The phone kept ringing.
Nathan stared at the screen, unblinking.
"Mother."
It felt so... foreign to see that name now, yet painfully familiar all the same. His thumb hovered over the decline button, heart pounding as if every vibration echoed in his chest.
But he didn't press it.
The call continued, each ring stretching longer, louder.
And then—before he could think—he swiped to accept.
"...Hello?" his attempt to mask his nervousness with firm voice was unsuccessful, making him grimace at the awkwardness.
There was a pause, filled only by the faint sound of breathing on the other end.
Then, a voice. Soft. Steady. The same voice he remembered.
"You're answering my call this time. That's rare."
Nathan exhaled through his nose, the tension in his chest tightening.
"I... yeah."
A beat of silence. Not tense, but heavy, like both were waiting for the other to speak.
"How are you?" she finally asked. "It's been a while."
His grip on the phone tightened. His mind raced for answers. What was he supposed to say? 'I died, came back, and now I'm trying to stop the end of the world?'
"...Fine. Just... busy with school."
It was a lie. One that felt almost rehearsed.
She hummed in response, the sound carrying more weight than her words.
"And your grades? You're studying computer engineering, right? You've always been good with numbers."
Nathan's throat tightened.
That old praise—distant, polite, shallow. Words she'd always used, even when she didn't understand his struggles. It felt... impersonal.
'Was it always this way, or did I just stop caring enough to notice?'
"They're fine," he muttered, keeping his voice neutral. "I'm managing."
There was a pause, too long for comfort.
"I see... Is there anything you need? Money? Supplies?"
Nathan hesitated.
'No.'
'Stop.'
'She doesn't get it. She's not part of this anymore.'
But that wasn't true.
His stomach twisted with guilt as he remembered where she was.
Dubai.
Far from home. Far from the danger. But not safe. Not from what was coming.
Suddenly, the words pushed out before he could stop them.
"...Actually, yeah. There's something you should know."
Her tone shifted, softer. Concerned.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
Nathan clenched his jaw, the warning burning at the back of his throat. He couldn't tell her. Not directly. It would sound insane.
But he had to say something.
"I've just... been reading the news a lot lately. Weird stuff happening around. Animal attacks. People acting strange."
"...Nathan?"
"I'm just saying—" He swallowed hard. "You should stay alert. Pay attention to your surroundings. The weather's been unpredictable too. Maybe... avoid going out alone at night for a while."
Silence.
"...Nathan, are you okay?"
His grip on the phone turned white-knuckled.
'No. I'm not okay. I'm losing my mind trying to stop the apocalypse.'
But that wasn't what she was asking, was it?
It was that concern—the kind that sounded genuine yet distant.
Nathan forced his voice to steady.
"I'm fine. Just... thinking a lot lately."
Another long pause.
"Are you sure? You don't sound like yourself."
Myself?
A bitter, self-loathing laugh nearly slipped out, but he swallowed it back.
'You wouldn't know who I am. Not anymore.'
"Yeah," he whispered. "I guess I'm just trying to... figure myself out. Find some direction."
She was quiet for a moment.
"...Nathan. I know we don't talk much these days, but... you can always call me. If you need anything."
The words were kind.
But they felt hollow.
A gesture. Words spoken from a distance—a relationship maintained through occasional phone calls that he often ignore, and polite concern she had to express that she still was the same woman whom he blamed for everything.
Nathan closed his eyes, leaning back into his chair.
"Yeah," he finally murmured. "You too. Take care of yourself."
The call ended with a soft click.
---
The silence in the room felt louder than her voice had been.
Nathan sat there, staring blankly at the darkened phone screen.
He'd spoken to her. Warned her—barely.
But it wasn't enough.
She was still so far away. Still just as out of reach as she had always been.
He never thought about her before, was she even alive when the Spires fully emerged?
He didn't know.
So, why now?
And deep down, a voice whispered:
You didn't call because you cared.
You called because you were scared.
His face twisted in frustration, and he placed the phone face down on the desk.
No more distractions.
He stood, breathing in deeply. The weight pressing down on his chest was still there, but now it felt... different. Sharper. Controlled.
Nathan glanced at his journal. The notes were incomplete.
But it's a start.
His thoughts shifted, clearer now.
The Spires. The Challengers. The Monsters. The Mutates.
And the energies. Arcane. Ki. Spirit.
There was no time for hesitation. He had been weak before. Aimless.
No more.
Nathan opened his phone again—this time with purpose.
He searched the news. Checked local reports. Cross-referenced everything he could remember from his past life.
