Ezra grinned as he pedaled faster, the wind whipping past his face and making his hair fly in all directions. His father jogged beside him, a few paces ahead, holding out his hand to steady the bike whenever it wobbled too much. It was a beautiful afternoon—one of those rare moments when everything felt perfect, the sun warm on his skin, and the world ahead seemed full of possibilities.
"Keep your balance, Ezra. Don't let the handlebars twist," his dad called, his voice warm but firm. "Remember, it's all about control. You're not racing just yet. Stay steady."
Ezra nodded, his grip tight on the handlebars. His dad had been teaching him how to ride for days now. It was hard at first, and he'd taken a couple of tumbles, but now—today—he felt like he was getting the hang of it.
"You're doing great," his dad encouraged, grinning as Ezra picked up more speed.
Ezra felt a surge of pride, his confidence growing with each pedal. He turned his head slightly to look at his dad, but that split second of distraction was enough to throw him off balance. The bicycle jerked to one side, and before he could react, the front wheel hit a small rock, and the next thing he knew, the bike tilted, and he was thrown off.
"Ahh!" Ezra cried out as he hit the ground, the sharp gravel scraping against his skin. Pain shot up his arm as he tried to brace himself, but the momentum sent him tumbling.
Ezra landed hard, the air knocked out of his lungs, and his knee throbbed with an immediate sting. His hands were scraped, and he could already feel blood trickling down his elbow.
"Ezra!" his dad shouted, rushing to his side. He knelt down quickly, worry flashing across his face as he inspected the scrape on Ezra's knee.
"Dad… it hurts," Ezra whispered, trying to hold back tears, his lip trembling from the sting.
His father frowned but gently ruffled Ezra's hair, his voice soft. "It's okay, buddy. It's just a scrape. You're gonna be alright."
Before his dad could do anything else, Ezra's mom came running down the hill from the house, her worried expression turning into one of relief when she saw Ezra sitting up.
"Oh my God, Ezra!" she exclaimed, kneeling beside him in an instant. She cupped his face with both hands, her eyes scanning his body for any serious injuries. Her gaze fell to his scraped knee, and she gasped. "You poor thing." She immediately pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to the cut, trying to stop the bleeding.
"I'm okay, Mom," Ezra said through gritted teeth, trying to hide the sting and push through the wave of discomfort.
His mom's face softened, though her brow furrowed in concern. "I know, baby, but you're hurt. Let's get you cleaned up, alright?"
Ezra looked up at his dad, who was now standing by, his expression tender but with a faint smile. "You okay, sport?"
Ezra nodded, a small laugh escaping him despite the pain. "Yeah. I'll be alright."
"Good," his dad said, ruffling his hair again. "But next time, try not to crash like that, alright? We don't want to turn you into a professional stuntman just yet."
His mom shot him a playful glare. "Don't tease him. Let's get him home so we can clean that up properly."
As they walked Ezra back toward the house, his mom's hand gently resting on his shoulder, and his dad still walking by his side, Ezra felt a warm sense of safety, the love from his parents a constant comfort. The pain in his knee didn't matter so much anymore, and as his dad made a joke about buying him a helmet for next time, Ezra found himself laughing, feeling lucky to have this moment with them.
Everything felt so simple, so right. And for a few minutes, nothing in the world could touch him.
---
The memory faded slowly,Ezra's eyes shot open, his heart pounding in his chest, the world spinning as his senses slowly returned. The room around him was dim, lit only by the pale light filtering through the curtains. He blinked, trying to focus. The smell of fresh linen and something faintly floral lingered in the air. His body felt strange, lighter, as if the weight of the world had momentarily lifted. He sat up quickly, only to wince as the sudden movement pulled at the bandage wrapped around his chest.
