He gasped, panting, his labored breaths heavy. He opened his mouth, greedily forcing air into his lungs, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart.
Struggling to breathe, he let out a forced breath of turbid air. His right arm gradually moved to his chest; his heart hammered against his rib cage. Each beat resonated like a drum inside his chest, sending waves of overwhelming pain through him.
He winced, trying to move but unable to. The fear was palpable, as if someone were squeezing his rapidly beating heart for the second time. His body tensed; panic gripped him as his thoughts raced.
Why can't I move? His heart started to race even faster, each beat pounding in his ears. His trembling body was suffocated by the layers of sweat covering him from his black hair to his toes. He needed to calm down, but the fear wouldn't let him.
Two pale eyelids twitched before finally opening, revealing golden eyes as beautiful as a full moon in the midnight sky. His pupils were as deep as the abyss, filled with a haunting emptiness.
His lips parted, muttering, "It was just a dream," under his cold breath, trying to convince himself that what he had seen... what he had just experienced was just a dream.
He couldn't handle his emotions; fear, sadness, and dread contorted his pale white face, crushing him. This time, Rio had been tortured, his body slowly being pulled apart in the nightmare. The pain was otherworldly, unlike anything he had ever felt.
The eerie dark room, the cracks of the chains that held his wrists and ankles, and the madman that stood in the shadowsâit all came rushing back to him. He could only stand there and let it happen.
The pain was a kind he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, but he didn't have anyone, let alone an enemy. Forcing himself to stop thinking about the nightmare, he sat up straight.
A stream of sweat rolled down from his black hair to his chin, eventually falling onto his blanket. His eyes widened, glistening with sweat, as his body calmed and his mind eased. "Yes, it was just a dream," he whispered under his last hollow breaths.
Rio glanced at his right wrist, where an old antique watch clung precariously. Its leather band was worn and frayed, and the rusty buckle looked ready to give way. He wiped off the sweat.
The hour hand pointed to 9, while the minute hand lingered at 42.
His golden eyes wandered from his watch to his one-bedroom apartment. The small space was a ruined mess, with marks everywhere. The dull white walls were scarred with scratches and stains, and the floor was littered with debris.
The ceiling had leaks, with mold eroding it. There was barely any furniture, just the essentials to get by. In the end, his gaze landed on one of his books called World View. It was his favorite, but he had many.
There was too much mess. He really had to clean up soon, Rio thought.
A frown was evident on his face as he decided it was time to get up. He pushed himself off the drenched bed, feeling the damp sheets cling to his skin. With a weary sigh, he grabbed a clean cloth from a nearby shelf.
He dipped it into a small basin of water, wringing it out before wiping the sweat and grime from his face and body. The coolness of the cloth provided a brief moment of relief as he scrubbed away the remnants of sleep.
But the relief was fleeting, a momentary escape from the harsh reality.
After drying off as best he could, he rummaged through his sparse wardrobe, pulling out a clean t-shirt and a pair of worn jogging bottoms. He dressed quickly, the fabric feeling rough against his skin.
He glanced at his reflection in the cracked mirror, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of exhaustion etched on his face. With one last deep breath, he stepped away, grabbing his key.
He stopped and looked down at the rusty metal key. Three words were engraved on its face: Thomas Johnson. Apartment 3B. It was the name of his apartment building and his unit number. The key felt heavy in his hand.
He opened the door; its high-pitched screeching echoed in the morning light of winter. His mind flashed back to the sound of the haunting chains, then to all of his previous nightmares.
He had only had them for around two weeks, and each time, they were getting more and more real, a sort of dream where he knew he was asleep but couldn't do anything. He quickly dismissed the thought.
But deep down, he feared those dreams were only the beginning.
A hint of sadness appeared on his face as he gazed at his apartment from the outside. The once-sturdy bricks now crumbled, the walls were scarred with scratches and stains, their surfaces marred by the relentless passage of time and neglect.
