Marcus considered himself the embodiment of "ordinary." Sure, the world had its share of extraordinary people—Meta-Humans with strange and unique gifts ranging from elemental manipulation to flight—but Marcus wasn't one of them. He was just a regular college student trudging through life, trying to survive midterms and keep up with his rent.
As he walked to the local library, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn-out jacket, Marcus caught a glimpse of himself in the library's glass window. His reflection stared back: unruly raven-black hair that always looked as though he'd just rolled out of bed, piercing azure eyes that stood out against his pale complexion, and an earring in his left ear that his mom still nagged him about. His outfit was just as chaotic—a patched-up black hoodie over a gray turtleneck, paired with ripped jeans that looked more "battle-scarred" than fashionable.
He sighed, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. "Could be worse," he muttered under his breath before pushing the door open.
Inside, the library was its usual quiet sanctuary. Marcus greeted the librarian, Mrs. Henderson, with a polite nod, waved to the janitor on his break, and made a beeline for the study tables. He pulled out a stack of books he'd gathered to prepare for his midterms, muttering something about how he always overcommitted himself with study materials.
——-
Hours passed as Marcus dove into his notes, scribbling furiously into his battered notebook. His mind wandered between studying and existential dread. What would his future look like? His roommate, Josh—an easy-going guy with a knack for blowing off responsibility—had told him to "go with the flow." But what did that even mean? Marcus wasn't even sure he had a flow to follow.
When the clock hit 3:57 PM, Marcus stretched his arms and yawned. He'd been at this for hours. As he started returning books to their shelves, his thoughts drifted again. A peaceful, quiet life seemed like the dream. No chaos, no drama—just him, his books, and a decent job that paid the bills.
That's when he noticed it.
Out of the corner of his eye, something gleamed from a dimly lit corner of the bookshelf. Squinting, Marcus saw the faint, otherworldly glow of a book wedged into the bottom shelf. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. But no—there it was, a faint, golden shimmer pulsing like a heartbeat.
Looking around, Marcus saw the librarian's desk empty, likely because Mrs. Henderson was in the backroom, and the janitor had disappeared entirely. The library was eerily silent, with no one else in sight.
Scratching his head, Marcus crouched to examine the strange book. It was thick, its cover blackened with age and coated in a fine layer of dust. Despite its antique appearance, it radiated a mesmerizing glow. He carefully pulled it free, coughing as the dust clouded the air.
The cover was blank—no title, no author, no illustrations. Just an unassuming, smooth black surface. "What kind of book doesn't even have a label?" Marcus muttered. He flipped it over. The back was equally bare.
Curiosity piqued, Marcus opened the book. The pages were… empty. Every single one of them was blank. "You've got to be kidding me," he groaned, closing it with a thud.
And then it happened.
The book suddenly began to glow, and intensified, spilling out from the edges of the book like liquid sunlight. Strange, swirling symbols began to appear on the cover, forming intricate patterns. Marcus blinked, his heart racing. He recognized none of the writing—it looked ancient, alien even.
The glow became blinding. A sharp, golden light engulfed the library, swallowing Marcus whole. He tried to scream, but the sound was muffled as if the air itself had been sucked away.
When the light finally faded, Marcus found himself gasping for breath. His surroundings came back into focus. He was still in the library—same shelves, same quiet ambiance. But something felt… different.
Looking down at his hands, he realized the book was gone. It had vanished without a trace.
"What the hell…?" Marcus whispered, his voice shaky.
Unbeknownst to him, a faint mark had appeared on the back of his right hand—a glowing sigil, resembling the swirling patterns that had covered the book moments ago. It pulsed faintly, a rhythmic beat that Marcus could feel in his very soul.
As he stared at it in confusion, the faintest sound echoed through the library—a woman's voice, soft yet commanding, speaking in a language Marcus couldn't understand.