Looking down, he saw the jagged cut that had been bleeding earlier, now carefully dressed with a clean bandage. His fingers traced the edges of it, feeling the tender pressure beneath. He frowned, confusion washing over him. *How did I get here?*
The room he was in was nothing like the dark, eerie forest or the terrifying monsters that had chased him just hours ago. The walls were decorated with posters of famous musicians and abstract art, bright colors splashing across them. Vinyl records were scattered across the floor, a few leaning against a wooden bookshelf that held novels Ezra didn't recognize. The atmosphere, in stark contrast to the horrors he'd just faced, felt almost... cozy. But it also felt wrong—like he didn't belong here.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and the woman who had saved him earlier stepped inside. She wore a loose shirt and denim shorts, her hair pulled into a messy bun. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, studied him for a moment before her lips curved into a soft smile.
"Oh, good, you're awake," she said, her voice smooth but with a touch of amusement.
Ezra blinked, still dazed. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice rough from the sleep he'd just woken from.
The woman chuckled, stepping further into the room. "Isolde Nyx," she answered easily, as though the name itself held weight. She paused for a beat, watching him carefully. "And you are?"
"Erza Kurenai," he muttered, still trying to process everything.
"Nice to meet you, Erza," Isolde said with a slight nod, crossing her arms casually over her chest. "Thank you for saving my life, Miss Nyx."
Isolde's expression softened, but her eyes were sharp, observant. "Don't worry about it," she replied, brushing off the gratitude with a wave. "It's my job as a Veil Keeper."
At her words, Ezra's eyes went wide. "A Veil Keeper?" he repeated, his confusion deepening. "What... does that even mean?"
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze steady. "You don't know, do you?" Her lips quirked, though there was no humor in the smile now. "You're not from around here, are you? You're... actually from the heavens, aren't you?"
Ezra froze. His breath caught in his throat, and his mind raced, trying to make sense of her words. The concept felt so alien, so distant—yet, strangely familiar, like an old memory he couldn't quite grasp. His hand instinctively went to the pendant hanging around his neck, a small, unassuming piece of jewelry that had always been with him, though he had never understood its true significance.
"From the heavens?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Isolde nodded slowly, her eyes watching him intently. "I knew it. You carry the mark of the divine." She stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "You don't belong here, Erza. You're not just any ordinary human... you're one of us." She said the last words like a secret, a revelation he wasn't supposed to hear.
The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, and for a moment, Ezra couldn't move. He felt a strange pull inside him, like the world around him was shifting in ways he couldn't understand. His pulse quickened as he processed the meaning behind her words. *Divine?* His thoughts flashed back to the time he had felt something... something deep inside him stir—a power that had never felt human. A feeling of being connected to something much greater than himself.
Isolde's voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. "You're not from here," she repeated. "This world... the one you're in now, it's not your home. But you were brought here, whether by accident or design, I can't yet tell. And now you're stuck with me until we figure out what the hell happened."
Ezra's mind was still racing, his body heavy with fatigue and blood loss, but a strange clarity began to form. The Veil, the dark entities, the monsters that hunted him—they were all part of a world that existed beyond his own, a world he wasn't supposed to be in. And somehow, he had slipped through the cracks.
As the weight of her words pressed against him, Ezra realized something else. *I'm not just a survivor of this world. I'm an outsider.*
For the first time, his purpose—his very existence—felt uncertain. But one thing was clear: he wasn't going to be left in the dark about this. Not when the answers were right in front of him.
"So… what now?" Ezra asked, finally meeting her gaze. "What do I do here?"
Isolde met his eyes, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, she smiled again—this time, with an edge of mischief. "For now? You rest. The rest of this can wait. But trust me, Erza... you're going to have a lot of questions, and I'm the one who's going to answer them. Welcome to the world of the Veil."
With that, she turned, heading for the door, leaving Ezra to digest the storm of revelations swirling in his mind. The light from the curtains cast soft shadows across the room, and in the silence, Ezra felt an uneasy truth settle within him.
This wasn't just a dream. This was his new reality. And he had no idea what was coming next.