Keiran's reflection stared back at him from the glass of the museum exhibit. His features were sharp, but his eyes—dark and introspective—betrayed the years of struggle that had etched themselves into his soul. His hair, a shade of black that mirrored the night sky, framed a face worn by time. Though only in his early thirties, his eyes had the heaviness of someone much older, someone who had been worn down by the weight of disappointment and loss.

Today, however, Keiran stood in the Hall of History, surrounded by relics that spoke of centuries long past. The quiet hum of the museum's ancient air whispered in his ears as he slowly walked past the exhibits. Despite the bustling of visitors around him, the place felt like an oasis, a space where time seemed to stand still. Here, the past—so tangible and real—was a refuge for him. It was the only place where he could truly escape the suffocating memories of his own life.

History, in all its grandeur and tragedy, had always fascinated him. The lives of forgotten kings and queens, the rise and fall of empires, the stories of ancient civilizations—these were the things that spoke to him, that made him feel alive. The long-dead monarchs, their kingdoms long reduced to dust, had somehow felt more real to him than his own existence. The weight of their triumphs and failures seemed easier to understand than the fractured life he was living.

He'd finally done it. After years of struggle, after failing time and time again, Keiran had passed his civil servant exam. The moment he had worked for so long was finally within his grasp. But even as the final piece of his life's puzzle slotted into place, he felt… empty.

His parents were long gone—taken by a cruel fate that had left him alone in a world that didn't care. His mother's death had left a void in his heart that no amount of success could fill. His partner, once the person who believed in him the most, had left, her belief shattered by years of failure and unfulfilled promises. She couldn't hold on any longer. The weight of his disappointments was too much to bear, and in the end, he was left to carry it all alone.

Yet, in this museum, surrounded by the echoes of forgotten lives, he felt a fleeting sense of peace. The past, so far removed from his own pain, felt like a distant world. The artifacts, the stories, the people long gone—all of it was easier to understand than the fractured existence he had been living.

His steps slowed as he moved past a row of finely-crafted relics, the quiet hum of his thoughts accompanying him. But then, something caught his attention—a subtle shift in the air. A quiet, almost imperceptible whisper, not from the visitors, but from somewhere deeper, as if the very walls of the museum were speaking to him.

He paused in front of a modest exhibit at the far end of the hall. A single display case sat in the center, and within it lay an artifact, a strange object that seemed out of place among the polished relics of past kings. It was a simple, unadorned stone—its surface worn smooth by time, but its presence felt oddly… powerful.

Keiran's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't explain it, but the moment his eyes landed on the stone, a strange sensation stirred within him. It was as though the object was calling to him, its quiet pull impossible to ignore.

With a hesitant breath, he stepped closer, his fingers brushing the glass case. The stone, dull and unremarkable at first glance, seemed to thrum with something beneath its surface—something ancient, something alive.

He leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. The light shifted across the glass, revealing strange symbols etched faintly into the stone's surface. Symbols he hadn't noticed before, as if they were only visible to him now, in this very moment.

His breath caught. It was impossible. No one else seemed to notice. No one else seemed to feel it, but Keiran couldn't deny the electric charge running through his fingers as they hovered just above the stone. It was as if it were waiting—waiting for him to make contact.

His pulse quickened, and for a moment, the noise of the museum around him seemed to fade into silence. He reached forward, his hand trembling as he touched the glass. The moment his skin made contact, the entire room seemed to shift. A low hum, so faint it was almost imperceptible, began to reverberate in the air. The artifact seemed to react to him, its energy rippling outward, not in violent surges, but in a quiet, insistent pull.

Keiran stepped back, heart racing. The feeling was overwhelming, disorienting. He stumbled slightly, gripping the edge of the display case to steady himself. His mind whirled. What had just happened? It couldn't have been real. It had to be his imagination… or was it?

He felt the pulse of the stone linger, still tugging at him, and before he could stop himself, his hand reached for the glass once more.

A faint crackle filled the air as his fingers brushed the surface.

In an instant, the world around him seemed to twist. The museum, the people, the very air—everything—flickered as though it were a mirage. The hum of the artifact grew louder, no longer subtle but pressing in on him, filling his senses. It was as if the object had awakened, calling to him with an intensity he couldn't comprehend.

For one terrifying, breathtaking moment, Keiran felt everything. He felt his body being pulled, stretched, as though reality itself was unraveling around him. His vision blurred, and his surroundings dissolved, leaving him suspended in a void of shifting colors and sounds.

And then—blackness.