Deon sighed as he pushed open the creaky attic door. The musty smell hit him like a wall, mingling with the heavy weight of guilt and regret that he had been carrying since his grandfather's death. At 27, he had spent the last several years buried in his demanding job at a big finance firm. It wasn't the career he had imagined for himself, but it paid well and had seemed like a logical step after college. Unfortunately, it had also kept him from spending as much time with his grandfather as he wished.
He had left home for college and only came back for holidays and the occasional visit, each time promising to return more often. But the visits grew less frequent as the pressures of work increased. Now, with his grandfather gone, Deon couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed the man who had raised him after his parents passed away.
"Alright, Deon," he muttered to himself, trying to push through the sadness. "Let's get this over with."
The attic was filled with stacks of old boxes and random pieces of furniture covered in dusty sheets. He half-expected to find a family of raccoons lounging on a vintage armchair. He flicked on the flashlight and started picking through the boxes, each one a time capsule of his grandfather's life. There were old photos, yellowed with age, a collection of coins that looked like they hadn't seen the light of day since the Great Depression, and enough outdated electronics to open a museum.
"Probably should've come back more often to help him clean this up," Deon mumbled, feeling another pang of guilt.
He was halfway through a box of ancient Christmas decorations when something caught his eye. It was a small, nondescript box tucked away in the corner, almost as if it didn't want to be found. Curiosity got the better of him, and he dragged it into the light. The box was surprisingly light, almost as if it were empty. He lifted the lid and peered inside.
Nestled in a bed of old newspaper was a ring. Not just any ring, but the most peculiar one he'd ever seen. It was old, that much was clear, with an intricately carved band and a large, black stone in the center. The stone was so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" he said, holding the ring up to the flashlight. "A secret family heirloom? Or maybe Grandpa was a secret supervillain?"
He chuckled at the thought. The ring looked like something straight out of a fantasy novel, the kind of thing you'd expect to find in a wizard's lair, not Grandpa's dusty old attic. He slipped it onto his finger, and it fit perfectly, like it had been waiting for him all these years.
"Okay, this is officially weird," he said, giving his new accessory a closer look. The stone seemed to pulse with an inner light, but that was probably just a trick of the flashlight. He turned the ring over in his hand, trying to make sense of it. Why had Grandpa kept this hidden away?
"Maybe it's cursed," he said, waving his hand dramatically. "Ooh, spooky cursed ring, bound to bring bad luck to whoever wears it."
He laughed again, but the sound echoed strangely in the attic, making it feel emptier than before. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, he decided he'd had enough of the attic for one day. There was plenty more to sort through, but the ring had given him a good excuse to take a break.
Back in the living room, Deon tried to twist the ring off, but it wouldn't budge. He tugged a little harder, wincing as it pinched his skin.
"Great, just great," he muttered. "Stuck with a creepy ring. Thanks, Grandpa."
He sat down and gave it another go, twisting and pulling with increasing frustration. It was like the ring had a mind of its own, refusing to let go.
"Come on!" he growled, yanking harder. The ring dug into his flesh, and a sharp pain shot through his finger. His frustration boiled over. He braced his hand against the coffee table and pulled with all his might. His finger throbbed, turning red from the effort.
Suddenly, with a sickening lurch, the ring loosened. His hand slipped, and he felt a sharp sting as the edge of the ring cut into his skin. He gasped, a drop of blood welling up and falling onto the black stone.
The stone absorbed the blood instantly, and for a brief moment, it seemed to pulse with a dark, eerie light. His heart raced.
"Uh, that can't be good," he said, his voice trembling.
Before he could react further, a wave of darkness engulfed him. The room seemed to tilt, and he felt himself falling, even though he was sitting still. The shadows closed in, and he was plunged into a void so complete it swallowed everything—sight, sound, even thought.
Panic gripped him as he tried to move, but his limbs felt like lead. The darkness was suffocating, pressing in from all sides. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed, if he was standing or lying down. The only thing he was certain of was the weight of the ring on his finger, now feeling like a shackle.
The last thing Deon felt was the throb of his heartbeat in his ears, the cold sensation of the stone against his skin, and then—nothing. The world went completely black, and he lost consciousness, collapsing onto the floor in the silent, empty house.
…
Deon woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. He sat bolt upright, gasping for breath, the memory of what he had seen flooding back with terrifying clarity. The ring, the blood, the darkness—then the vision.
He scrambled to his feet, his mind reeling. He could still see the apocalyptic scenes, feel the dread that had permeated the vision. The ring had shown him a future where the world was in chaos, a disaster of unimaginable scale. And in the midst of it, he saw himself, wielding the ring's power, trying to survive.
The ring had communicated with him, somehow. It had told him of its origins, of his ancestor who had foreseen the return of magic to the world and the ensuing cataclysm. The ring's purpose was to prepare its wearer for this event. It held knowledge, power, and the ability to store objects within it. Deon felt that it could hold more than he could imagine, but he wasn't sure how much or what the limits were.
His head spun. This can't be real. I must be losing my mind. He stumbled into the bathroom, his legs shaky, needing to clear his head, to wash away the surreal nightmare that had become his reality. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it bringing a momentary clarity. He looked up, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His green eyes were wide and wild, his face pale. His brown hair was a mess, and he could see the tension in his muscles, even though he worked out only occasionally.
Get a grip, Deon, he thought. This has to be a hallucination. Rings don't talk. They don't show you the future.
But the ring still sat on his finger, a cold and unyielding reminder that what he had experienced was all too real. His thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of it all. If the ring's powers were real, then he needed to understand how to use them.
He glanced down at the hand soap on the sink. Could it really store objects? He felt a surge of skepticism mixed with curiosity and panic. There was only one way to find out.
Deon took a deep breath and focused on the ring, imagining the soap disappearing into it. He reached out, tentatively touching the soap. For a moment, nothing happened, and he felt a wave of relief. Maybe he really was just going crazy.
But then, as he concentrated harder, the soap vanished. It didn't melt or dissolve; it simply ceased to exist in front of him. He blinked, staring at the empty spot where the soap had been. His heart raced again, this time with a mix of fear and exhilaration.
Okay, bring it back, he willed, focusing intensely. The soap reappeared as suddenly as it had vanished, sitting innocently on the sink as if nothing had happened.
Deon stared at the soap, then at the ring, a sense of awe washing over him. This was real. The ring's power was real. He wasn't losing his mind. But that realization only deepened his panic. He pinched himself hard, hoping to wake up from this bizarre nightmare, but the sting of pain only confirmed the reality.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. The world as he knew it was about to change, and he had to be ready. The vision, the ring, his ancestor's warning—they were all pointing to one undeniable truth: an apocalypse was coming.
Deon looked at his reflection again, seeing a tall man with a slightly muscular build, someone who looked like he occasionally worked out but didn't live in the gym. His green eyes, usually calm and calculating, were now filled with a determined glint. I need to learn everything I can about this ring, he thought. If what I saw is true, then there's no time to waste.
He left the bathroom, the weight of the ring now feeling like a lifeline rather than a shackle.