Next chapter update will be on Tuesday 4th March.
"You want me to do what?" Sawyer asked, his voice rising in disbelief as he pushed back his chair abruptly, the scraping sound echoing through the suddenly quiet office. The image of the soldiers being ripped apart flashed vividly in his mind, fueling his fear and indignation.
"Calm down," Joe said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture as he stepped closer to Sawyer. He reached for Sawyer's arm, a gesture of reassurance, but Sawyer instinctively pulled away, his body tensing.
"You're the only one who can close the gate," Joe explained, his voice firm but calm, trying to project an air of authority and control. "It will only respond to you. Your specific magical signature is the key."
Sawyer shook his head vehemently, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief. "I can't go there," he stammered, his voice trembling slightly. "You saw what happened to those soldiers—they were ripped to shreds in seconds! You're asking me to walk into certain death."
"We're sending our best fighters with you," Joe countered, his voice still calm and measured. "They're highly trained, experienced professionals. Their job will be to protect you. All you have to do is close the gate, and then you can go back to your normal life."
Sawyer stared at Joe, disbelief and a bitter irony written all over his face. "Normal life?" he repeated, the words laced with sarcasm and resentment. He stepped back further, shaking his head again, his heart pounding in his chest. There was no way he was going into the Red Desert. No way. He didn't know these people, didn't owe them anything, and he sure as hell wasn't risking his life for complete strangers.
Joe let out a sigh, a sound of frustration and resignation, watching Sawyer's retreating steps. "I know what you're thinking," he said calmly, meeting Sawyer's skeptical gaze.
Sawyer froze, his back to the wall, his eyes narrowing.
"Yes," Joe continued, his voice dropping slightly, "that's one of my abilities. I can read minds. But more importantly, I can see the future." He stepped closer, his tone growing more somber and urgent. "And trust me, the future I saw if we don't close the gate isn't a good one. It's a nightmare scenario. The world burns, Sawyer. Everything is destroyed. No one survives. No one."
Joe placed a firm hand on Sawyer's shoulder, locking eyes with him, his gaze intense and pleading. "I get it. You're scared. Anyone would be. But this isn't just about us—this is about everything. The fate of the world rests on this. I'm giving you time to think it over. Tomorrow morning, we'll talk again."
Joe stepped back, motioning to Zara, who had been silently standing nearby, observing the exchange with an inscrutable expression. "Show him to his room," he instructed, his voice clipped and professional.
Zara nodded curtly and turned to Sawyer, her expression unreadable, betraying no emotion whatsoever. Without a word, she gestured for him to follow her, her movements precise and efficient.
Sawyer hesitated, his mind racing, bombarded with everything Joe had just said. The weight of the world, the potential for unimaginable destruction, suddenly seemed to rest on his shoulders. After a long, agonizing moment, he sighed, a sound of defeat and resignation, reluctantly falling in step behind Zara.
For now, he desperately needed time to think, to process everything that had happened. Too much was happening too fast, too much information was being thrown at him at once. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of the unknown.
Zara led Sawyer out of the office and down the long, dimly lit corridor, weaving through a maze of seemingly identical rooms and hallways. They passed a desert training center where simulated sandstorms swirled violently, whipping up sand and debris into a miniature tempest, an aquarium filled with strange, bioluminescent sharks wearing tiny, custom-made diver suits, and a few darkened rooms that seemed to hum with an ominous, almost palpable energy.
Finally, they arrived at a door at the end of the corridor. Zara slotted a key card into the lock and pushed the door open. "We tried to make the room more human-friendly," she said curtly, her voice flat and devoid of any warmth, then turned and walked away without another word, leaving Sawyer standing in the doorway.
Sawyer sighed, standing in the doorway for a moment, taking in his surroundings. Human-friendly. That's what he was—a human. Just an ordinary, average human in a world of supernatural beings, winged pixies, talking creatures, and mind-reading, future-seeing superiors. He didn't belong here. He needed to get back to his life, back to his classes, back to normalcy. It would be strange explaining all of this to Aiden—assuming Aiden would even believe him. The thought of his friend, his anchor to reality, brought a small measure of comfort.
The room itself was decent, he had to admit—fairly large, with a high, comfortable-looking bed illuminated by soft blue LED lights that cast long shadows across the room. There was a computer on a desk to the side, a large wardrobe, and a modest shelf of books, mostly technical manuals and arcane texts that looked completely foreign to him. On a small table in the corner sat a phone and some of his personal belongings, including his torn and bloodied lab coat, a stark reminder of the events of the day. He picked it up gingerly, a shiver running down his spine.
