The world outside Arin Vale's apartment was the same as it always was—dreary, muted, and indifferent. The faint hum of the city echoed in the distance, the occasional honk of a car horn breaking through the monotony of the night. Inside, however, Arin's world was alive with color and chaos.

His small studio apartment was cluttered, walls plastered with sketches of dragons, galaxies, and surreal dreamscapes. Canvases leaned against every surface, their depictions ranging from stormy seas to glowing nebulae. The air smelled of paint and turpentine, and the only sound was the gentle scrape of a brush against canvas.

Arin sat in the middle of it all, hunched over his latest creation—a massive painting of a dragon, unlike any he had attempted before. Its wings were vast and translucent, shimmering with the colors of distant stars. Scales reflected galaxies, their hues shifting with every brushstroke. Around its form swirled an ethereal nebula, and in its eyes burned the light of two radiant suns.

He called it Celestara, the Keeper of Dreams.

It was his most ambitious work yet, a culmination of every fantastical image he had ever envisioned. His hand moved with purpose, each stroke bringing the creature to life. As he painted, he lost himself in the rhythm, the outside world fading into irrelevance.

Then, something unusual happened.

The light in his apartment flickered, briefly dimming before returning. Arin paused, his brush hovering over the canvas. He glanced at the lamp on his desk, wondering if the bulb was on its last legs. But then he noticed the faint glow creeping in from the edges of his curtains—a pulsing, otherworldly light.

Curiosity tugged at him. He set his brush down and stood, wiping his hands on his paint-stained jeans as he moved to the window. Pulling the curtains aside, his breath caught.

The sky was alive.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of streaks of light blazed across the heavens, meteors burning through the atmosphere in a dazzling display. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and for a moment, he simply stared, awestruck by the beauty of it.

Then he saw it.

Among the smaller streaks of light was a massive object, brighter and larger than the rest. It glowed with an intense, almost hypnotic radiance, its tail carving a fiery arc through the night sky. But what truly unnerved him was its trajectory—it wasn't falling far away like the others. It was headed straight for the hills on the outskirts of the city.

The ground shuddered as it struck, the distant roar of impact rolling through the air like thunder. A column of light shot upward from the crash site, illuminating the horizon in a golden glow.

Arin's heart raced. Something about that light called to him, a strange pull deep in his chest that he couldn't ignore.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his jacket and bolted out the door.

The streets were alive with activity as Arin made his way toward the hills. Neighbors stood outside their homes, pointing at the sky and murmuring in hushed tones. Cars pulled over as their drivers stared at the distant glow. Sirens wailed in the distance, signaling the arrival of emergency services.

But Arin didn't stop to join the gawking crowd. He slipped through the chaos, his focus entirely on the glowing horizon. The closer he got, the stronger the pull became, like a hand guiding him forward.

When he reached the edge of the city, the terrain grew steeper and more uneven. The hills were cloaked in darkness, save for the faint golden light that beckoned him forward. The trek was grueling, but he barely noticed, his mind consumed by the strange compulsion.

Finally, he crested the final hill and looked down into the crater below.

The impact site was a scene of chaos. Emergency vehicles surrounded the perimeter, their flashing lights casting eerie shadows over the jagged terrain. Firefighters and paramedics moved in hurried motions, shouting orders and trying to secure the area.

But none of that mattered to Arin. His eyes were locked on the object at the center of the crater.

It wasn't a meteor.

It was a brush.

The object was embedded in the earth, its crystalline surface pulsing with a soft, multicolored glow. It looked like an artist's brush, its handle carved from something that shimmered like liquid starlight, and its bristles radiating every color of the spectrum.

Arin felt his breath catch. It was beautiful, otherworldly, and impossibly familiar, as though it had been plucked from his own imagination.

Without realizing it, he began to move toward it, his footsteps carrying him into the crater. Voices called out behind him—shouts from the emergency workers telling him to stop—but they sounded distant, muffled, like they were coming from another world.

He didn't stop. He couldn't.

When he reached the brush, he hesitated only for a moment. Then, his hand reached out, trembling as his fingers wrapped around the handle.

The moment he touched it, the world exploded.

A wave of energy burst from the brush, enveloping Arin in a kaleidoscope of light and sound. The ground beneath him vanished, and he felt himself falling through a void of swirling colors and impossible shapes.

Memories flashed before his eyes—his childhood, his parents' voices, the hours spent painting in his tiny apartment. He saw every stroke of every brush he had ever made, every creature he had ever dreamed into being.

And then came the voice.

"Mortal no longer."

It echoed in his mind, soft yet thunderous, ancient and unyielding. "You are chosen. Creator you shall be."

Arin's body began to change. He felt his skin dissolve into shimmering scales, his hands elongating into claws. Wings unfurled from his back, vast and luminous, each one stretching across dimensions. Power coursed through him—raw, infinite, and terrifying.

When he opened his eyes, the void had vanished. The world before him was no longer Earth. It was the multiverse, infinite and uncharted, a canvas waiting to be shaped.

And he, Neralyth, was its newest guardian.

To be continued...