Chapter 1: The Dream of Power
A vast battlefield stretched before him, the sky painted in shades of crimson and black. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, their lifeless forms illuminated by an otherworldly glow. Leon stood at the center of it all, his figure cloaked in a swirling aura of light and shadow. His eyes burned with an intensity that could pierce through the void itself.
Before him, kneeling, was a figure clad in golden armor, trembling in fear. "You are no savior," the figure stammered, voice quaking. "You are destruction incarnate."
Leon raised his hand, the air around him crackling with power. He felt invincible, untouchable. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a small voice whispered doubt.
A flash of light erupted, and Leon gasped. The battlefield faded, and he found himself staring at a cracked ceiling, his breath ragged, his body drenched in cold sweat.
It was the dream again.
Leon sat up on the thin mattress that served as his bed, clutching his head. The dream was always the same. Power. Glory. And the gnawing feeling that it was all slipping away, just like everything else in his life.
He glanced at the worn clock on the wall. 3:47 a.m. The city outside was silent, save for the occasional hum of a passing vehicle. His tiny room was dimly lit by the flickering neon sign outside the window, casting an eerie red glow on the peeling wallpaper.
"Get it together, Leon," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his unruly black hair. "It's just a dream. That's all it is."
But he knew it wasn't.
For weeks, the dreams had come to him, each one more vivid than the last. They felt more like memories than fantasies, but memories of what? His life had been painfully ordinary—if you could call being an orphan with no future ordinary.
Leon swung his legs off the bed and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. Dark circles rimmed his stormy gray eyes, and his once sharp features looked haggard and pale. He barely recognized himself anymore.
A sudden knock at the door startled him. He froze.
"Leon, you in there?" A gruff voice called out from the other side. It was his landlord, Mr. Greaves.
Leon sighed and got to his feet. He opened the door a crack, just enough to see the balding, middle-aged man scowling at him.
"Rent's overdue again," Greaves said, crossing his arms. "You've got until tomorrow, or you're out."
"I know," Leon replied, his voice flat. "I'll have it."
Greaves snorted. "You better. I've got a line of people who'd kill for this room."
As the landlord stomped off, Leon closed the door and leaned against it. Tomorrow. Right. He had no money, no prospects, and now, no time.
For a moment, he considered running. Leaving this city behind and starting fresh somewhere else. But where? And with what?
His gaze drifted to the window, where the neon light flickered weakly. For all its flaws, this was his reality. A life of endless struggle, broken dreams, and fleeting hope.
But as he stood there, a strange sensation washed over him. The air in the room grew heavy, almost electric. A faint hum filled his ears, and the edges of his vision blurred.
"What the...?"
Before he could react, the world around him shattered like glass, and darkness consumed him.
Leon's last thought before he lost consciousness was the same question that haunted him every night.
Who am I really?