Reis opened his eyes slowly.
Darkness still clung to his lashes, as if he had awakened not from sleep but from a drowning in a bottomless abyss, He felt a strange weight upon his chest, as though his body had not moved for ages, as if even his bones had forgotten the meaning of motion.
He turned his head slightly on the tattered pillow, The wall before him remained as he knew it: faded paint cracked at the corners, stains of dampness shaped like a map of a world he had never seen, Yet something was not right, He did not know why, only that sudden feeling knocking at his depths: that the very room was unfamiliar to him, though it was his own.
He sat up slowly, placing his palms on the edge of the bed, The air was heavier than he remembered, as though his lungs resisted filling themselves with it, He closed his eyes again as he drew deep breaths, then forced himself to rise.
The mirror hanging on the wall beside the door was the first thing his eyes met.
He stopped before it, One glance was almost enough to make him feel dizzy.
There was reflected a youth of about fifteen, slightly taller than his peers, thin to the point that a gust of wind might have swept him away, Strands of black hair fell across his forehead, veiling part of his eyes, trimmed neatly at the edges with a freshness that suggested someone had tended to his appearance only moments before.
He raised his hand slowly, ran his fingers through his hair, yet he could not recall the last time he had cut or arranged it.
Then his gaze fell upon his own eyes in the mirror.
He froze.
His eyes were utterly black, without a glimmer, like voids defying the light, Heavy dark circles encircled them, as though years of sleeplessness and sickness had gathered all at once upon his face, He did not recognize himself, He did not know the one staring back at him.
He whispered in a faint voice:
"What is wrong with me?".
The void gave no answer, His reflection gave no answer, All he found was a strange sensation creeping through his skull, as though his head were stuffed with fog.
He stepped back pressing his temples, The dizziness grew stronger, yet his feet carried him toward the small bathroom door in the corner.
Reis opened the bathroom door with a trembling hand.
The stench of dampness struck his nose first, followed by the dripping of water falling from the faucet into the cold metal sink.
He turned the handle and the water burst forth in broken spurts, wavering between rust and murkiness, then clearing a little, He bent to wash his face, feeling the cold pierce his skin like knives, He lifted his head, droplets sliding from his chin, and in the small mirror above the basin his eyes were still as empty as before.
He found nothing to say to himself, No familiar features, no memory to grant him the certainty that he was himself.
"It is as if I awoke in another body," he thought, turning his gaze away.
He left the bathroom with heavy steps and moved toward the narrow kitchen, a space barely enough for one person, a single wall holding everything: an old stove, a sluggish electric kettle, and a small cupboard fixed above the sink, The metal table stood in the center, on it a few empty cups and a nearly finished jar of coffee.
He pressed the button on the kettle, waited until the place filled with its slow hum, and cast a quick glance through the small kitchen window, The floor he lived on was somewhat high, overlooking another wall of gray concrete, offering no view of the sky save for a narrow faded strip, It did not seem familiar to him, or perhaps it was he who no longer knew what familiarity meant.
As the sound of boiling began he opened the jar and poured the coffee powder into a ceramic cup chipped at the rim, The scent of the beans, simple though it was, gave him a faint sense of steadiness, He sat at the table, took the first sip, then reached for the mobile phone lying beside him.
He pressed the power button and the screen lit up, at the top: the time and date.
09:34
15-07-2230
He stared at the numbers for a long while, His heart pounded as if pierced by a cold blade,
2230.
He whispered, "No, it cannot be, I do not believe we are in that year".
He tried to convince himself that the date was broken, that the battery had run out, that the phone had confused its calculations, yet everything appeared normal, The clock moved steadily as well, It was no programming error.
He took another sip of coffee to steady his trembling hands, He opened the settings, scrolled through the menus searching for any sign of error, nothing, Then he tried to connect to the internet, but the network signal was empty, The phone had no card, no connection, as though it were a device locked within itself.
He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes:
"Have I truly slept for centuries, or has the whole world moved on without me".
Reis returned to his room carrying the cup of coffee, its steam rising in twisted threads, He set it down upon the old wooden desk covered in scratches and the marks of former cups.
