The city streets were silent, shrouded in the kind of stillness that only appeared in the dead of night. Elliot Dawn tightened his jacket against the cold as he wandered aimlessly. Sleep had evaded him for days now, leaving him restless and yearning for escape.
Tonight, his usual path felt dull, his feet dragging with every step. He veered into an unfamiliar alley on a whim, letting curiosity guide him. That's when he saw it—a small, dimly lit shop nestled between two towering apartment blocks.
The sign above the door was crooked, its peeling paint barely legible: "MOVING SALE – EVERYTHING MUST GO!"
Elliot frowned. He was certain this shop hadn't been here before, but something about it pulled him in. Maybe it was the warm light spilling out into the cold night or the faint hum of something he couldn't quite place.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside.
The interior was cramped, cluttered with stacks of boxes, shelves teetering with dusty books, trinkets, and oddities. A faint smell of old paper and incense filled the air.
"Hello?" Elliot called out, his voice echoing in the quiet shop.
There was no answer. Shrugging, he began to browse. His fingers skimmed over cracked leather book spines and antique objects. Most of it seemed like junk, but one shelf caught his attention.
It was nearly empty, save for a single book.
The book looked ancient, its black cover worn and the edges frayed. Embossed on the front was a strange symbol—a circle split by a jagged line, surrounded by intricate runes. At the top, in faded gold letters, was a number: 0092.
Elliot felt a chill run through him as he reached out to pick it up.
The second his fingers touched the cover, the shop seemed to go silent. The faint hum he'd noticed earlier grew louder, reverberating in his chest.
"What the…" he muttered, pulling the book closer.
"Not that one," a voice said sharply behind him.
Elliot spun around to see an older man standing at the counter. His eyes were piercing, and his expression was grim.
"That book's not for sale," the man said, stepping closer.
Elliot hesitated, glancing down at the book. "It was on the shelf. Isn't that the point of a moving sale?"
The man's frown deepened. "Listen, I don't know how it got there, but you shouldn't—"
The words died in his throat as Elliot, acting on instinct, tucked the book under his arm.
"How much?" Elliot asked.
The man hesitated, then sighed. "Take it. Just… don't say I didn't warn you."
Without another word, Elliot left the shop. The bell jingled behind him, and he stepped back into the cold night, the book clutched tightly in his hands.
As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, like the world had tilted slightly off its axis.
Elliot sat at his small kitchen table, the book lying in front of him. His apartment was silent, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
He hadn't been able to put the book down since he'd brought it home. There was something magnetic about it, as if it were calling to him.
Opening the cover, he found the first page blank, but the next was filled with intricate symbols and diagrams. They looked like maps, though none were of places he recognized.
"What are you?" he murmured, running a finger over the faded ink.
As his eyes scanned the page, the symbols began to blur, shifting and twisting into something else. He blinked, but the room around him seemed to darken, the air thickening.
Suddenly, he wasn't in his apartment anymore.
He was standing on a battlefield.
The sky above him was a sickly orange, split by jagged cracks of light. The ground beneath his feet was scorched and littered with broken weapons and bodies. In the distance, a monstrous roar echoed, sending a shiver down his spine.
"What the hell?" Elliot whispered, spinning around.
In the chaos, he spotted a figure—a man clad in black armor, his sword blazing with blue flames. He moved like a storm, cutting down grotesque creatures that lunged at him.
Elliot felt a strange sense of familiarity as he watched the man fight. The way he moved, the determination in his eyes—it was like looking into a mirror.
Before he could process what he was seeing, the man turned and looked directly at him.
"You shouldn't be here," the man said, his voice sharp but layered with something else.