The boy emerged from the library into the dim glow of twilight, the weight of the book in his hands a strange comfort, though its significance eluded him. As he walked through the streets of the city, there was a peculiar sensation that prickled at the back of his mind—eyes watching, shadows shifting. The whispers of a thousand unseen figures seemed to follow his every move. He tried to shake off the feeling, attributing it to his imagination, but the more he walked, the more the sensation grew. He felt their presence, just beyond the edges of his vision, lurking in dark corners and behind the mist that clung to the city's crumbling walls.
He quickened his pace, but even in the crowds of the city, he couldn't escape the feeling of being followed. He noticed the way some people's gazes lingered too long, their eyes flicking to him only to quickly avert as if they were afraid of being seen. None spoke to him. None approached. It was as though they all feared the unknown weight of his presence.
The boy shook his head and wandered further into the city, his thoughts distracted by the strange events in the library. How had the book called to him? Why could no one hear his name? A soft breeze stirred his hair as the clouds above parted just enough to cast a pale light over his path.
He veered into an alley to lose himself in the labyrinthine streets, hoping to blend in with the bustling crowd. He needed to vanish—become invisible. And so, he walked deeper into the unknown corners of the city, unaware of the mysterious cloaked figure who followed from a distance.
The moment was uncanny. One minute the boy was walking alone, the next he bumped into someone—a tall figure, draped in a heavy cloak that obscured every detail of his form. The child stepped back in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn't seen him approach. No one had.
The man's voice was low, carrying a strange undertone of recognition. "Ah, what a coincidence," he murmured, almost too softly, as though he had been waiting for this moment.
The boy froze, confused. "Who are you?"
The man did not answer. Instead, he knelt down, lowering his hood slightly, but still obscuring his face. The air around them seemed to shift, heavier, as if the shadows themselves had gathered closer to listen. The child was unnerved but stood his ground.
The man's lips barely moved as he whispered, "Tell me your name, child."
The boy opened his mouth, ready to speak, but no sound came. His lips moved, but the words were swallowed by the air, censored as if forbidden. The strange man watched him, his expression unreadable. The boy, frustrated, tried again, this time more loudly. But it was futile. His name remained a secret to anyone but himself.
The cloaked man studied the child for a moment before standing. "You are something... special," he said, his tone both curious and unnervingly certain.
The boy tilted his head, his confusion growing. "What do you mean? What do you want from me?"
The man's face softened as he took a step closer. "There is little time," he whispered. "Come with me."
The words felt like an order. The child hesitated but found himself compelled to follow. What choice did he have? The mystery surrounding him—his name, the book—was growing with every passing moment. And something told him this man knew more than he let on.
They walked together through the winding streets, the city growing quieter as they ventured farther away from the heart of the town. The shadows seemed to lengthen, folding around them like a cloak. The boy felt the invisible eyes upon him still, and the air buzzed with a silent anticipation.
Eventually, they arrived at a desolate courtyard. The boy could sense the presence of many people, hidden, watching from the rooftops, behind pillars, from the shadows of buildings. He turned, trying to catch a glimpse of them, but each time he looked, the streets seemed empty. Nothing moved.
"Don't look too hard," the cloaked man said, sensing the boy's unease. "They are here to protect you."
But the boy didn't feel comforted. He felt trapped—watched. "Why are they following me?"
"To keep you safe," the man answered, though there was an odd edge to his voice, as though his words didn't quite match his intentions. "You must understand that everything is coming together now."
At last, they arrived at a grand, looming building. Inside, the boy found a group of people gathered—cloaked figures standing in perfect formation. As they saw him, they all dropped to their knees, their heads bowing in reverence. The boy's heart raced. He tried to speak, to demand answers, but they didn't respond. Instead, the man beside him guided him forward toward an enormous set of stairs.
The boy looked up. At the top of the stairs sat a throne—massive, regal, and adorned with ancient symbols that pulsed with an eerie glow. And as his eyes shifted from the throne, he saw them—more figures, standing on either side of the stairs, guarding each step. Their eyes were fixed on him, unwavering, as though he were the sun and they were the planets caught in his orbit.
"You will sit there," the cloaked man said, his voice now firm with authority.
The boy glanced up at the steps, the realization dawning. He was supposed to sit on the throne? But the steps were too high, the throne too distant. He could never reach it alone.
"I can't," the boy whispered, feeling his smallness in the face of such grandeur. "Help me."
The cloaked man looked at him with a strange intensity before stepping aside. The room fell silent, and the boy felt the eyes of all the figures on him as a woman, one of the cloaked figures, stepped forward. Her presence was commanding, and when she spoke, her voice was smooth and powerful.
"I will carry you," she said simply.
Without another word, she took him in her arms, lifting him effortlessly as though he were weightless. The boy was too stunned to resist, but his heart thudded faster, his mind racing with unanswered questions.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
But the woman didn't respond. She only carried him forward, her steps sure and steady. They ascended the grand staircase, and as they neared the top, the child saw the crown—carried by four figures in ceremonial garb—approaching. The room seemed to hold its breath, and the atmosphere thickened with an unnatural tension.
The woman placed him gently on the throne, and the moment he sat down, the room went completely silent. Every figure dropped to their knees, their eyes trained on him with unwavering devotion. The boy wanted to speak, to demand answers, but all that came was a strange sense of awe—and fear. The air around him thickened, and something shifted in the atmosphere. He felt more powerful than ever, yet small in the face of this overwhelming reverence.
A chant began.
It was soft at first, then grew in volume and intensity. Words in a language foreign to him reverberated through the room, swelling with such power that the walls seemed to shake. The very air seemed to bend with the force of the words. It was majestic, terrifying, as if the heavens and earth themselves were responding to the sounds.
"We, who dwell in the shadows, bow before the one who commands the dark. The heavens tremble, the earth quakes—For His Majesty has risen. We pledge our unwavering loyalty, for we are His, and He is ours."
The boy's heart pounded as the chants echoed in his mind. What does this mean? he wondered. Who am I?
The crown was brought forward in a glass case, its intricate design gleaming in the light. The boy reached out, but as his fingers touched it, a strange chill ran through him. He could feel the weight of the throne, the weight of their expectations, pressing down on him.
When it came time for him to speak—his name—he tried, but the words came out in silence. No one could hear him.
Confusion filled the room. Was something wrong? Were they not supposed to crown him? The whispers grew louder, and before anyone could act, chaos erupted. A sudden force, unknown and violent, surged toward the throne room.
The crown fell from its pedestal, clattering to the ground as panic spread through the room.
The woman turned to him, her eyes filled with urgency. Without warning, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the throne room, out into the night. The cloaked man from before appeared, and without another word, they ran—fleeing, leaving the chaos behind them.
They reached a cavernous pit—a deep, dark hole in the ground.
The boy's eyes widened as the hooded man looked at him, a flicker of sorrow crossing his features. "Forgive me, my lord," the man murmured, before pushing the boy into the abyss below.
The child tumbled into the darkness, falling endlessly, and in the void, only the echo of the man's final words reached his ears: "We will meet again when the time we cross paths comes by."
And with that, he fell—into the endless, choking black.
To be continued...