Jack opened the diary, his fingers brushing the rough, leather-bound cover, the strange symbols embossed on it tingling against his skin. The first page was covered in dense, flowing script. His eyes widened in shock as he scanned the first line.
"My name is Jon."
"English?" he whispered, barely believing it. He had expected something alien, incomprehensible. But there it was, plain as day. He could read it.
The words, however, seemed to shift as he focused. The more he tried to fixate on the writing, the letters began to twist and morph, breaking apart like smoke. He blinked and took a step back, the book heavy in his hands.
'What… the hell?'
He relaxed his focus, and the text transformed before his eyes. The familiar English letters melted away, replaced by archaic runes, intricate and otherworldly. They looped and swirled in patterns he'd never seen, nothing like any language on Earth. Each rune seemed alive, shifting subtly as if whispering secrets only the worthy could hear.
Jack's heart pounded. 'It's not English. It's… something else. But why can I read it?'
His eyes traced the ink. A chill ran down his spine. It wasn't black. It wasn't blue. It was a deep, brownish red. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. 'Blood.'
The thought took root in his mind and wouldn't let go. Was it… his own blood? The more he considered it, the more the idea burrowed into his thoughts, growing stronger, and more certain. 'Did he use his own blood to write this?' Jack's stomach churned at the implication. 'Why would anyone do that? Desperation? A ritual?'
He swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea. 'Who writes in blood? And why?' He looked at the skeleton sitting in meditation. 'Was it you?'
Steeling himself, he focused again, and the runes shifted back into English. He read the next lines.
"I do not belong to this world."
Jack's eyes narrowed. 'Not this world?'
He leaned in closer, the hum from the floating light pressing in on him, making the words feel heavier.
"Where I come from is a place called Primera. A world vastly different from the one you know. A world of cultivation and magic, of beasts that defy imagination, and of sects and royal families whose power shapes the destiny of nations."
Jack's mind reeled. 'Cultivation? Magic? This sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.'
He read on, the diary's words dragging him deeper into the story.
"Primera is a world where power is everything. It is a place of beauty and danger, where the weak are nothing more than prey for the strong. The landscape is shaped by more than mere nature; it is alive with energy, with Qi."
Jack paused. Qi. The word felt important, almost electric on the page.
"Qi is the lifeblood of Primera. It flows through everything—through the land, the sky, the beasts that roam the wilderness. It is what cultivators strive to control, to master. For a living being introduced to Qi, the body adapts. Slowly, a new organ begins to form, an organ that can absorb and manipulate this energy from the environment."
Jack's eyes widened. 'A new organ? That's insane.' He could hardly wrap his head around it. 'This Jon guy… he really believes this. Or… is it real?'
His gaze flicked to the skeleton in the lotus position. 'Is that what happened to you? Did you… cultivate Qi?'
He shook his head, trying to focus. The diary seemed to pull at him, demanding his attention. The words were vivid, painting a world that felt more real with each passing sentence.
"Sects rise and fall with the strength of their cultivators. They are schools, but also armies, and dynasties of power. Each cultivator seeks to ascend, to push the limits of their body and soul. There are levels, called realms, of cultivation that mark one's progress. The journey is treacherous. Failure can mean death—or worse."
Jack's throat was dry. 'Worse than death?'
A sudden image flashed in his mind—Jon, whoever he was, sitting in this hut, surrounded by the strange, glowing light, writing in blood. Alone. Trapped.
'How did you end up here, Jon?' Jack's fingers tightened around the diary. The hum from the floating light above the skeleton grew louder, vibrating through his bones, as if urging him to keep reading.
The text continued, each word drawing him deeper.
"In Primera, power is everything. Without it, one is nothing. Cultivators spend their lives in pursuit of strength, some seeking enlightenment, others dominance. The sects teach many methods of cultivation, but all require discipline and sacrifice. The greatest of them stand above nations, unchallenged. They decide who rules and who falls."
Jack's mind swirled with questions. 'If this is true, then this world—Primera—must be… brutal.' He glanced again at the skeleton, a cold realization settling over him. 'Is this what power looks like in the end?'
His gaze fell back to the diary.
"I did not come to this island by choice. Forces beyond my control brought me here, tearing me away from my path."
Jack's breath caught. 'Torn away? What forces? Magic? An enemy?'
The hum in the room intensified as if the light itself anticipated what was coming next. Jack swallowed, bracing himself. Whatever was in these pages, it was about to change everything.