A field.
Emmanuel stood amidst an endless expanse of vibrant green, the horizon stretching so far it seemed to blur into infinity. Around his feet, flowers of every imaginable color swayed gently in the soft breeze, their petals almost glowing under the golden sunlight. The grass shimmered, each blade alive and thriving. Above him, the vast blue sky unfurled, unmarred by a single cloud, radiant under the warmth of the sun.
"Is this...?" Emmanuel's voice wavered as he spoke, barely above a whisper. "Is this paradise?"
His gaze wandered, taking in the boundless beauty surrounding him. His eyes widened, reflecting the brilliance of the landscape. It was mesmerizing—beyond anything he had ever dreamed. A place so perfect it felt untouched by time or pain.
Warmth enveloped him, softer and more comforting than anything he had ever known. It wasn't oppressive; it didn't weigh him down or bring sweat to his brow. It was simply... kind. The air was serene, gentle, like a lullaby sung by nature itself.
Emmanuel's eyelids fluttered shut, his breath steadying as he surrendered himself to the overwhelming tranquility. It wasn't just peace—it was freedom. A freedom so pure it slipped past the confines of words.
Finally, Emmanuel felt it. The true essence of solace.
But suddenly, a voice called out to him.
"Emmanuel..."
It was a whisper—no, even gentler than that, like the faintest breath of wind brushing past his ear. The sound was calm, soothing, yet unnervingly sharp, cutting through the serene silence of the field.
Emmanuel's eyes fluttered open, and before him stood a figure.
The man didn't move, didn't gesture. He simply stood there, silent and still, emanating an aura of warmth and love that wrapped around Emmanuel like a comforting embrace. Yet, for all the serenity the figure exuded, Emmanuel couldn't see his face. Nor could he discern the color of his hair. The figure remained a mystery, his features obscured by a haze that Emmanuel couldn't penetrate.
Emmanuel tried to speak, to ask who or what this person was, but no sound came. His lips wouldn't part; his voice remained trapped in his throat. Panic flickered in his chest, and he tried to raise his hand toward his mouth—but his arm wouldn't move. Not a finger twitched.
Confusion gave way to alarm. He tested every limb, every muscle. His legs refused to budge. His fingers lay dormant. Even his eyes betrayed him. Though they remained wide open, they wouldn't blink, wouldn't close, leaving him staring uncomfortably to the person before him.
A strange sensation coiled around his heart, its grip cold and relentless. What's happening? he screamed internally. Why can't I move?!
The feeling constricting his chest grew unbearable, squeezing tighter with each passing second. His heartbeat quickened, pounding louder and faster as though trying to break free from his ribs. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps, each one more desperate than the last.
For the first time in his life, Emmanuel felt it—the icy clutch of fear.
It was foreign, alien. Vulnerability, helplessness—sensations he had never truly known, now consumed him entirely. His thoughts spiraled into chaos, colliding and crashing into one another, leaving him disoriented and terrified.
The once-vibrant field around him, glowing with life and light, seemed to dim. The colors faded, the warmth ebbed, as a creeping shadow encroached upon the edges of his vision.
How can a place like this be terrifying?! he thought desperately.
It was an abyss of uncertainty, an overwhelming loss of control. The serene beauty of the field turned oppressive, stifling.
Suddenly...
The mysterious man spoke, his voice calm yet resounding like the echo of a deep canyon.
"Emmanuel, Emmanuel," the voice carried a weight, yet it was wrapped in a warmth that slowly began to melt the ice clutching Emmanuel's heart. "Why are you so afraid?"
As if on command, a radiant wave of peace and love enveloped Emmanuel, washing over him like a soothing tide. His breath steadied, his heart settled back into its natural rhythm, and the suffocating grip of fear unraveled, retreating like a shadow at dawn. The field seemed to bloom once more, colors vibrant and alive again.
Emmanuel's shoulders relaxed as he realized he could finally move. He opened his mouth, his voice soft and weary, as though the ordeal had drained something from him. "Who… are you?"
The man tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Emmanuel's vision blurred as his eyelids grew heavy—not from exhaustion, but from a strange sensation that whispered at the edges of sleep.
"Don't you remember me?" the man asked, his tone gentle yet edged with an inexplicable authority. "I am..."
Emmanuel's ears caught the word, yet it slipped through his understanding like water through cupped hands. He frowned. "You are…?"
The man spoke again, and this time Emmanuel caught a fragment, a single letter.
"I am... m."
"…m?" Emmanuel echoed, more confused than ever. He pressed further, his voice tinged with growing frustration. "Where am I? Why am I here? Who are you? What's going on?"
The man's calm gaze didn't waver. Shaking his head, he responded, "So many questions, but no desire to truly hear the answers."
Emmanuel blinked. "What? What do you mean?"
