The rhythmic patter of rain against the cracked window dragged Elias from a restless sleep.
"Ugh…" he groaned, his hand clutching his pounding head as sharp pain pulsed behind his eyes. His limbs felt heavy, his body trembling with fatigue and an inexplicable unease, as though something foreign coursed through his veins.
Fragments of memory flashed through his mind—a blinding light, the sky splitting apart, a deafening roar… and then nothing. He tried to hold onto the images, but they slipped away like grains of sand through his fingers.
"Just a dream," Elias muttered, his voice dry and hoarse. "It had to be."
But as he blinked and sat up, his unease deepened.
A World Out of Place
The normally cluttered chaos of his one-bedroom apartment was frozen in an unnatural stillness. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, and the dim light that filtered through the dusty blinds painted the room in dull shades of grey. Shadows flickered unnaturally, stretching and curling as though alive, their movements out of sync with the faint hum of the flickering ceiling light.
Elias's gaze wandered to the corner of the room, where his desk stood buried under a mountain of crumpled pages. For months, he had been trying to put into words what he had seen that night—a futile attempt to make sense of something incomprehensible.
It had been exactly one year since that day.
The words of the doctor echoed in his mind, cold and clinical:
"Your father didn't make it."
They had called it a freak accident—a sudden electrical storm that had claimed his father's life. But Elias knew better. He had been there. He had seen it.
The memory burned in his mind: a jagged fracture in the sky, tearing through reality like a wound. It was no storm. It was something… other.
Taking a shaky breath, Elias stood and moved to the window. The rain streaked down the glass in uneven trails, distorting the view of the quiet street below.
"Get it together," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "It's just another day."
But just as he turned away, the intercom buzzed sharply, cutting through the silence like a knife.
A Package Without a Name
The static-filled voice of the building manager, Mr. Yoras, crackled through the speaker.
"Elias? You've got a package downstairs. You should come get it."
"A package?" Elias frowned.
There was something strange about Yoras's tone. The old man's usual gruffness had been replaced with something quieter—something cautious.
"Who's it from?"
"No name. No return address. Just… come get it."
Curiosity tugged at Elias, overriding the lingering ache in his head. He grabbed his jacket and made his way downstairs, each creak of the worn staircase amplifying the eerie silence that clung to the building.
When he reached the dimly lit lobby, Yoras was waiting by the front desk. In his hands, he held a small wooden box, weathered with age. Strange symbols were carved into its surface, glowing faintly in the flickering fluorescent light.
"This is for you," Yoras said, handing it over.
Elias hesitated, his fingers brushing against the box. It was warm to the touch, almost unnaturally so, and the carvings seemed to shift under his gaze, like they were alive.
"Who left it?"
"No idea," Yoras muttered, shaking his head. "It was just sitting at the front door this morning. No one saw who left it."
As Elias turned to leave, Yoras called out after him, his voice low and uneasy.
"Be careful with that thing."
The Box
Back in his apartment, Elias placed the box on the coffee table. The air seemed to grow heavier as he stared at it, the strange carvings catching the dim light and casting twisting shadows on the walls.
At the center of the lid, a single word was etched in bold, deliberate letters:
LEGATUM.
"What the hell does that mean?" Elias muttered, running his fingers over the engraved letters.
A jolt of static electricity shot up his arm, making him flinch. The sensation left a cold, tingling numbness in his hand, but it also ignited a burning curiosity deep within him.
Taking a deep breath, Elias pried the lid open.
Inside, nestled on a bed of crimson velvet, was a medallion.
The Medallion
The object was mesmerizing. Crafted with a level of intricacy that defied human skill, the medallion shimmered faintly, its silver surface etched with the same strange symbols as the box. At its center was a deep blue crystal, glowing softly like a heartbeat.
Elias's hand trembled as he reached for it.
The moment his fingers brushed against the medallion, the world around him erupted.
The walls rippled like water, the air crackling with energy. Elias stumbled back, clutching the medallion tightly as lines of golden light burst forth, weaving an intricate web through the room.
The Awakening of the Lines
The lines hovered in the air, their glow illuminating the dim room. Some were faint, their light barely visible, while others pulsed with raw, untamed energy.
But one line stood out among the rest—a brilliant, golden thread that seemed alive, radiating a warmth that Elias could feel deep in his chest.
It called to him.
Compelled by an unseen force, Elias reached out and touched it.
The moment his fingers made contact, a searing pain tore through his body.
"ARGH!" Elias screamed, collapsing to his knees as the golden thread shattered like glass.
The air around him cracked, black fissures spidering out from the point of contact. Through the cracks, Elias caught glimpses of another world—a crimson sky, jagged lightning, and shadowy figures with glowing eyes, watching him.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind—cold, detached, and otherworldly:
"The First Line has been severed. The Balance is broken."
The fissures widened, and the ground beneath Elias gave way.
He fell, spiraling into a void of golden and black light, the medallion still clutched tightly in his trembling hand.
To Be Continued…