Adair had never felt like he belonged. Even as a child, he seemed to walk through the world as if he was on the outside of a glass window, watching everyone else live their lives. At school, other kids avoided him. They said there was something strange about his eyes, something that made them feel uneasy. Teachers tried to help him fit in, but even they could sense the way the air seemed to shiver when he was near.
No one could explain it, and neither could Adair. His parents told him he was just sensitive. They said the world was a harsh place and some people were born with soft hearts that others did not understand. But Adair knew deep down it was more than that. Sometimes lights would flicker around him. Sometimes he would hear a strange static in the back of his mind, like a thousand distant voices whispering all at once.
As he grew older, things only got worse. His classmates found reasons to push him away. Friends who had once tried to play with him suddenly refused to sit by him or talk to him. Even animals seemed to notice the difference. Dogs barked at him for no reason, and cats hissed when he came too close. He learned to keep his head down, to walk quietly, to pretend he was invisible.
Adair spent most of his time alone, drawing in an old sketchbook or reading stories about other worlds. Fantasy books were his favorite. In them, he could disappear. He could imagine being a hero, someone strong and admired, instead of the weird kid who never seemed to belong. In those stories, he was not broken or unwanted. He was powerful, someone with a destiny.
His parents worried about him. They took him to doctors and therapists, but no one could find anything truly wrong. His body was healthy. His mind seemed fine on the tests. Still, the world treated him like he was some sort of mistake.
At night, he sometimes wondered if he really was a mistake. Maybe he was never supposed to be born. Maybe there was a reason no one could stand to be near him. That thought hurt, but it felt true.
It all came to a breaking point when he was seventeen. Adair had been feeling worse than usual. He could not sleep. Strange dreams haunted him every night, dreams of impossible cities and monsters with too many eyes. Each day he felt like something inside him was breaking apart, piece by piece. He tried to tell his parents, but they were busy with work and bills and stress. They loved him, but they did not know how to help.
One evening, he was alone in his room, sketching another impossible creature in the margins of his notebook. A deep pain stabbed through his chest, sharp and bright like a bolt of lightning. His heart skipped, then slammed hard against his ribs. Adair tried to stand but his legs failed him.
He fell to the floor, clutching his chest. His vision went white.
For a second, he thought he was dying. Maybe it would be easier that way. Then a voice spoke, deep and cold, from somewhere inside his skull.
Error detected. Host incompatible with native plane. Extraction required.
The pain grew worse. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His body felt like it was being pulled apart, every atom of him ripping loose from the next. He could not breathe. His mind burned with images he did not understand.
Strange symbols flashed before his eyes, strange letters that made no sense. The world seemed to fold around him, breaking and warping. He felt like he was falling, but there was no floor below. He was weightless, lost in a sea of colors he had no name for.
Somewhere far away, he heard his parents calling his name. He wanted to answer them, but he could not find the words.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, everything stopped.
Silence.
Adair opened his eyes. Cold wind hit his face, sharp and biting. He gasped, pulling air into his lungs that tasted of earth and pine and something almost metallic. He was lying on rough ground, dirt and dead leaves pressing into his cheek. The world around him was wrong. It was not his bedroom. It was not a hospital.
It was a forest.
Tall, dark trees towered above him, their branches twisted into strange shapes. The sky was a dull purple, heavy with rolling clouds. A pale moon hung low, too large and too bright to be any moon he knew.
Slowly, painfully, Adair sat up. His chest still ached, but the pain was fading. His head spun as he looked around. The forest was alive with sounds he could not place, distant cries and howls that sent chills through his bones.
He touched his own face to make sure he was real. His hands were cold, colder than they should have been. When he looked at his fingertips, he saw a faint shimmer, almost like a faint static spark dancing across his skin.
Nothing made sense.
He struggled to stand, his legs shaky. When he tried to move, he stumbled, catching himself on the gnarled trunk of a nearby tree. A strange smell hit him then, rich and heavy and almost sweet. It made his stomach twist in a way that was both hunger and fear.
Something was wrong with him. Deeply wrong.
He looked down and saw strange marks on his arms, dark veins pulsing beneath his pale skin. They were not there before. He felt stronger and weaker at the same time, like his body had been hollowed out and rebuilt in a hurry.
The wind shifted. In the distance, he heard the faint clash of weapons and the roar of monsters. A war was happening, close enough that the earth seemed to tremble with every distant explosion of sound.
Panic bubbled in his chest. He did not know where he was or how to survive in a place like this. But a part of him, buried deep, felt a terrible sense of belonging. Like this place had been waiting for him all along.
As he stood there, alone in the alien forest, the static in his mind whispered again.
System initialization complete. Welcome, Adair. Mutation affinity detected. New parameters applied.
He felt a chill crawl up his spine.
This was real. He was really here.
And whatever this place was, he was a part of it now.