Periun, Kettlia
Ashtarium Nation
North American continent
November 22nd 2019
"Mum! Mum! Mum!"
His voice tore through the smoke-choked air as he sprinted across the rubble-strewn corridor. The world was ablaze—walls crumbling, alarms wailing, and bodies lying motionless in the chaos. Screams echoed through the halls, indistinguishable from the roar of flames devouring everything around them. He turned a corner and froze—through a shattered window, he saw it: a building across the street collapsing in on itself, like a wounded beast brought to its knees. Fire bloomed along the skyline, turning the dusk into a false dawn of orange and crimson.
He ran faster, lungs burning, heart pounding with fear and desperation. Somewhere in that inferno, his mother was waiting. Somewhere, she needed him. And then the ceiling groaned—an awful, bone-deep sound—and crashed down upon him.
Jack woke with a gasp. His sheets were damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. The faint gray light of morning crept in through the blinds, doing little to chase away the shadows of the nightmare.
Same dream. Same memory. He rubbed his eyes, frustration and weariness etched into his movements. For nine years, the dream had haunted him. The details shifted, but the emotions remained—the panic, the helplessness, the loss. His subconscious was trying to tell him something. He just didn't know what.
With a sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, letting the quiet of the room settle around him. Outside, the city was already stirring—car engines growling to life, someone arguing with a neighbor below, a siren far off in the distance. Bedlam Avenue, always waking before the sun.
Jack took a breath and stood. Today was different. The school had planned a trip to Downtown Periun, to the Central Museum. It wasn't the kind of thing Jack usually looked forward to, but today… something felt off. Different. The air carried a strange tension, like the world was holding its breath. He didn't know it yet, but by the end of the day, his life—and everything he thought he understood—would begin to unravel.
-
The morning passed in a blur of tired footsteps and half-hearted chatter as Jack made his way to the school gates. The sun had risen fully now, casting long, golden shafts of light over the campus courtyard, where a line of school buses waited like iron beasts ready to ferry the students toward their "educational experience." Teachers stood nearby with clipboards, already calling roll, corralling students like herding cats.
Jack spotted his friends clustered near the second bus—Mark slouched against the side, earbuds in; Eli trying to balance a bag of chips on his head for Sarah to knock off.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Sarah called when she saw Jack approach, her arms crossed with amused disapproval. "Rough night?"
"You could say that," Jack muttered, yawning as he adjusted his backpack. "Nightmare again."
Eli gave him a sympathetic glance. "Man, you've been having that same dream for years. Ever think of, I don't know, therapy?"
"I'm broke," Jack deadpanned. "Besides, the dream's stubborn. Doesn't want to be fixed."
"Like you," Mark chimed in with a crooked grin.
Jack rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. The banter helped. It grounded him—reminded him that not everything in his world was chaos and ash.
A whistle blew sharply. One of the teachers—Mr. Caldwell, forever armed with his booming voice and clipboard—began calling names.
"Line up by groups! You know the drill—bus number's on the list, and I don't want to see anyone swapping seats!"
As students started to shuffle into loosely-formed lines, Jack's attention drifted—only to land on Carrie Mosier stepping onto the pavement with her usual confident stride. She was talking to one of the other cheerleaders, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, her expression lit with something halfway between amusement and mischief.
Jack felt his heart do its usual somersault.
She caught his eye.
"Morning, Jack," she said, her voice light but not unkind.
"Hey, Carrie," he replied, trying to sound casual and not like he'd just forgotten how to breathe.
She paused, gesturing at the row of buses. "Looks like we're both on Bus Two."
Jack blinked. "Oh.Yeah, cool."
Smooth. Real smooth.
Carrie gave a soft laugh and moved ahead, her perfume lingering faintly in the air as she stepped onto the bus. Jack watched her go, the nervous buzz in his chest refusing to fade.
Sarah elbowed him.
"You gonna stand there all day or confess your undying love already?"
Jack muttered something unintelligible and climbed onto the bus with the rest. Inside, the seats were quickly filling. Jack spotted Carrie taking a window seat halfway down the aisle, already chatting with a few friends. He hesitated, then slid into a seat near the back beside Eli, telling himself it was better not to overthink it.
