Chapter 5: Traces in the Warehouse and Symbols at Dawn
Joey's newfound determination flickered like a fragile flame, constantly threatened by the winds of his anxiety. The next day, a Sunday, the house was calmer. His father, after the incident in the warehouse, seemed to have contented himself with muttering about the need to "take better care of things" and patch the hole in the wall "before the house gets invaded by all sorts of critters."
When he had a moment alone, Joey mustered his courage and returned to the warehouse. The morning sun streamed through the cracks, illuminating the floating dust.
He examined the spot where the small figure had been. On the floor, among the tools he himself had awkwardly tried to put away, he found something the creature had left behind: a small, matte metal gear, unlike anything he had ever seen, with tiny, intricate teeth. Beside it, a fragment of what looked like hardened leather, with a strange symbol engraved on it, almost like a stylized lightning bolt.
He picked up the objects carefully, his heart pounding. They were proof. Tangible facts. Proof that he wasn't imagining things, a counter to his own tendency to doubt his perceptions. The creature was real and had been there.
He remembered what Léo had said about strange symbols near the library. "Symbols that looked... shiny." Could there be a connection? His mind, which often had difficulty making others follow its reasoning, saw a potential pattern.
The thought of going out and investigating those symbols was terrifying, a direct challenge to his social phobia and his need for security. But the need to understand, to collect more information and perhaps find the meaning he often searched for in life, was stronger.
He waited until late at night, when the house was plunged into silence and the city outside seemed less threatening under the cloak of darkness. With his hood pulled low over his head—a small comfort, a shield—and the small gear and leather fragment in his pocket, Joey slipped out, preferring that people didn't know what he was doing.
The streets were deserted. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every noise made him jump. And being alone in the dark amplified this. But he pressed on, driven by a strength he barely recognized in himself, a step in trying to overcome his problems.
He reached the area of the central library. The police were no longer there. The place was dark and silent. Léo had mentioned a wall.
Joey began to search, his phone in hand, using the flashlight hesitantly. Finally, in a damp alley behind an abandoned building adjacent to the library, he saw them.
They were exactly as Léo had described: complex symbols, some circular, others angular, painted with an ink that seemed to have a faint phosphorescent glow, even in the dim light. They were different from the symbol on the leather fragment, but there was a similarity in their complexity, in the "otherworldly" feeling they exuded, reminiscent of the fantasy worlds he sometimes escaped into.
As he examined the symbols, trying to discern any pattern or meaning, he heard a noise. Someone was nearby. His panic returned with full force, that familiar anxiety when decisions had to be made quickly. He shrank into the shadows, barely breathing, his instinct to avoid confrontation kicking in.
From there, he saw a figure emerge from the darkness further down the alley. It was Lyra, the elf. Her silver hair seemed almost luminous, even in the gloom. She was thinner, her clothes a bit dirty, and she looked around with the caution of a cornered animal, an outsider looking in, a feeling Joey knew intimately.
She approached the wall, her fingers tracing the outlines of the glowing symbols with an expression of deep concentration, almost reverence. She seemed to be trying to decipher them, or perhaps recognize them.
Joey watched, fascinated and terrified. He believed it was important to understand others' feelings, and Lyra's were palpable. He wanted to say something, to ask, but the words wouldn't come; he often hesitated if not comfortable with what he wanted to say.
Lyra suddenly seemed to sense his presence. She turned abruptly, her eyes wide and alert. For an instant, their gazes met again, just as it had happened with the hooded man.
But this time, before Joey could even think of fleeing, Lyra raised a hand, palm up, in a gesture that seemed universally to mean "don't approach" or "I come in peace."
She then pointed to the symbols on the wall, then to herself, and then made a broad gesture towards the night sky, as if asking, "where did these come from?" or "do you understand this?"
Joey was paralyzed. A real elf was trying to communicate with him. He was more comfortable expressing ideas than emotions, but right now, neither seemed possible.
Lyra's gesture – the outstretched hand, then pointing to the symbols, to herself, and to the sky – cut through Joey's fog of panic. It was a plea for help, a question, an expression of helplessness so palpable that, for a moment, it silenced the constant noise of his anxiety.
He was the only person there. To flee would mean leaving her alone with her confusion, and his innate empathy and desire to help the oppressed, though often buried deep, made him surprisingly unable to do so.
Slowly, very slowly, Joey raised a trembling hand and gave a hesitant nod. Words were trapped, a barricade of fear in his throat, a common occurrence when he wasn't comfortable. He often hesitated while trying to organize his thoughts, and this situation was overwhelming.
Lyra seemed to understand the gesture as confirmation that he wasn't an immediate threat. Her shoulders, previously tense, relaxed minimally. She pointed again to the symbols on the wall, then to the leather fragment Joey was holding – he hadn't even realized he'd taken it out of his pocket.
Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing the small object. She pointed to it, then to herself, and shook her head negatively, as if to say, "it's not mine, but it's similar" or "I know this kind of thing."
Joey looked at the fragment in his hand, then at the symbols on the wall, then back at Lyra. He was trying to process the information, to find a logical connection. He had no way of knowing, but the symbol on the leather was a clan rune from a distant world, while the symbols on the wall were interdimensional portal markers, left by previous travelers or by those who, perhaps, were trying to find the newcomers.
Lyra then made a gesture as if she were eating, then shrugged, a look of subtle desperation crossing her face. Hunger. It was a universal language.
