Five years after the destruction of Nagasaki.
London, February 1, 1950
In a luxurious Victorian-style apartment, the morning sun began to peek through the heavy curtains. The room remained dark, illuminated only by a flickering oil lamp in the corner, casting irregular shadows on the wallpapered walls adorned with old floral patterns. Antique furniture and expensive artworks decorated the room, which seemed to take a step back in time. In the piercing silence, a man woke up gasping for breath. Aldric Seraphis, around 30 years old with jet-black hair and eyes as deep as the ocean, found himself sitting on the bed, his forehead damp with cold sweat.
The room felt eerily quiet, yet a kind of unease hung in the air, seeping into Aldric's bones. A nightmare had just awoken him—a dream so vivid, like a dark shadow slipping into his soul and planting an unsettling feeling. The thick darkness crawling from the corners of the universe, devouring stars one by one until nothing remained but absolute darkness.
"What does this dream mean?" he muttered softly, his voice almost drowned out by the creaking of the aging wooden floor. The darkness in his dream felt like a living shadow, as if something was lurking behind the veil, something older and more malevolent than anything he had ever experienced. The sensation of helplessness hitting him was unusual, especially for someone who had always looked down on human weakness.
Aldric rose slowly, his body feeling as if bound by invisible chains. His gaze was fixed on the mirror across the room, reflecting his troubled figure. The face that usually looked calm and authoritative was now marked by a look of anxiety, as if there was a dark secret he had buried so deep that it was starting to erode him from within. But Aldric knew that what he saw was only the surface of a dark and unpredictable lake.
"This is not just a dream..." Aldric whispered, his voice barely audible. "This is more than just a warning. But... from whom?" The thought continued to haunt him, echoing in his mind like an unending reverberation.
As he walked toward the bathroom, each step felt heavy, as if the marble floor beneath his feet was draining all his strength. The large mirror in the bathroom reflected Aldric, trying to understand the shadows of his dream, and for a moment, he seemed to see something else behind his reflection—something hidden behind those sharp blue eyes, like a small flame reluctant to be extinguished despite being shrouded in darkness. Was this a sign of an old enemy he hadn't realized had returned?
With a sudden movement, he splashed cold water on his face. The cold was piercing, as if trying to wake him from something more than just a nightmare. Behind his false calm, Aldric knew something was wrong, something happening far beyond the reach of ordinary human sight. He felt as if he was being watched, not by humans, but by something greater, older, and more dangerous.
After a while, Aldric donned a neatly pressed black suit. The timeless attire matched his ever-perfect public appearance. Outside, the London air felt biting, as if reminding everyone that they lived in a post-war era full of trauma. Old buildings, dust, and vehicle smoke provided a grim backdrop, adding to the city's mysterious atmosphere.
Exiting his apartment, Aldric was greeted by a sleek black car waiting in front of the lobby. The driver, John, a middle-aged man with a face reflecting past hardships, opened the door. "Good morning, Mr. Seraphis," John greeted, his voice heavy yet friendly.
"Good morning, John," Aldric replied as he entered the car. There was always something reassuring about the brief chats with John, like a moment of companionship he never felt from others. Perhaps it was because John was human; struggling, failing, and still enduring, something Aldric viewed with curiosity.
The car drove through the busy yet scarred streets of London. Old buildings, some still damaged from bombings, stood as silent witnesses to a dark past. The Thames River flowed slowly beneath the old stone bridge, reflecting the faint morning sunlight. Aldric gazed at the scene with a vacant stare, as if trying to find answers among the ruins of a city struggling to recover.
"Is something different this morning, sir?" John suddenly asked, looking at Aldric through the rearview mirror. "You seem... worried."
Aldric gave a faint smile, one that touched only his lips but not his eyes. "Just a nightmare, John. Something that shouldn't persist after waking."
John nodded in understanding. "Dreams can be very strange, can't they? Sometimes they feel so real, almost like... warnings."
Aldric remained silent, but inside, he knew John's words were not just idle chatter. The dream was not a regular warning; something darker awaited behind the curtain of reality. Something trying to reach him, pulling him into a darkness he had yet to fully understand.
In the shadows and doubts, Aldric felt something he couldn't shake—a sense that the dream was not merely a fleeting vision but a message from a distant past and an enemy he had yet to recognize. His gaze hardened, reflecting a determination shaped by an age far beyond that of an ordinary human. Behind Aldric's blue eyes, there was an eternal observer, one who had seen the death and birth of worlds, now trapped in a game larger than himself.
As the car stopped in front of the courthouse, Aldric exited and stood before the grand old building. Briefly, he glanced at the gray London sky, feeling the whisper of the wind as if hearing voices from a long-buried past. He knew that within the darkness, answers awaited discovery, and in its shadows, something was slowly creeping closer.
Aldric took a deep breath. With eyes as deep as the ocean, he took his first step, ready to face a day full of drama.
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