Sawyer walked over to the wardrobe, its polished wooden doors gleaming under the soft light, and swung it open, scanning the neatly arranged clothes inside. A selection of plain, practical outfits hung there—jeans, t-shirts, a couple of simple sweaters. Nothing fancy, nothing that screamed "magical operative." He turned to ensure the door to his room was securely locked, a small but important gesture of privacy in this strange and unfamiliar place, before peeling off his clothes and heading toward the small, adjoining bathroom.
The bathroom was compact but functional, containing a shower stall, a sink, and a toilet. He stepped into the shower, turning the faucet to its coldest setting, letting the icy water cascade over him. The shock of the cold enveloped him, a welcome sensation that soothed his tense, aching muscles as he sank deeper into the shower's built-in seat. His eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion of the day, the shock of the Red Desert video, the weight of Joe's pronouncements, finally catching up with him. He leaned his head back against the cool tile, the rhythmic drumming of the water a soothing lullaby, until he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he opened his eyes, he wasn't in the small bathroom anymore.
He was standing in an enormous, opulent golden hall, its walls lined with towering statues of himself—or at least, what appeared to be him. Some statues depicted him holding a jeweled scepter, others showed him petting majestic lions, and still others portrayed him wearing an ornate, golden crown. The sheer scale of the hall and the number of these grandiose statues was overwhelming, bordering on absurd. At the far end of the room, bathed in shadows, stood a massive throne, its intricate carvings hinting at power and authority. Though the figure seated on it was obscured by the dim light, it radiated an undeniable aura of command.
"You should bow in the presence of a king," a commanding voice echoed through the vast hall, the sound resonating off the golden walls and statues.
Sawyer frowned, his initial confusion quickly morphing into irritation. "What?" he muttered, the word barely audible.
"I said, you should bow—" The voice faltered, its tone suddenly less regal, followed by a sharp, pained cry. "Ouch! Ouch! My tongue!"
Sawyer blinked, the surreal nature of the situation only intensifying. He felt like he had stumbled into some bizarre, theatrical production. "What the hell is this?" he muttered under his breath, a mixture of bewilderment and amusement creeping into his voice.
He couldn't help it; the image of a majestic king suddenly yelping about his tongue was too comical. A small chuckle escaped his lips, growing into a loud, genuine laugh that echoed through the golden hall, bouncing off the statues and the throne.
He couldn't help it, not when a 4'2" figure, dressed in what appeared to be a miniature king's regalia, was marching toward him, especially since the figure had his face.
"And you are?" Sawyer asked, trying to suppress his amusement, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"I'm you—" the small figure began, puffing out his chest.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're me from the past or some alternate timeline nonsense," Sawyer interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. He had seen enough science fiction movies to have a general idea of where this was going. "But what's your name?"
"Samu'el," the figure replied, his voice carrying a peculiar lilt that might have been an accent—if it weren't coming from what sounded like a twelve-year-old.
Sawyer instinctively glanced down at himself to ensure he wasn't embarrassingly exposed. Thankfully, he was still clothed in the outfit he had been wearing before his shower, though the surreal setting made him question the very fabric of reality.
Turning his attention back to the pint-sized version of himself, Sawyer studied him carefully. Samu'el wore a black jacket adorned with golden buttons, paired with black pants and polished dress shoes. Draped over his shoulders was an oversized red coat trimmed with white linings, its elegant design marred only by the fact that it was clearly designed for an adult and looked ridiculously large on a child.
"How old are you?" Samu'el asked, his tone serious and businesslike as he scrutinized Sawyer with his piercing gaze.
"Nineteen," Sawyer answered automatically, only realizing a moment later how strange it was that he felt compelled to respond truthfully to this miniature king version of himself.
"I was thirteen when I died," Samu'el said bluntly, his voice flat and matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. He turned away and headed back toward the throne, his small figure dwarfed by the massive statues and the imposing seat of power.
The words hit Sawyer like a jolt of ice water, leaving him momentarily stunned. "Wait, what?" he called after him, his amusement fading quickly, replaced by a growing unease. But Samu'el didn't stop walking, his small frame silhouetted against the gleaming golden statues and the enormous throne, his back to Sawyer.
"Which life are you?" Sawyer asked, his voice laced with curiosity and a touch of unease.
"The eighth life," Samu'el replied with a sigh, a sound that seemed oddly world-weary coming from such a young face. "One of the shortest, too."
"One of?" Sawyer asked, his confusion deepening.
"You'd be surprised," Samu'el said with a small, knowing smirk. "But we're not here to discuss that. We have much to cover and very little time." He finally reached the massive throne and turned, facing Sawyer with a serious expression.
Sawyer frowned, wondering how the miniature version of himself planned to scale such an enormous throne. The sheer size difference seemed insurmountable. Then, to his amazement, Samu'el took another step, this time walking on what seemed to be thin air. It was as if invisible stairs had materialized beneath his feet, supporting him effortlessly as he ascended the massive throne. Sawyer blinked, trying to reconcile what he was seeing with the laws of physics.