The man's voice grew firmer, more resolute, as if the very air obeyed him. "If you wish to understand, you must seek me out. All those who know me already hold the answers. They are captivated by what I reveal, they rejoice when I speak, and they walk in harmony with my will."
Emmanuel furrowed his brows, the cryptic words only serving to deepen his confusion. 'Rejoice when he speaks? Walk in harmony?' The thought churned in his mind. Who does this guy think he is?
Before he could voice his thoughts, a brilliant column of light descended from above, engulfing the man in its radiance. The brightness was almost blinding, but Emmanuel couldn't look away. The man stood moving, arms spreading wide as though offering an embrace to an unseen presence. Slowly, he began to ascend, lifted into the air by the radiant beam.
Emmanuel could only watch, stunned, his mouth slightly agape. His thoughts raced, tumbling over themselves in chaos. What's happening? Who is this man? Why is he floating? What is this light?
Then, the man's voice thundered, commanding and vast, reverberating through the heavens and the field alike:
"Here I have chosen you a warrior, who will ascend among you and show you the true way! He will challenge your gods and bend them to submission. Welcome and praise him, for I have given him my authority. All that he decrees shall align with my will. Those who defy him shall stand as my enemies, and upon them, I will raise my hand!"
The voice seemed to shake the very earth, an unyielding proclamation that carried a power Emmanuel couldn't fathom.
The man's final words erupted in a crescendo, a booming declaration:
"PRAISE BE THE BLESSED FOOL!"
With that, the light consumed him entirely, vanishing into the ether as though it had never been. The field fell silent, and Emmanuel found himself alone, standing amidst the infinite expanse with a storm of bewilderment churning within him. His knees felt weak, his legs trembling as he sank to the ground, bottom first onto the soft grass. Alone and dumbfounded, Emmanuel stared into the endless sky, questions swirling in his mind, their answers just out of reach.
His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of it all. Blessed Fool? Warrior? Chosen? Gods in submission? What the hell just happened?!
Then, a creeping sense of exhaustion began to take root deep within Emmanuel's body. It started in his legs, rendering them useless, leaving him unable to stand or move. His once steady footing gave way, and he was forced to imagine himself in a wheelchair, bound by an unseen weight. Slowly, it spread to his arms, which wobbled like overcooked spaghetti, trembling with each passing second until they could no longer support him. The muscles gave out, and he collapsed backwards, his head striking the soft earth beneath him.
He wanted to raise a hand to his head, to feel the pain and make sure it was real, but his body had betrayed him. Every part of him felt as if it was dissolving into the nothingness of fatigue. He couldn't move. He couldn't even twitch. All Emmanuel could do now was lie there, gazing at the vast, beautiful sky above, the sun casting its warm light on the world.
Is this it? he thought, his mind struggling to hold on to coherent thought. Am I going to die?
He should've felt fear. He should've been terrified. But as the reality of his situation sank in, he realized that he felt... at peace. The confusion and chaos, the panic that should've consumed him—none of it came.
Why am I not scared? he pondered, the question lingering in his thoughts like an echo. Why...
His eyelids began to droop, heavy with weariness, and his vision blurred more with each passing second. The once-vibrant colors of the world around him seemed to fade, sinking into a distant haze. But even as everything grew dim, there was a strange serenity that washed over him.
Why... am I so at ease?
Those were his final thoughts before the darkness claimed him. His eyes slowly shut, and with it, all sense of the world slipped away.
Bang!
"Ow!!!" Emmanuel yelped, his hands flying to his forehead as a sharp pain echoed through his skull. What the hell!? he thought, struggling to comprehend the sensation. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and he immediately looked up, blinking in confusion. "A roof? Why the hell is it suddenly so low?"
His confusion only deepened as he surveyed his surroundings. He was no longer in the field, no longer lying peacefully under the open sky. Instead, he found himself in a small, dimly lit room—a bedroom, but one that was entirely unfamiliar. He quickly scrambled out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He stumbled towards the window, looking out into a scene that made his blood run cold.
Crowds of people, dressed in strange medieval garb, milled about on the street below. Some had the bodies of humans, but their heads were... animals? Furry, beastly, twisted heads that didn't belong to any human form he recognized. There were beggars huddling on the side of the road, crying out for food and money, while malnourished children ran through the streets, playing games of tag and laughter that seemed far too innocent for the harshness of the world around them.
His heart raced, and panic surged through him. He leapt backward, his feet slipping beneath him as he crashed onto the floor with a thud. His eyes darted to a mirror in the corner of the room, and with dread creeping up his spine, he slowly turned his head to face the reflection.
A young boy stared back at him. Messy, fluffy chestnut-brown hair framed his face, and his eyes were a startling shade of crystalline brown, almost as if they had been carved from precious gems. But it was the scar—so prominent and raw—that caught Emmanuel's attention. A jagged line cut across his right lip, a brutal reminder of something he didn't understand.
"WHO... THE HELL ARE YOU!??"