Patterns.
'I know how this starts. I can change it.'
The past was his to rewrite.
He wouldn't waste another second without doing anything.
—
Nathan stood beneath the flickering neon lights, rainwater pooling at his feet as the dim glow of a run-down liquor store illuminated the alley. The air was damp, thick with the scent of mildew and alcohol. A place most people would overlook.
But Nathan knew better.
This wasn't a liquor store. Not really.
His heart pounded as he stepped inside, the faint jingle of a bell above the door masking the silence that followed. Shelves stocked with dusty bottles and cheap labels lined the cramped space. A single server stood behind the counter, cleaning a glass with mechanical disinterest.
Nathan approached, his steps measured. Controlled.
The server barely acknowledged him.
But Nathan knew what to say.
"Tap the water."
The server paused mid-motion, eyes narrowing. His grip on the glass tightened for a moment.
Nathan met his gaze without flinching.
Then, with a subtle nod, the server set the glass down and gestured toward a door in the back. "This way."
Nathan followed.
Behind the door was a narrow hallway, dimly lit with cracked concrete walls. No cameras. No signs. Only the faint echo of footsteps that weren't his own.
Good. Still the same as I remember.
The hallway stretched on before ending at a heavy steel door with a sliding peephole. The server knocked twice. A set rhythm.
The peephole slid open. A pair of eyes studied Nathan before a click echoed through the silence, and the door swung inward.
The black market revealed itself in all its grim, chaotic nature.
Dim lights. Thick smoke. Hushed voices carrying half-truths and whispered threats.
It felt less like a place and more like a festering wound—a scar on the city's skin where humanity's worst impulses thrived unchecked.
Nathan adjusted his hood, thankful for the dark, worn clothing he had chosen. His face remained partially obscured, just enough to blend in among the shadows.
I'm not here to be noticed.
A dark thought curled in his mind.
'This place... it's no different from what I was before.'
Selfishness. Greed. Desperation hiding behind hollow justifications. The people here were parasites, feeding off misery and pain.
This place is reeking of it.
And yet, he had done the same.
All those years after the Spires emerged.
Cutting corners. Turning his back on those who relied on him. Rationalizing it all as "survival."
Cowardice disguised as pragmatism.
Nathan shook his head, forcing the thought away.
No.
Focus.
'That person is dead.' he said to himself, the man who he was before already stopped breathing, even that fact never mattered anymore.
He wasn't here for self-pity.
He was here for 'results'.
---
Nathan moved deeper into the market, carefully observing the stalls. Weapons—illegal firearms, knives, even a few rare artifacts he recognized as early relics of the Spires. Drugs. Counterfeit documents.
But none of that mattered.
He was searching for something far more dangerous.
'Information.'
The heart of the market pulsed at the back of the room—a cluster of dim booths filled with outdated monitors and glowing keyboards, where figures hunched over screens, masked and silent.
Hackers. Information brokers. Digital scavengers picking through the underbelly of society.
'Once, I decided to try becoming one, no surprises when I'm not good enough.' he thought as he looked at the figures, their visage draped with darkness and only a small part of their bodies were visible in the dim lights.
Nathan approached one of the larger booths, where a figure draped in a tattered hoodie was typing away. The flicker of code danced across the screens. No words. No introductions.
Nathan dropped a thick envelope onto the desk.
Cash. Enough to buy what he needed.
The figure paused, then slowly turned. A masked face stared back—expressionless but attentive.
Nathan kept his voice low.
"I need information."
The figure didn't speak. Only gestured to the cash with a subtle tilt of the head.
Nathan nodded.
The hacker took the envelope, weighed it, then began typing. Lines of code blurred across the screen before fragmenting into a list of names, locations, and encrypted files.
Nathan's voice remained steady.
"I need a connection to the Yakuza. Someone with influence. Quiet influence."
The hacker froze.
Then, without speaking, began typing again.
Minutes passed.
Nathan's thoughts wandered as he waited.
The Yakuza... they were ruthless. But they were also reliable, disciplined. The perfect network to secure what I need. Resources. Protection. Influence.
He wasn't naive. He knew the cost.
But the Spires were coming. The world was already on borrowed time.
And he refused to be powerless again.
The hacker finally stopped typing. A single file appeared on the screen.
A name. A location. A coded message.
Nathan memorized it.
Before he turned to leave, the hacker spoke for the first time.
"Don't come back unless you want more than information."
Nathan didn't respond.
He left the black market behind, the weight of his plan settling on his shoulders.
This is just the beginning.
He was ready.
---