Elias Varga wasn't a man prone to sentimentality. At twenty-seven, he had settled into a life that was neither exceptional nor disappointing. A stable nine-to-five job that paid the bills, a decent apartment, and a small but solid group of friends.
And tonight, he had a plan—a long-overdue reunion with his middle school friends.
He didn't expect to end the night completely wasted.
"ELIAS, DARLING!"
"NIKOLAS, MY LOVE!"
"BWAHAHA! Look at these two idiots!" Arin cackled, doubling over in laughter. She was just as wasted as they were.
Arin is Nikolas' fiancée, and despite not having gone to school with them, she fit right in. She is fun, effortlessly charming, and, Elias had to admit, ridiculously pretty. Nikolas had hit the jackpot with her.
A few drinks later, Arin was recording both Elias and Nikolas as they danced in the middle of the club, hyped up by the cheers of the crowd. The music pulsed, the alcohol burned, and for a fleeting moment, Elias felt like a teenager again—reckless, free, and unburdened.
Then the night dragged on. The drinks stopped coming. The laughter faded into the background.
Eventually, Elias found himself stumbling down an empty street, far too sober and far too drunk at the same time.
The night air did little to clear his mind, only making his head spin worse. He barely registered where he was going, feet dragging him forward on instinct. When he finally stopped, he was in a park, collapsing onto a worn-out bench with a heavy sigh.
The park.
It was quiet here—no noise, no expectations. Just him, the stars, and the dull ache of something long buried.
His fingers traced circles on the wood as he exhaled slowly.
I used to have ideas. Stories. A whole damn world in my head.
He had created a series once, back when he still believed in dreams. A story about a young hunter—passionate, naive—who fought every day to protect his village from monsters. No matter how hard he struggled, no one ever thanked him. No one ever appreciated him.
But still, he fought.
Elias had loved that story. He had poured everything into it. The lore, the characters, the world itself.
And then… life happened.
Like most childhood dreams, his story had been buried under the weight of reality.
That was when a screen appeared.
Not on a phone. Not a billboard.
A floating screen.
It glowed faintly in the dark, its letters crisp and impossibly clear.
> [ Do you wish to continue your series? ]
Elias stared at it.
Then he laughed. A full, gut-wrenching laugh, the kind that came when exhaustion mixed with alcohol and reality started to feel like a joke.
"Oh, man. This is some grade-A hallucination," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Still, he squinted at the text, his mind sluggish yet unable to ignore the tiny spark of something familiar. What if?
It was stupid. Impossible.
But he played along anyway.
"Sure," he slurred, lifting his beer bottle in a mock toast. "Let's do this."
The second the words left his mouth, the world shifted.
The stars twisted. The ground vanished.
His body felt weightless, then heavy, as if something was dragging him through reality itself. A static charge ran through his veins, every nerve lighting up at once.
Then—darkness.
And then—pain.