He turned to look for the robed figure, but his eyes caught something far more surreal—a massive hand, impossibly large, stretching beneath the blue sphere.
The hand moved with purpose, gently turning the sphere, manipulating it with a precision that defied comprehension.
The boy's mind struggled to process what he was witnessing as he, along with his mother, was gently placed inside the sphere, at a specific location.
The world around him was still a blur, but in that moment, the boy realized the truth of what had happened.
Moments ago, he and his mother were lost in the endless desert, their strength and hope nearly extinguished.
Now, they stood in the shade of a lush forest, the cool air kissing his skin. His eyes widened as he realized the sheer magnitude of the sorcerer's power.
They had crossed an unimaginable distance in the blink of an eye—what might have taken years of grueling travel on foot had been traversed in mere moments.
The tales of the sorcerers, their abilities beyond comprehension, were all true.
In the distance, a city emerged from the forest's edge, its tall spires catching the sunlight. A sign stood at the forest's entrance, weathered but clear: Valthar.
The boy's attention snapped back to the robed figure.
Somehow, the sorcerer was now standing in front of him, silent and imposing.
In his hand rested a silver, spherical stone, glinting faintly like it held the weight of the stars themselves.
The figure raised the stone, making a slow, deliberate motion, pointing it toward the boy.
The boy cupped his hands together, palms upward, adopting a posture of gratitude and respect, as if he were receiving a gift far beyond his understanding.
The sorcerer dropped the stone gently into the boy's hands. Its surface was smooth and cold, but it seemed to hum faintly with a mysterious energy.
Within moments, he was gone, vanishing into the breeze like a phantom. It was as if he had never been there at all.
The boy stared at the scene and then down at the stone, cradling it in his trembling hands.
'Hm,'
His awe was interrupted by a sound behind him—a faint, confused whisper. He turned to see his mother stirring on the ground, her expression dazed and uncertain.
"Simon…" her voice was weak, but it carried the weight of relief and desperation.
Simon dropped the stone carefully into his pocket and ran to her side. "Mom!"
The woman sat up slowly, her arms instinctively reaching for her son. As soon as Simon reached her, she pulled him into a tight embrace, her tears soaking into his hair.
"Simon… Simon…" she sobbed, clutching him as though he might disappear.
Simon buried his face into her shoulder, holding her just as tightly.
The weight of everything—the desert, the sorcerer, the miraculous survival—crashed over him, but in her arms, he felt safe again.
"Mom…" he murmured, his voice breaking as tears welled in his eyes.
The warmth of her embrace faded into something else.
The edges of his vision blurred, the world shifting and swirling until a sterile white light replaced the forest.
Simon opened his eyes slowly, his surroundings foreign yet familiar. He was lying on a bed, faint beeping sounds echoing softly around him and he saw Alice sitting beside him.
Her face was pale, her eyes red from crying.
Beside her stood a woman with a kind but weathered face, streaks of gray in her dark hair. It was Teresa Reid, Simon's mother.
"Mom," Simon whispered weakly, his voice barely audible as he tried to lift his hand toward her.
Teresa immediately leaned forward, clasping his hand tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Simon, thank the heavens! You're okay," she said, her voice trembling with relief. "Don't try to talk too much. Just rest. Everything's going to be fine."
Simon nodded faintly, comforted by her presence, but the moment of solace was abruptly shattered.
"So, you're Simon Reid." A deep, commanding voice interrupted from the corner of the room.
Simon's gaze shifted weakly, and from behind Alice, a large man stepped forward.
His bulky frame filled the room with an imposing presence. He wore a violet shirt tucked into crisp white pants, and atop his head sat a violet cap adorned with three golden stars.
His thick mustache curled slightly, and his sharp, round eyes seemed to pierce right through Simon. He is Fletcher, the commander of the Sentinels.
Fletcher took one measured step closer, his gaze falling on Simon's bandaged head before shifting to the doctor nearby.
"Is he fit to leave?" he asked, his voice steady but cold.
The doctor, a woman in a pristine white coat, nodded.
"He's stable. The injuries aren't life-threatening, but he needs at least a week of rest to recover fully."
Fletcher gave a curt nod, then turned back to Simon, his tone hard and unyielding.
"Simon Reid, you're under arrest for harboring and concealing dangerous materials without authorization."
"What?" The room erupted into chaos as Alice and Teresa shot to their feet.
"You can't do this!" Alice shouted, her voice shaking with anger and disbelief.
Teresa, equally furious, moved to shield her son. "He's just a boy! He's injured! You have no right!"
Fletcher remained unmoved, his expression stony.
He gestured to the officers standing outside the door.
Three Sentinels entered, their faces blank as they moved to Simon's bedside, lifting him gently but firmly from the bed.
Simon groaned, disoriented and too weak to resist as the officers hoisted him to his feet. His vision swam as he glanced at his mother and Alice, who were both shouting and pleading with Fletcher.