The sky above Kellan Veyra's head was a bruised shade of purple, smeared with streaks of black smoke and flashes of distant fire. Clouds, thick and heavy with ash, crawled sluggishly across the horizon like they, too, had given up. A decade ago, this had been a city—a bustling hub of life with coffee shops on every corner and an obscene number of pigeons on every ledge. Now, it was a tomb.
From his perch on the crumbling remains of what used to be an apartment complex, Kellan scanned the horizon with weary eyes. The city stretched out before him in jagged ruin. Broken windows stared back at him like dead eyes, and twisted metal beams jutted from collapsed buildings like skeletal remains clawing at the sky.
He scratched at his stubbled jaw, wincing as his fingers caught on a patch of grime he couldn't remember acquiring. "Another beautiful day in paradise," he muttered to no one in particular.
His voice echoed faintly, lost to the silence of a world long past its prime.
He wasn't alone—not technically. The Wretched were always there, lurking somewhere in the shadows, prowling the ruins in search of anything still warm. Kellan wasn't worried about them at the moment. His stomach, however, was a different story.
It growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since… well, he couldn't remember. He pulled out the last of his rations: half a protein bar that tasted like sawdust and regret. He took a bite and immediately regretted it.
"Delicious," he muttered dryly, choking it down. "Exactly what I needed to brighten my mood."
Kellan wasn't sure when the world had officially gone to hell. Some people said it was the day the Wretched first appeared, rising from the ground like the earth itself had turned against humanity. Others blamed the relic hunters, the fools who unearthed ancient artifacts they didn't understand, desperate for power and riches.
Personally, Kellan blamed whoever thought it was a good idea to keep building cities on fault lines. The apocalypse didn't need help, but humanity sure liked to give it a head start.
It had been ten years since the monsters came, and Kellan had been alone for most of them. He'd stopped mourning his losses after the first few years—mostly because crying tended to attract the Wretched, and he wasn't keen on being eaten mid-sob.
Still, he carried memories of the people he'd lost like scars. His mother, who'd sung him lullabies when the world was still whole. His father, with his rough hands and warm laugh. Rowan, his older brother, who always insisted on stealing the last slice of pizza but would've taken a bullet for him without a second thought.
Now, all that was left was Kellan and the ruins.
He found the artifact while scavenging.
The museum had collapsed into itself, its grand archways reduced to rubble and its exhibits buried under layers of debris. Kellan wasn't looking for anything in particular—just food, tools, or anything he could trade. What he found instead was… strange.
The vault door stood ajar, warped and melted as if something had burned through it. The air inside was colder, carrying a faint hum that made the hair on Kellan's arms stand on end.
"Probably cursed," he muttered, stepping inside anyway. Because of course he did. Survival instinct wasn't exactly his strong suit.
The artifact sat in the center of the room, resting on a pedestal that looked far too pristine given the state of everything else. It was a small disc, no bigger than the palm of his hand, etched with glowing symbols that seemed to shift when he looked at them too long.
"Yep. Definitely cursed."
He should've left it alone. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn around, to leave it there and walk away. But something about it called to him—an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn't ignore.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the cool surface of the disc.
The world shattered.
It wasn't an explosion, exactly. It was more like… unraveling. The floor vanished, and Kellan was falling, weightless, through a void of light and shadow. His memories splintered, fragments flashing before his eyes like a broken slideshow.
He saw Rowan laughing, his face streaked with dirt. His mother humming a lullaby while stirring a pot of soup. His father's calloused hand ruffling his hair. And then, fire. Screams. The Wretched tearing through everything he'd ever loved.
A voice cut through the chaos, cold and distant.
"Do you wish to begin again?"
Kellan tried to speak, but the void swallowed his words. He thought of the world as it was—broken, desolate, empty. He thought of the people he'd lost and the ones he couldn't save.
If he had a chance to change it, even a slim one, how could he not take it?
"Yes," he thought. "God help me, yes."
The voice whispered one last thing, soft and cruel.
"You will remember."
Kellan woke to the sound of birdsong.
For a moment, he thought he'd imagined it. Birds hadn't sung in years—not since the sky turned black and the trees withered. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the soft glow of sunlight filtering through… was that a mobile?
It spun lazily above him, painted with tiny stars and moons. The ceiling above it was pale blue, dotted with clouds.
"What the—"
The words came out as a garbled cry. Kellan froze. His body felt strange—small, weak, like it didn't belong to him. He turned his head, struggling to move, and caught sight of the bars of a crib surrounding him.
"No," he thought, panic rising in his chest. "No, no, no—"
The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside. She was young, her auburn hair falling in loose waves, her hazel eyes warm and familiar. Kellan's breath hitched.
It was his mother.
She leaned over the crib, scooping him into her arms with practiced ease. "Oh, my sweet boy," she cooed, cradling him against her chest. "Did you have a bad dream?"
Kellan's mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. He had wanted to go back, but not this far. Maybe a couple years at most. The artifact had sent him back to the beginning—to his infancy.
As his mother hummed softly, rocking him back and forth, Kellan stared at the ceiling. He had wanted a second chance.
This wasn't what he'd had in mind.