The day went by just like any other. Damian woke up, took his morning coffee, scrolled through his phone, and then headed out for work. The streets were desolate in the early morning hours, empty except for the occasional car that drove by. Every breath he took was followed by a plume of smoke from his nostrils, his breath cutting through the crisp air like a ghost. His raincoat was dripping wet, but it served its purpose well as a light rain drizzled down from the overcast sky.
He made his way toward his favorite bakery, the one that always tempted him with the warm aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries that you could smell from a hundred meters away. The soft scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and rising dough made his stomach growl, reminding him of a simpler time, a more comforting world. He bought his usual: a fresh loaf of bread and a couple of doughnuts. Satisfied, he continued his walk to the police department, where he worked in the forensics division. It wasn't the most glamorous job, but it paid the bills and allowed him to do what he was good at—picking up on details that others couldn't. He had developed an almost uncanny ability to read people, to see through the masks they wore, and he knew he'd found his niche in the quiet town.
It was a slow day. Forensics wasn't always busy, especially in a town as calm and uneventful as this. The workday passed quickly, as usual, with minimal action. The occasional case file was reviewed, a few fingerprints were analyzed, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. By the time the evening rolled around, Damian didn't feel like heading home just yet. He was used to the quiet. He was used to being alone. He often found solace in the stillness, but tonight, he wanted something to occupy his mind.
So, instead of heading home, he made his way to the town's library.
---
"Your ID, please," the librarian requested in her usual, quiet manner.
"Here it is," Damian replied, handing her his library card.
"Okay, and how much time will you be spending this evening, Mr. Vaughan?"
"Should be done in about two hours."
"Okay, enjoy your time."
Damian nodded and walked past her, his footsteps echoing faintly in the empty library. He loved the library's peaceful atmosphere. It was one of the few places where he felt entirely at ease, the smell of old books and the quiet murmurs of the pages as they turned were like a soothing balm for his mind. He made his way toward the fantasy section, his favorite place in the entire library.
He wasn't much of a fan of reading books related to his profession; they were too dark, too dreary. Instead, he sought out stories of faraway lands, of magic, and of impossible adventures. These books allowed him to escape from the mundane reality of his life. Damian had never been one for heavy drama or intense emotions. Life had already taken enough from him—his parents died when he was young, and he was left with no siblings or close family. He had no one, not even a woman to call his own. But it didn't bother him anymore. He had come to terms with his solitude and found comfort in it.
He picked up books of different sizes and colors, setting them on his table before choosing one to dive into. But after a while, he began to feel bored. Most of the fantasy books in the library followed the same tired formula—vampires, werewolves, or some combination of the two. A few offered some variations, but most of them fell into the trap of being over-the-top fantasy romances, which he found overrated. He sighed, running his fingers through his wavy hair.
Damian stood up from his desk and began searching through the shelves again. His fingers traced the spines of books as he scanned for something that would spark his interest. Thirty minutes passed before he stumbled upon something that caught his eye. It was almost as thick as an encyclopedia, with a deep green cover. There was no mention of the author on the cover, only the title: The Magical Kingdom of Elyndor, written in gold ink. Damian couldn't help but be intrigued. There was something oddly captivating about it.
He checked out the book and returned to his table, opening it with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. The first few pages were filled with rich descriptions of a magical world—Elyndor, a kingdom of immense beauty and power. It was exactly the kind of book Damian had hoped for. It spoke of powerful wizards, mythical creatures, and ancient ruins. But then, the story took a dark turn. A mysterious force rose up within the kingdom, destroying everything in its path, and Elyndor fell. The kingdom was in ruins, its people scattered, and no one could stop the oncoming destruction. Damian felt a shiver run down his spine as he read. The narrative grew darker with each page, and the sense of loss and despair was palpable. It was an intense and engrossing story.
As he flipped through the pages, he suddenly noticed that the rest of the book was blank. The pages had no words, no further story. He flipped through the remaining pages, searching for more, but it was all the same—empty. Damian frowned, puzzled by the unfinished nature of the story. He couldn't understand why anyone would leave a tale like this incomplete and just leave it in the library.
The last words of the book read: "A savior shall arise from another plane to deliver the kingdom of Elyndor."
Damian shook his head. It seemed like a foolish ending, one that offered no resolution. But despite the unfinished narrative, he couldn't help but be fascinated. The story was unlike anything he had ever read, and even though it ended abruptly, he had enjoyed it nonetheless.
Damian thought about putting the book back, but then something strange caught his eye. On the inside cover, just beneath the title, there was a small note—something he hadn't noticed before. It was a list of names. About fifteen names were written in red ink, each one signed in a hurried, almost panicked script. Curious, Damian scanned the list, and his finger froze when it reached the last name: his own.
Damian Vaughan.
His heart skipped a beat. He blinked at the book in disbelief. There was no way his name should be here. He hadn't seen anyone else write in the book. But somehow, his name was there. Without thinking, he grabbed a pen from his bag and drew a line on his name in an attempt to cancel it out.
A sudden, blinding light erupted from the pages, causing him to leap back in surprise. The light was so intense that he let out a small cry, drawing the attention of the librarian.
"Mr. Damian, is everything alright?" she called from across the room, her tone slightly annoyed.
"I'm fine, thank you," he responded quickly, but his voice trembled with confusion. He looked around, but no one else seemed to notice the blinding light that had filled the space around him. It shone so brightly that it almost consumed the entire corner of the library where he sat. Damian was the only one who could see it. His breath quickened as the light began to pulse, the air around him charged with an electric energy that made his skin tingle.
As the light dimmed, Damian saw something written on the open pages. It was in a language he had never seen before, but somehow, he understood it. The words seemed to resonate with him, as if they were speaking directly to his soul. A voice inside his mind urged him to place his hand on the book.
Without thinking, he did.
As soon as his hand made contact with the cover, the light flared brighter than ever before. The library around him seemed to fade away, and he began to feel dizzy. His body grew heavy, his eyelids fluttered as though they could no longer stay open. His vision blurred, and the last thing he heard before everything went dark was a single phrase:
"And the savior has arrived."
---
His body was weightless. Damian couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. A deep, resonating hum seemed to fill the air, the vibrations pulsing through his every fiber. He tried to move, but his limbs felt as though they were shackled to the ground, unyielding and cold.
A sound—a voice—whispered in the distance. He couldn't make out the words, but there was an undeniable urgency in it. It wasn't just a voice; it was a call, reaching out to him from beyond the veil of sleep. And then, suddenly, a pair of eyes. Eyes so intense, so impossibly deep, staring straight into his very soul. The blue hue of the ocean—familiar yet alien—shone through the darkness. It was as though the eyes were looking into him, peeling away layers he hadn't even known existed.
Damian gasped for air, trying to focus, but it was futile. His head spun, and the pressure against his chest intensified.
The last thing he heard, before the world faded into a heavy silence, was the soft rustle of wings—a sound as old as time.
---
And then, nothing.