Crystal-white snow blanketed the roof, filling the gaps where tiles had long since vanished, creating a stark, almost surreal contrast against the decayed structure. The winter breeze carried tiny snowflakes that danced to the ground, casting a gentle, haunting veil over the desolation.
He took in the sight of his home, the sadness that had appeared on his face now replaced by a smile that bore no happiness. This smile was hollow, a mere reflex against the overwhelming shame and regret that gripped him.
He couldn't really call it an apartment; it looked more like a run-down, abandoned building.
Forgetting about his sad excuse for a home, Rio walked away. He was heading to the Enlightenment Centre, a relic from the time when the worlds collided and formed this new reality.
As he walked, the cold breeze brushed against his face, refreshing and grounding him in the present. The path to the Centre was lined with remnants of the old worlds, blending seamlessly into the fabric of this new, unified existence.
Statues from one realm stood alongside trees from another, creating a surreal and fascinating landscape that spoke of a history both tumultuous and miraculous.
He wondered how they had survived and how peace had been maintained. Rio had learned a lot about the history of his world through books, but everyone knewâeven those as poor as he wasâabout the new world they lived in.
Well, it could be called the Nine Worlds, but details, schmetails. It didn't affect him, so he didn't care. The merging of worlds had rewritten the fabric of reality, overwriting the past so thoroughly that Earth was now nothing more than a distant memory in the annals of history.
The Enlightenment Centre stood as a testament to their collective resilience and adaptation. At the ripe age of 16, a person, whether poor or rich, could become enlightened, forever changing their lives.
Even though he knew he wouldn't be one of them, he still held onto a small glint of hope, like a grain of sand. But hope is hope, and that's what he needed.
Rubbing his tired eyes, he noticed he was almost at the Centre. He navigated the vast, bustling city with purposeful strides, weaving in and out of dark alleys and bustling streets.
The shadows of the narrow passageways contrasted sharply with the lively energy of the main thoroughfares. He wandered past a variety of shops, each offering a unique array of sights, sounds, and scents.
He stepped past many types of people: some corrupted, some enlightened, and many races, old people whose eyes told the history of the past. The vibrant market stalls overflowed with colorful produce, the aroma of freshly baked bread mingling with the scent of exotic spices.
Neon signs flickered above storefronts, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the sidewalk below. As he walked, the city around him seemed to breathe and pulse with life, an ever-changing tapestry of urban experiences.
His gaze landed on an old man across the street. The man appeared to be around 60 years old, with grey hair receding backward. He stood behind a rickety metal stand, its surface cluttered with an assortment of worn books and a few dozen leaflets that fluttered gently in the breeze.
The old man's weathered hands moved with practiced ease, arranging the items on the stand as if they were precious relics. His eyes, though tired, carried a spark of life, but overall the books were what caught Rio's attention.
Compelled by curiosity, Rio crossed the bustling street and approached the stand. He met the old man's gaze and asked, "How much?"
The old geezer replied with a smile, his grey eyes glistening. "I like the color of your eyes, boy. I'll give you a deal: 20 for the leaflets, 50 for a book, and 1 Enligh for a set of 3 books and 4 leaflets." Rio almost laughed, but he wasn't in the mood for humor.
Rio mumbled under his breath, "Overpriced." The old man's gaze hardened slightly, but Rio wasn't concerned.
The old man's eyes widened. "I'm giving you a premium deal, boy. If you can't afford it, scram." Rio blinked, considering a retort, but instead, he just turned away.
Rio was taken aback, a mix of shock and annoyance stirring within him. He considered arguing but didn't feel like it today. With a resigned sigh, he continued on his way to the Enlightenment Centre.
On the left, there were countless shops spreading life throughout the city, and on the right, he could see a dark blue sign rusted and marked with the single word "Library." He liked reading; therefore, he went to the library. Another reason was that it was free.
He was dirt poor, and if it weren't for the remaining government, he'd be homeless. That's why he had hope.