He sat before his laptop, The faded black lid showed scattered scratches, but he was used to them, He pressed the power button and the machine gave a soft hum before the screen flickered to life.
As the system icons appeared slowly, that strange sensation returned to him: a heaviness in the head, a faint dizziness, as though something were moving inside, He pressed his fingers to his forehead, then rested his head in his palm whispering:
"I feel very dizzy, should I take headache painkillers?".
At last he opened the browser, staring at it for a moment, Something was not as he remembered.
His breath froze.
He remembered the browser in his memory bearing three colors in its emblem: red, yellow, green, That was how he had always known it, Yet now before him was a different symbol, a beast like a fiery fox coiled around a globe, its eyes glowing with dark embers, The flames formed a halo encircling the planet as though binding it.
He swallowed with difficulty and stared at the screen in disbelief:
"Was it, always like this?".
He pressed the button for a new tab.
The page filled with suggestions and the latest trends, Headlines danced before his eyes like messages from another world.
"Exploring Floor 65, Infinite Equipment and Resources".
"An Awakener from Britain raises his rank to 60 and his value soars".
"Fierce conflict between the Awakener Association and the Awakener Academy, the future of generations at stake".
He kept reading these lines, his brow furrowed:
"What is this, a new game, a novel, an advertisement?".
He stopped at the first headline and clicked,
The report opened filling the screen.
Breaking News – The Global Floors Agency
"Extraordinary success for the Flame Dragon Clan on Floor 65".
The Flame Dragon Clan led by Arthur Lewin announced the complete exploration of the sixty fifth floor and the opening of the gate to the higher floor, an achievement described as the most significant of the last decade.
The operation not only cemented Arthur's
status as one of the strongest Awakeners after reaching level 60, it also revealed resources of immense strategic importance, most notable among them black energy crystals, a secret map of unknown pathways, and rare etheric alloys.
Initial estimates indicated that Arthur's market value had risen to billions of dollars, with expectations of clear dominance for the Flame Dragon Clan both economically and militarily in the coming period.
His fingers trembled upon the keyboard, He read the words again slowly, as though trying to unravel a riddle: floor, gate, level, value, Awakener.
Nothing made sense.
Nothing was familiar.
He closed the tab quickly whispering:
"It is not a game, yet it is not, ordinary news either".
He opened the other report.
"Escalating conflict between the Awakener Association and the Awakener Academy".
The dispute between the Awakener Association and the Awakener Academy intensified after the latter announced its intention to form an independent army of its graduates, a step described as an attempt to monopolize the rising talents.
The Association stressed that graduates had the freedom to choose their path after finishing, accusing the Academy of dragging the new generations into unnecessary conflicts, while the Academy responded that its independence was a necessity to protect the future of humanity in the higher floors.
He leaned back from the screen, clutching his brow with a trembling hand, He lifted the strands of hair from his eyes and stared at the dim reflection in the screen.
"What is happening here, has the world changed since I woke this morning ?".
Reise rose swiftly from his chair, the legs screeching sharply against the floor, He snatched up the cup of coffee as though searching for something to steady his nerves, then moved to the window beside his bed.
He opened it slowly, the hinges creaking, and a wave of cold air rushed toward him.
He froze where he stood.
One breeze, simple, yet it pierced his chest in a way he had never felt before, His chest filled with a strange energy, a vitality he had never known, Every cell in his body awakened as if this air carried something that had never existed before.
He whispered: "What why do I feel this".
He lifted the cup and drank a long sip, The taste of ordinary coffee felt deeper, heavier, as though it were no longer mere coffee, He raised his head, his eyes following the sky above the crowded buildings.
He found no familiar blue.
Thick gray clouds, tinged with black, tangled like armies preparing for battle, There was no clear light of the sun, only a dim glow seeping through the gaps.
"Was the sky always like this, where is its blue?, where is the sun?"
He stood for a long moment, motionless, the wind tossing his black hair, He took another sip then sighed and closed his eyes.
"Everything will become clear" he said slowly, as if convincing himself.
Yet in his depths he knew that what awaited him was not clarity, but a deeper fall into the unknown.