Sawyer couldn't help but watch in fascination as the child-sized figure of himself settled into the colossal chair with surprising ease. Samu'el adjusted his position a few times, as if trying to find the perfect regal posture, before squinting at Sawyer, who stood several feet away, still processing the levitation.
"You're awfully far, aren't you?" Samu'el said, tilting his head slightly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Before Sawyer could reply, the room seemed to collapse inward, the vast space between them shrinking in an instant. One second, he was yards away, observing the miniature king on his oversized throne; the next, he was standing directly in front of Samu'el, close enough to see the minute details of his face. The abrupt shift in perspective made his stomach churn uncomfortably, a wave of dizziness washing over him.
"You look hideous," Samu'el quipped, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Sawyer groaned, rolling his eyes. "We literally have the same face, dumbass. Now, what do you want? Are you going to tell me to close the gate too? Let me guess: 'Kill the sun, close the gate, blah blah blah.'" He mimicked a dramatic, heroic voice, laced with sarcasm.
"No," Samu'el said firmly, his tone instantly wiping the sarcasm off Sawyer's face. The shift in his demeanor was startling.
"What?" Sawyer blinked, taken aback. He genuinely hadn't expected that answer.
"A king doesn't beg or bargain. He commands," Samu'el stated, his voice carrying an air of authority that felt far too big for his small frame. It was as if the weight of centuries of rule was condensed into his words. "But this time, I won't command you. Instead, I'll show you what will happen if you don't close the gate. And I'll offer a reward if you do."
Before Sawyer could protest, Samu'el floated down from the throne, descending gracefully until he was eye-level with him. He reached out a small hand, surprisingly strong and warm, and rested it firmly on Sawyer's forehead.
"Wait—" Sawyer started, a sense of foreboding washing over him.
It was too late. The moment Samu'el's hand touched his forehead, both their eyes turned a blinding, pure white, and a flood of images, sensations, and emotions surged into Sawyer's mind, overwhelming his senses.
He saw towering buildings engulfed in flames, their windows glowing orange against the smoke-filled sky, with red-scaled creatures, reptilian and monstrous, tearing through the streets below, ripping people apart with savage brutality. He saw multiple worlds colliding, their chaotic landscapes merging with Earth's familiar terrain, creating a bizarre and terrifying amalgamation as darkness consumed the skies, blotting out the sun and stars. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh and filled with the chilling sounds of screams, destruction, and despair. It was apocalyptic, a scene straight out of a nightmare—only worse because it felt intensely, terrifyingly real. He felt the heat of the flames, the bone-crushing force of the creatures' attacks, the suffocating weight of the encroaching darkness.
Sawyer screamed, a raw, primal sound of terror, pulling away and stumbling backward, his hands flying to his face as if to block the horrific visions. He fell to the ground, scrambling on all fours, desperately trying to put distance between himself and Samu'el, between himself and the terrifying future he had just witnessed. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum, his mind reeling from the horrific visions.
Meanwhile, Samu'el hovered just above the ground, watching him with a calm, detached expression, his face betraying no emotion. It was as if he'd just screened a horror film he'd directed himself—and deemed it not nearly frightening enough.
"What… what the hell was that?" Sawyer gasped, his voice trembling uncontrollably. Tears streamed down his face, a mixture of fear and shock.
Samu'el simply smiled, a small, enigmatic smile that sent shivers down Sawyer's spine. "The future," he said softly, "if you don't act."
"What… what the hell was that?" Sawyer stammered again, his voice still shaking. Sweat drenched his neck and back, and his face glistened with it. His breathing was ragged and shallow as he fought to keep himself from hyperventilating. Slowly, deliberately, he took deep breaths, trying to regain control of his racing heart and his panicked thoughts.
"Aiden…" Sawyer muttered, pushing himself off the ground, his knees wobbling precariously. The image of his friend, caught in the midst of that apocalyptic chaos, flashed through his mind, fueling his fear and desperation.
"Calm down, Sawyer," Samu'el said, his tone unnervingly steady and composed, in stark contrast to Sawyer's frantic state. "It was just a glimpse of the future."
"The future?" Sawyer echoed, his eyes wide with disbelief and terror. "You mean… all of that will happen?"
"Yes," Samu'el said matter-of-factly, his expression unchanging, "if you don't close the gate."
"I can't," Sawyer said, shaking his head vehemently, his voice filled with despair. "It's impossible. I'm just… I'm just a normal guy."
"No, it's not," Samu'el countered firmly, his small stature radiating an unexpected strength. "You can do it, Sawyer. You have the power within you."
