Lyle stood on the corner of 5th and Oak, his gaze fixed on the crowd of people that bustled around him. Cars honked in the distance, a dog barked somewhere down the street, and the scent of fresh coffee wafted from a nearby café. Yet, none of this truly reached him. The world, in all its vibrant chaos, felt distant—almost like a backdrop to the thoughts swirling in his mind.
He had always felt out of place in the modern world. To others, he might have seemed like any other person. A tall man in his late twenties, dressed in a simple jacket, slacks, and shoes that were comfortable yet unremarkable. His dark hair fell messily around his face, but that was the least of what set him apart. What lingered behind his expression, what pulsed beneath his calm demeanor, was a quiet, burning curiosity. An insatiable desire to understand things that were beyond his comprehension.
For as long as he could remember, Lyle had known there was something wrong with the world. The people around him lived their lives oblivious to the mysteries that surrounded them—mysteries that he, somehow, could feel but not grasp. But then, a week ago, everything had changed.
The journal had appeared in his hands as if from nowhere.
It wasn't a beautiful book, but it was old—aged paper, cracked leather, and frayed edges. At first, it had seemed like a random find in an alley, a discarded object that could have easily been ignored. But the moment he opened it, something shifted. He had felt a strange connection to it, as if the words inside were written for him, as if they were calling out to him from a time he couldn't remember.
The pages, while faded, were filled with strange symbols and cryptic notes. The journal spoke of shadows, hidden powers, and a name he didn't recognize. His name.
Albright.
It sent a chill down his spine the first time he saw it. He had no memory of it, no recollection of ever hearing it before, yet when he read it, something deep inside him stirred—a gnawing, uncomfortable sensation. The words mentioned something more: a power locked within him, waiting to be unleashed. But they were vague, mysterious, leaving more questions than answers.
For days, he had tried to ignore it, to chalk it up to coincidence or even madness. But he couldn't. Not after the dreams.
Every night, the same dream. Shadows that shifted in the dark, figures that moved without sound, and a strange sense of urgency that consumed him. Every time he woke, his heart raced as if something—or someone—had been pulling him, pushing him toward something he couldn't fully comprehend.
The city around him faded as his thoughts sank deeper into the journal, into the mystery. Something was out there, something tied to his past, and Lyle was determined to find it. But he had no idea where to start.
His eyes darted down the street, and it was then that he saw the man.
He was sitting at a corner table in a small café on the other side of the street, his posture too perfect, his demeanor too calm. The man wore a dark suit that blended into the shadows, a strange contrast to the everyday, bright world around him. He was watching Lyle, though no one else seemed to notice. There was a weight to his gaze, one that seemed to pierce through the noise and movement of the world. Lyle's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't just a glance. It was a recognition.
Lyle's heart skipped. No. This couldn't be happening. Not now.
He turned his head quickly, looking for a way out, but there was no escape. He couldn't look away from the man. It wasn't that he was afraid—no, it was something else. Something deeper. The journal, the dreams, the feeling that something was coming for him... it was all tied to this moment.
Taking a deep breath, Lyle stepped forward, crossing the street as if in a trance. His legs felt heavy, his movements deliberate, though he wasn't sure why. The café's entrance loomed before him, and as he stepped inside, the soft hum of the coffee machine and quiet chatter from other patrons seemed distant, muffled.
The man at the table didn't move, his eyes locked on Lyle. His lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
Lyle hesitated, then sat at a table across from him, his gaze never leaving the stranger. The air between them was thick with unspoken words. The man had an air of authority about him, an unsettling calm that made Lyle's skin prickle.
"You're here," the man said, his voice smooth and deep. It wasn't a question—it was a statement.
Lyle's pulse quickened. "What do you want?" His voice came out more forcefully than he intended, and he regretted it immediately. The last thing he wanted was to appear nervous, but there was something about the man that made his instincts flare with warning.
"You've been looking for answers, haven't you?" The man's smile deepened, but his eyes never wavered from Lyle's face. "Answers about your past. About who you are."
Lyle's throat went dry. He could feel the weight of the man's words pressing on him. How did he know? How could he know?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lyle replied, though he knew it was a lie. He had been searching for answers—searching for the truth about the name in the journal, about the power he could feel pulsing beneath his skin, just out of reach.
"You're not fooling anyone," the man said, a glint of something dangerous flashing in his eyes. "But that's fine. You'll learn soon enough."
Lyle leaned forward, suddenly unable to sit still. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice lower this time.
The man's smile widened. "Someone who's been waiting for you."
Before Lyle could ask another question, the man slid something across the table toward him. It was a single piece of paper, folded neatly, with a symbol drawn on it—an intricate, almost hypnotic design, a circle with lines that seemed to twist and turn in on themselves.
Lyle reached for the paper, his fingers brushing the edges. As soon as his skin touched it, his vision blurred, and a strange, electric sensation shot through his arm. He froze, his hand trembling slightly, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the symbol. The energy from it coursed through him, and for a brief moment, Lyle felt a rush of memories—memories that weren't his, memories of a life he didn't know, and yet they felt familiar. His breath caught in his throat. What is this?
The man stood, his chair scraping against the floor. "The shadows never forget their own, Lyle Albright. You've always belonged to them. But it's time for you to remember who you are."
Lyle stood up too, his mind racing, heart pounding in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but the man was already gone, slipping out of the café as if he had never been there in the first place.
For a long moment, Lyle stood frozen, staring at the paper in his hand. His pulse was still erratic, his mind a swirl of confusion and dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted—something had begun that couldn't be undone.
The man's words echoed in his mind: You've always belonged to them.
Lyle's hand tightened around the paper, his thoughts now clearer. There was no turning back. He wasn't just searching for answers anymore—he was in the middle of something much larger than he had ever imagined. And whether he was ready or not, the world he thought he knew was about to change forever.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Lyle tucked the paper into his coat pocket. He walked out of the café, the weight of the world shifting on his shoulders.
It was time to learn what he was truly capable of.