The engine rumbled to life. With a hiss of brakes and the groan of tired wheels, Bus Two pulled out from the school and joined the convoy heading toward Downtown Periun.
Outside the windows, the city skyline loomed in the distance—modern towers rising like spires above old stone and steel. The Central Museum waited beyond them, promising history, art, and for Jack… something else.
The museum loomed ahead—a grand, neoclassical edifice of white marble and glimmering glass, its doors flanked by stone lions whose eyes seemed to watch each new generation pass. Inside, cool air brushed over the group as they shuffled into the soaring atrium, sunlight pooling in colored shapes beneath the great stained-glass dome overhead.
"Group Six!" barked Ms. Larrimore, the history teacher, her voice echoing through the hall. "Jack Ryan, Carrie Mosier, Devon Lee, Maya Tompkins, and Elena Stoyan—please stay together. Your guide will meet you by the statue of Lady Aurelia."
Jack found himself standing beside Carrie, his friends having been split among different groups for the sake of "socialization." Carrie shot him a small, friendly smile, not quite conspiratorial, but enough to send a spark through Jack's nerves.
Their group gathered by a bronze statue of a regal woman holding an olive branch and a sword—Lady Aurelia, one of the fabled founders of modern Ashtarium. Their museum guide, a thin, bespectacled man in a navy vest, introduced himself as Mr. Roland and motioned them forward.
"We'll begin in the Hall of Founders," he said. "This museum preserves the legacy of how our great continent was shaped—not only by myth and legend, but by the courage and tragedy of real lives."
They moved as a cluster through hushed corridors, the sounds of other groups receding as velvet ropes guided them toward a display of weathered maps and gilded journals under glass.
Mr. Roland gestured to an ancient map etched on animal hide, its borders both familiar and strange. "As many of you know, the land we now call Ashtarium was not always so united. In the early age of exploration, the great seafarer Columbus perished in the tempest off Old Barcelona, and the fate of the New World changed course."
Carrie leaned in, her shoulder brushing Jack's as she peered at the map. "I always forget how different our history is from the rest of the world," she whispered.
Mr. Roland continued, "After Columbus's death, it was the enigmatic Ashtarmel family who rallied explorers, outcasts, and visionaries. They forged a path across the Atlantic and founded the first city-states on these shores. Through a combination of shrewd alliances and what some say was a touch of the arcane, the Ashtarmel family united the scattered colonies into the nation of Ashtarium. The country's name itself is a tribute—Ashtarium, for the House of Ashtarmel, whose bloodline still lingers in our lore and, some say, our veins."
Jack studied a portrait nearby: a stern man in silvered armor, with the unmistakable Ashtarmel sigil—an onyx serpent encircling a seven-pointed star—on his breastplate. Below, a placard read: Lord Darius Ashtarmel, First Chancellor of Ashtarium.
"Didn't the Ashtarmels have some kind of power?" Maya asked, her eyes flicking between Jack and the portrait.
Mr. Roland smiled enigmatically. "Legends speak of the Ashtarmels possessing a unique gift—some say a blood-bound connection to the arcane arts, others claim it was only political cunning. What matters most is their vision. They built a nation not just from earth and stone, but from hope, ambition, and the promise of new beginnings. Their legacy is what makes Ashtarium more than a name on a map."
Carrie lingered a moment longer, her gaze fixed on the portrait. "It's weird, isn't it?" she murmured to Jack. "How one family can change the fate of a whole continent."
Jack nodded, caught between the past and present, the weight of legacy and the flicker of his small place in history...or the lack of it. As they moved to the next exhibit—a collection of artifacts rumored to have belonged to the earliest Ashtarium settlers—Jack found himself wondering how much of the museum's history was truth… and how much was just myth and fabrication. The idea of Mystical powers did sound amazing.
The tour wound down as groups filtered into the museum's cafeteria—a high-ceilinged, echoing hall of glass and steel. Sunlight streamed in through a skylight, glinting off rows of polished tables. Students crowded around vending machines, teachers corralled stragglers, and the hum of conversation rose beneath the clatter of lunch trays.
Jack spotted Carrie by the windows, sunlight catching in her hair as she sat alone, her tray untouched in front of her. None of her friends or group mates were nearby—just the hum of other students, distant and indifferent. Jack's heart thudded in his chest as he drew a slow breath, gathering his courage.
