Jonathan awoke with a start, gasping for air as if he had been underwater for too long.
His mind raced, a tangled web of confusion and disorientation. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in his cramped apartment after a long day of work,
the city lights filtering through the thin curtains. But now, as he blinked his eyes open, he realized that nothing around him was familiar.
He lay on a cold, hard surface—stone, by the feel of it.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic, like iron.
Slowly, he pushed himself up, his muscles aching as if he had been lying there for hours. His surroundings came into focus, and his breath caught in his throat.
He was in a dimly lit chamber, the walls lined with dark, polished stone that seemed to absorb the meager light.
Flickering candles cast long shadows, their flames struggling to stay alight in the oppressive stillness.
The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, and intricate patterns were etched into the stone floor beneath him, forming a complex, almost hypnotic design.
Jonathan shivered, pulling his thin coat tighter around him. Where am I? he thought, panic beginning to bubble up. This isn't real. It can't be.
He got to his feet, his legs shaky but holding. The room was eerily silent, the only sound the faint crackling of the candle flames.
Jonathan took a cautious step forward, his footsteps echoing in the vast space.
As he moved, he noticed something strange—his clothing was different. Instead of the worn jeans and T-shirt he had fallen asleep in, he was now dressed in dark, finely tailored clothes that seemed almost archaic, like something out of a period drama.
A high-collared shirt, a waistcoat, trousers, and polished leather boots. His hands, too, were gloved in soft leather.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Before he could process this further, a sudden pain lanced through his skull, causing him to stagger.
He clutched his head, gritting his teeth as memories—not his own—flooded his mind. Fragmented images, symbols, and words in a language he didn't recognize yet somehow understood flashed before his eyes.
He saw a city shrouded in fog, towering spires piercing the sky, and strange beings lurking in the shadows.
He heard whispers of ancient rites, of powers beyond mortal comprehension, and the name… Azathoth. The Crawling Chaos.
Jonathan dropped to his knees, panting as the visions subsided, leaving him drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind reeled from the influx of alien knowledge.
He knew things he shouldn't—things about rituals, sigils, and forbidden lore that had no place in the world he knew. But this wasn't his world, was it?
A chill ran down his spine as he realized the truth. He wasn't in the modern world anymore.
Somehow, he had been transported to a different place, a different time—or perhaps an entirely different reality.
And the knowledge that had just invaded his mind… it felt like a key, unlocking something deep within him. Something that both terrified and intrigued him.
Pushing himself to his feet once more, Jonathan looked around the chamber, searching for any clues, any sign of how he had ended up here.
His eyes fell on an ornate door at the far end of the room, half-obscured by shadow. Steeling himself, he approached it, the etched patterns on the floor seeming to pulse with a faint, otherworldly energy as he walked over them.
The door was massive, carved from dark wood and reinforced with iron bands. Intricate designs adorned its surface,
depicting scenes of strange beings engaged in rituals—some of which were unsettlingly familiar from the visions he had just experienced.
Hesitating only for a moment, Jonathan reached for the heavy iron handle and pulled.
The door creaked open with a low groan, revealing a long, narrow corridor beyond.
Dim light filtered through small, arched windows high up on the walls, casting an eerie glow over the worn stone floor.
The air was cold, carrying a faint, musty odor. Jonathan stepped into the corridor, the door closing behind him with a resounding thud that echoed down the passage.
As he walked, his mind churned with questions. What had happened to him? How had he ended up in this place,
and why did he possess knowledge of things that should be impossible? He needed answers, but he didn't even know where to begin.
The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, the shadows growing deeper with each step.
Just as Jonathan was beginning to feel that the passage would never end, he reached another door—this one smaller and less ornate than the last, but still imposing.
Without hesitating, he pushed it open.
On the other side was a large, circular room, its walls lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes and scrolls.
A single chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a dim, flickering light over the room. In the center of the room stood a large wooden table, and seated at it was an old man, his back turned to Jonathan.
The man was hunched over, scribbling something on a piece of parchment with a quill.
Jonathan froze in the doorway, unsure of what to do. The old man didn't seem to have noticed him, or if he had, he made no sign of it. After a moment, Jonathan cleared his throat.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice hoarse.
The old man paused in his writing, then slowly turned to face Jonathan. His face was gaunt, with deep-set eyes that gleamed with a strange, almost unnatural light.
A long, white beard framed his face, and his skin was pale, almost translucent.
He regarded Jonathan with a look that was both curious and knowing.
"So, you've finally awakened," the old man said, his voice a raspy whisper that seemed to echo in the chamber.
Jonathan blinked. "What… what do you mean?"
The old man set down his quill and folded his hands on the table.
"You are not the first to find yourself lost in this world, nor will you be the last. The Veil between worlds is thin here, and those who are touched by the Old Powers often find themselves drawn across it."
"The Old Powers?" Jonathan echoed, feeling a cold dread settle in his stomach.
The old man nodded slowly. "Yes. Powers that predate the world you know, that shape the fabric of reality itself. You have been touched by them, whether you realize it or not. And now you are here, in a world where such powers hold sway."
Jonathan shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.
"But why me? I'm just… I'm nobody. I don't know anything about magic or powers."
The old man's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly.
"You may not know it yet, but you carry the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes within you. The moment you crossed the Veil, that knowledge was awakened. Now, it is up to you to uncover its purpose."
Jonathan took a step back, his mind reeling.
"I don't understand… What am I supposed to do?"
The old man's gaze softened, and he sighed. "The path ahead of you is fraught with danger and mystery, but you must walk it if you wish to survive in this world. Seek out the others who have been touched by the Old Powers. Together, you may find the answers you seek—or you may find something far more dangerous."
Jonathan stared at the old man, his heart pounding in his chest.
The weight of the situation was beginning to sink in, and he felt an overwhelming sense of dread. But beneath that dread,
there was something else—an inexplicable sense of determination. He didn't know what was ahead, but he knew he couldn't turn back now.
With a deep breath, Jonathan nodded.
"All right. I'll do it. I'll find the others and figure out what's going on."
The old man smiled faintly, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
"Good. But be careful, Jonathan. There are forces in this world that would see you fail, and others that would use you for their own ends. Trust no one blindly, and always keep your wits about you."
Jonathan nodded again, feeling a mixture of fear and resolve.
He had no idea what he was getting into, but he knew he had no choice.
The mysteries of this world were calling to him, and he was determined to uncover the truth—no matter what it cost him.
…