abyss. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the place with the most destruction, just as the figure had told him.
And then he saw it—a man, half-buried in the sand.
Ethan's heart raced. He skidded the bike to a halt, jumping off and rushing toward the man. His fingers pressed to the man's neck, feeling the weak but steady pulse. A sense of urgency took over him, and without hesitation, he dragged the man from the sand and placed him on the bike.
He searched for a safe place to lay the man down, finding a rocky outcrop that would shield them from the wind. Kneeling beside him, Ethan focused all his energy on healing the man, using magic to mend his wounds, to breathe life back into him. His hands glowed with the soft light of his powers, and as he worked, he couldn't help but wonder who this person was—how he had survived in this desolate wasteland.
When he had done all he could, Ethan sat back, exhausted. He stared up at the sky, the vast expanse of it stretching endlessly overhead. The sky was a sickly orange, as though the sun had been drained of its color, leaving behind only a pale, ghostly hue. Thin, dark clouds swirled ominously, casting fleeting shadows across the landscape.
Ethan sat in silence, his thoughts racing, until the man stirred. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and he groaned, disoriented.
"Where am I?"