He crossed the cafeteria floor, willing his nerves to quiet, and eased himself into the seat across from her. Carrie looked up, and for a moment, her smile was gentle, warm, as if she'd been waiting for him all along.
Jack opened his mouth, words poised on the tip of his tongue, ready to finally say something real—
But before he could speak, a shadow fell across their table.
Joe West's voice cut through the din like a knife. "Well, if it isn't the lovebirds."
Jack tensed as Joe and his gang—three thick-shouldered boys with wolfish grins—swaggered over. Carrie's smile faded, replaced by wary caution. Joe leaned on the table, looming over Carrie with that predatory smirk.
"Why don't you come sit with us, Carrie?" Joe said, voice low but loud enough to draw glances from other tables. "No reason to waste time with losers."
Carrie bristled, but before she could reply, Jack stood, adrenaline prickling at his skin. "Leave her alone, Joe."
Joe's eyes narrowed, glinting with mock amusement. "Or what? You gonna run again, Jackie-boy?"
Jack tried to hold his ground, but Joe's gang was already closing in—a wall of muscle and malice, their sneers hungry for trouble. Before Jack could react, a heavy shove slammed into his shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways. He hit the floor hard, the cold tile biting into his palms as laughter erupted around him.
Joe towered over him, lips curled in a vicious sneer. Without hesitation, he swung a kick toward Jack's ribs. Jack's instincts took over. He twisted away, the toe of Joe's shoe grazing his side but not connecting. While Joe's balance teetered, his leg still raised, Jack lashed out and swept Joe's other foot out from under him.
Joe crashed down hard, the thud echoing through the cafeteria. For a split second, stunned silence. Then Joe snarled, rage in his eyes. "You're dead, Ryan," he spat, venom dripping from every syllable.
The spell broke—chairs screeched, students shouted. The chase erupted into chaos: Jack sprang to his feet, adrenaline flooding his veins, and bolted for the exit. Behind him, Joe and his gang surged forward, sneakers pounding, shouts and curses ricocheting off the walls. The laughter was gone now, replaced by the primal thrill of pursuit.
Jack darted down the corridor, heart hammering in his chest, the echoes of the cafeteria fading as he ran into the labyrinthine depths of the museum, knowing this time, running might not be enough.
He twisted through hallways, searching for any escape. Ahead, a heavy door marked RESTRICTED: STAFF ONLY stood ajar. Desperation drowned out hesitation. Jack slipped inside.
The air was colder here, still untouched by the life of the museum. Shadows stretched across rows of forgotten shelves and display cases, each crowded with artifacts and relics that looked as though they hadn't seen daylight in decades. Dust motes swirled in the thin shafts of light that filtered through a barred window.
Behind him, footsteps grew louder. "He went in here!" Joe barked. Jack hurried deeper into the room, weaving between crates and ancient banners, seeking refuge behind a towering shelf.
His hand brushed against something cold—a shelf lined with oddities. On the lowest tier sat a small, unassuming cube, about the size of a fist. It looked out of place amid the rusted swords and faded scrolls: smooth, metallic, inscribed with shifting, geometric patterns that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Joe's voice rang out, close now. "Come on out, coward!"
Driven by instinct, Jack crouched his body lower, trying to make sure he was hidden when his finger brushed against the cube. The moment his fingers made contact, a shock ran up his arm—a jolt of heat, light, and something deeper, more ancient. The world seemed to tilt. For a heartbeat, he felt suspended outside time and space, weightless and unmoored.
The cube's symbols blazed with sudden, inner fire, and an impossible vibration thrummed through his bones. Images and sensations cascaded through his mind—stars, storms, whispers in a language he almost understood.
Jack gasped, collapsing to his knees as the energy surged through him, spiraling inward, down into the very core of his being. There, in that secret place, something awoke. A presence—old, hungry, luminous. Something untouched and dormant for all his life, shuddered and flared to life, fed by the energy flowing into him.
Outside the shelf, Joe and his gang were shouting, their voices muffled and distant, drowned by the roaring in Jack's mind. He opened his eyes. Everything had changed.