"How… how are you so sure?" Sawyer asked, wiping the sweat from his face with a trembling hand. The visions of the apocalypse were still fresh in his mind, the fear a cold knot in his stomach.
"Because you're me, and I'm you," Samu'el replied, his voice calm and steady, now standing directly in front of Sawyer. He reached out, his small hand surprisingly strong, grabbing Sawyer's arm and pulling back his hoodie sleeve, revealing the skin beneath.
Sawyer looked down at the intricate tattoo etched on his forearm, a complex design of interwoven lines and symbols that he had almost forgotten was there. It was a dark, almost black ink, contrasting sharply with his pale skin.
"You must have met Rah," Samu'el said, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Rah? You mean the crazy guy? The one who gave me this… thing?" Sawyer asked, gesturing to the tattoo with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
"Yep. That Rah." Samu'el nodded, his expression enigmatic.
"What does this mean? What does it do?" Sawyer asked, staring at the tattoo, trying to decipher its meaning, to understand why it was suddenly so important.
"I can't tell you that," Samu'el said cryptically, his gaze locking with Sawyer's. "You'll have to figure it out yourself. That's part of the test. But here's a hint: you have to believe in it first. And most importantly, you have to believe in yourself."
Sawyer was silent, his gaze lingering on the tattoo as he tried to make sense of Samu'el's cryptic words. Then, after a few moments, he looked back at Samu'el, his expression a mixture of skepticism and hope.
"You mentioned something about a reward?" Sawyer asked, his voice hesitant.
"I did," Samu'el said, nodding. "If you close the gate and save the world—prevent the dimension monsters and the world collisions—I'll tell you how to bring your mother back."
"My mother?" Sawyer's voice was filled with disbelief, a raw, aching pain resonating within him. "You've got to be joking."
Samu'el didn't reply. He simply stared at him, his expression blank and serious, giving nothing away.
"Wait… you're being serious?" Sawyer said, his voice rising as the weight of Samu'el's words sank in, as the impossible suddenly seemed… possible. "I can bring my mother back?" The thought, once a distant, impossible dream, now flickered with a fragile, hopeful light.
Without waiting for a reply, Sawyer bent down and grabbed Samu'el by the shoulders, shaking him slightly, his desperation overriding his usual caution. "Tell me! How can I bring her back?"
"How?" Sawyer kept repeating, his voice a mix of desperation and frustration, his grip tightening on Samu'el's small shoulders.
"I can't tell you now," Samu'el said firmly, his tone resolute, pulling away from Sawyer's grasp. "Even if I did, you wouldn't understand. You're not strong enough to do it yet. You need to grow, to learn, to become the person you need to be. Kill the sun, close the gate, and then I'll tell you."
Sawyer narrowed his eyes, his suspicion returning. "How do I know you're telling the truth? How do I know this isn't some setup by Joe, some manipulation to get me to do what he wants?"
Samu'el chuckled softly, the sound almost condescending, as he turned and strode back toward his massive throne, the oversized coat swirling around his small frame. "A king never lies," he said with unwavering confidence, his voice echoing through the hall.
The certainty in Samu'el's words, the absolute conviction in his tone, sent a shiver down Sawyer's spine. For reasons he couldn't explain, a part of him, deep down, believed him.
"How much time do I have?" Sawyer asked hesitantly, the weight of the task before him settling heavily on his shoulders.
"Not enough, sadly," Samu'el replied, glancing over his shoulder as he reached the throne. "You have until the next dark sky."
Before Sawyer could ask what that cryptic phrase meant, a loud crack echoed through the golden space, drawing both their attention. One of the towering golden statues splintered, a jagged crack running through its surface.
"You should head back now," Samu'el said, his voice calm despite the growing instability in the space around them. Cracks began spidering through the walls and ceiling of the hall, light spilling in from the fractures, illuminating the surreal scene in a fragmented, distorted way. "Remember, Sawyer," Samu'el added, his voice unwavering, his gaze piercing, "you are stronger than you know."
The space around him shattered like glass, the golden hall dissolving into fragments of light and color, and in an instant, Sawyer jolted awake, gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat.
He sat up in the now-lukewarm bathtub, water sloshing around him as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum, the lingering echoes of the visions and Samu'el's words still ringing in his ears. He climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around himself before staggering into the bedroom, his legs still shaky.
Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, he checked the time—12:30 AM. Several notifications lit up the screen: texts from Aiden, wondering where he was, and a message from his landlady reminding him about the rent. He quickly typed out a reply: Family emergency, will be out for a while.
Sawyer set the phone down, took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts, and collapsed onto the bed. His mind raced with everything he'd seen and heard, the apocalyptic visions, Samu'el's cryptic promises, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. But exhaustion finally won, and he forced himself to push it all aside, knowing that he needed to rest, to prepare.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.