Joey's heart ached. He felt a strong need to understand the feelings of others, and her distress was clear. He thought of the cereal bar he always carried in his jacket pocket for anxiety emergencies. With a still-trembling hand—a testament to the internal battle against his social phobia—he took it out and, hesitantly, extended it towards her. For Joey, giving often felt more comfortable than receiving.
Lyra's eyes fixed on the colorful wrapper. She approached cautiously, one step at a time, like a deer approaching an outstretched hand. She took the cereal bar, examined it for a moment, and then, delicately, opened it and took a small bite. Her eyes widened a little, perhaps at the artificially sweet taste, so different from anything she had ever tasted.
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Lyra's lips. She looked at Joey and gave a slight nod, a gesture he interpreted as thanks.
In that moment, the silence between them wasn't oppressive, but rather filled with a tacit understanding. They were two beings from vastly different worlds, united by the strangeness of the situation and by a simple act of kindness. For Joey, who often felt like an outsider looking in, this was a profound moment of connection.
The distant sound of a siren broke the spell. Lyra stiffened instantly, fear returning to her eyes, a reminder of the lack of security in her current situation. She looked at Joey, then into the darkness of the alley from which she had come, and with the same agility as before, disappeared into the shadows, leaving Joey alone again, but profoundly changed.
He stood there for a long time, the image of Lyra's face, her silent gratitude, etched in his mind. He had communicated, albeit rudimentarily, with a being from another universe. And it hadn't been the disaster his social phobia had always promised him it would be. It had been... significant. It was a small victory against his own critical self-assessment.
As Joey walked home, the sun beginning to rise on the horizon.
A sharp, angry cry cut through the morning silence. "Stay away from me!"
Joey's social phobia screamed at him to keep walking, to not look, to not get involved. It was what he always did. But there was a note of genuine desperation in the voice, and his hatred of injustice, a core value he held dear, warred with his fear. He hesitated, then, with a hammering heart, turned towards a narrow alley from where the sound had come.
Leaning against a graffiti-stained brick wall was a young woman of striking beauty and an aura of defiant calm, despite the situation. It was Mai Sakurajima. Four men, clearly local gangsters, surrounded her, whistling and making vulgar comments. Her posture was rigid, her face a mask of cold disdain, the stoic façade of a celebrity she wore like a shield. "I said back off," she said, her voice low and steady, but with a tremor of restrained anger.
Joey couldn't ignore it. His body moved before his mind could protest. "Hey," he called out, his voice weaker than he intended. "Leave her alone."
The men turned, malicious grins on their faces. "Look what we have here. A knight in shining armor," one of them mocked, noting Joey's timid appearance.
What followed was swift and brutal. Joey hated fighting, but years of dealing with bullies in his childhood and adolescence had forced him to learn how to defend himself. His movements weren't flashy, but efficient and painful. A block, a blow to the upper stomach of one, a leg sweep that took down another. He moved with a reluctance that contradicted his effectiveness, each strike delivered with surgical precision. In less than a minute, the four men were groaning on the ground, surprised by the quiet young man's unexpected strength.
Joey stood there, panting, not so much from the effort, but from the adrenaline dump and the mental cost of the confrontation. He turned to Mai, carefully avoiding eye contact. "Are... are you okay?" he mumbled to the ground.
Mai observed him for a moment, her expression now one of analytical curiosity. This young man, who seemed terrified to simply speak to her, had just taken down four men without hesitation. The dichotomy was intriguing. She smoothed down her skirt, her mature and polite celebrity façade fully in place. "I am unharmed. Thank you," she said, her voice calm and formal, creating a polite distance.
"It was nothing," Joey muttered, already backing away, desperate to escape the social interaction. He turned to leave, a habitual defense mechanism.
"Wait," Mai called out. Joey stopped, but didn't turn around. "What's your name?"
He hesitated. The thought of forming any kind of connection, even one so tenuous, terrified him. "...Joey," he finally said, before hurrying out of the alley, leaving Mai alone with the defeated gangsters on the ground.
Léo, who had decided to go for a very early morning run, passed by a spot where council crews were cordoning off a damaged manhole. One of the workers commented to another about having found "a bunch of weird electronic junk" inside and "strange marks on the tunnel walls, like someone had tried to light a fire in there."
Léo stopped, his curiosity piqued. He didn't know it, but the "someone" was Zylar, the space engineer, who, after briefly escaping his captors, had unsuccessfully tried to reactivate an emergency communicator before being recaptured.
Joey reached his room feeling an exhaustion unlike anything he had ever experienced—a result of the intense emotional and mental effort—but also a disquieting clarity.
The gear and the leather fragment in his hand felt heavier now, laden with new meaning. He had a secret, a dangerous and wonderful secret, and he didn't know what to do with it, but he knew he could no longer ignore it.
_________________________________________________________________
I'll be redoing the story. Many things will remain, some will change. I hope to count on your feedback to know if you're enjoying the story or want me to change anything. This is my first time creating a story, so I made several mistakes the first time around. I read one of the comments on the chapters and decided to redo the story to make it more pleasant for you all.
If you like the story, I'd appreciate it if you could check out my Patreon. I'll be posting 40 chapters in advance there. I believe this week I'll be able to create the chapters for paying members. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to today as I'm redoing the chapters and deciding what direction to take the story. If you could comment on the chapters with your thoughts, I would love it. Thank you to everyone who added my story to their collection.
patreon.com/JoeyLean