The sky was a bruised purple, and the air smelled of ash. Alex stood alone in a wasteland that stretched forever.
"Where am I?" he whispered. The silence was his only answer.
The world felt heavy with danger. He turned in a circle, finding nothing but gray dust until his eyes landed on a leather-bound book lying in the dirt. Curiosity overcame his fear. He knelt, picking it up.
"A book? Out here?"
As the cover creaked open, the ground trembled. From the shadows, a monstrous creature lunged. It was a mass of scales and teeth, knocking Alex to the ground before he could even scream.
"No! Help!" he yelled as the monster's jaws snapped toward his face.
"Help!"
Alex bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. His room was bathed in soft morning light. He took a shaky breath, realizing his sheets were soaked with sweat.
"Just a dream," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Just a bad dream."
He went through the motions of his morning—brushing his teeth, cooking a simple breakfast, and standing under the spray of a warm shower. The steam helped wash away the lingering terror of the purple sky. After dressing in his uniform, he headed for school.
At the gates, his best friend waved him down. "Hey, Alex! What's up?"
"I'm okay," Alex lied, his heart still racing. "Just had a crazy dream last night."
"A dream? Tell me about it in class."
But as they sat at their desks, the teacher walked in before Alex could explain. The day dragged on. To Alex, the lessons felt like a blur of boring lectures. He couldn't stop thinking about the book and the monster.
The school day was an endless cycle of chalkboard dust and monotone lectures. Alex sat at his desk, staring out the window, his mind drifting back to the purple sky. Even the chatter of his best friend couldn't distract him. When the final bell rang, it felt like a starting pistol.
"Oh no! I'm late!" Alex scrambled to grab his bag. He had a job at the local corner shop, and the owner was strict about punctuality. He ran through the city streets, dodging pedestrians, his lungs burning until he burst through the shop door, the bell jingling wildly.
"You're late," the Shopkeeper said, looking up from the register. Alex's heart plummeted. He was an orphan, struggling to make ends meet; this job was his lifeline. "I'm so sorry, sir! I'm a student, I have to study, please don't take my pay!"
The Shopkeeper's stern face softened into a smile. He walked over and patted Alex on the shoulder. "Relax, Alex. I was going to say you're right on time for the floor cleaning. Here." He handed Alex his weekly pay. "You're a good kid, like a son to me. Go on, get to work."
Relief washed over Alex, making him feel lightheaded. He grabbed the mop and bucket, working with a frantic energy to prove his worth. But in his rush to finish, he stepped on a wet patch. His feet flew out from under him, and as he reached out to break his fall, his hand caught the edge of a heavy metal shelf.
A sickening pop echoed in the quiet shop.
Alex let out a strangled cry, clutching his hand. His ring finger was twisted sideways, turning a dark, angry purple. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt—a throbbing, white-hot scream that traveled all the way up his arm.
"Alex? What happened?" the Shopkeeper called. Alex bit his lip so hard it bled, forcing back the tears. "Nothing! I'm fine!" He finished the cleaning with one hand, his face pale and slick with cold sweat. Every movement of the mop sent a fresh jolt of agony through his body, but he refused to quit. He was Alex; he was used to surviving.
That night, the pain was so loud he couldn't think. He fell into a feverish sleep, and the walls of his apartment melted away once more.
He stood in the purple world, but something was different. He looked at his hand. The finger was straight. The bruise was gone. "What… how is this possible?"
"It's possible because you are here, Alex," a voice rumbled. Alex turned. Standing there was a man who looked like a king from a forgotten myth. He was tall, clad in dark armor, his face etched with the scars of a thousand battles. Before Alex could speak, the man stepped forward and pulled him into a crushing, fatherly hug.
For the first time in years, Alex felt safe. The man smelled of ozone and ancient earth. But the peace was short-lived. A roar split the sky, and a monster the size of a house emerged from the fog. "Stay behind me," the man growled. With a single, glowing punch, he sent a shockwave through the air that shattered the monster's armor.
"Forgive us, Lord!" the creature shrieked, cowering in the dirt. "We did not know the Prince had returned!"
Prince? Lord? Alex's head spun. But a second shadow, faster and darker, lunged from the mist, wrapping its tendrils around the man. "Alex! I love you! You must find the Gate!" the man shouted as he was dragged into the darkness.
"DAD!" Alex screamed, his voice tearing his throat.
He woke up in his bed, the word still echoing in the small room. He scrambled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. "It's just a dream, it has to be." But when he looked down, his finger was still broken—crooked, swollen, and pulsing with a pain that felt like a bridge to another world.
Saturday arrived with a heavy gray sky. Alex walked to the shop, his hand bandaged and stiff. While the Shopkeeper was out, Alex began organizing the back office. Tucked behind a stack of ledgers, he found an old, yellowed photograph.
In the picture, the Shopkeeper was much younger, standing next to the man from Alex's dream. "It's him," Alex whispered, his heart racing. "This wasn't a dream. It was a memory."
Suddenly, the air in the office began to hum. A swirling vortex of golden light tore open in the center of the room—a Gate. It pulsed with a magnetic pull that Alex couldn't resist. He took a step forward, then another, and then the world vanished into a blinding flash of white.
He woke up in a soft bed, the smell of lavender and woodsmoke filling his nose. "HEYYY! ARE YOU AWAKE?" a voice shouted from the hallway. Alex panicked, scrambling to hide under the blankets. A woman with bright, energetic eyes burst into the room.
"Oh, I see you! No use hiding!" she laughed, pulling the covers back. "Don't touch me! I'll kill you!" Alex yelled, though he had no weapon. The woman laughed even harder. "With a broken finger? I don't think so, kid. I'm Alya. I'm a Hunter, and I'm thirty years old, so show some respect!"
Alex stared at her. She looked barely older than a teenager. "Thirty? You're lying!" "Hunters age differently," she said with a wink. She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. Her palms began to glow with a soft, emerald light. Alex felt a cooling sensation wash over his hand. When she let go, his finger was perfectly healed.
"Why are you helping me?" Alex asked, stunned. "Because you looked lost," she said softly. "And because in this world, we have to look out for each other."
Alya moved with a grace that Alex couldn't understand. She cooked him ramen, the steam rising in the quiet house. "You ran out earlier," she said, not looking up from her bowl. "You saw the monster in the woods. I saw the way you looked at it. You weren't just scared… you were angry." "It killed him," Alex said, his voice thick with emotion. "In my dreams. It killed my father."
Alya stopped eating. She looked at him with a deep, knowing sympathy. "This world is beautiful, Alex, but it is cruel. The monsters here eat hope for breakfast. I've spent fifteen years hunting them, and the only way to survive is to be faster, stronger, and colder than they are."
That night, Alex watched from the window as Alya fought a scout party of beasts near the tree line. She was a whirlwind of steel and light, her laughter echoing even as she struck them down. She wasn't just surviving; she was dominating.
Alex looked at his hands. They were the hands of a boy who mopped floors and studied for exams. But deep inside, he felt the echo of the warrior's hug and the heartbeat of the book.
The next morning, as the sun rose over the strange, magical peaks of this new world, Alex stood in the yard. Alya was cleaning her blade. "Alya," he called out. She turned, the sunlight catching her eyes. "I don't want to be a kid anymore. I don't want to be afraid. Train me. Teach me how to be a Hunter."
Alya looked at him for a long beat, searching his face for any sign of doubt. Finding none, she let out a sharp, determined grin. "Well then, Prince. Grab a wooden sword. Your first lesson starts now."
Alex felt a strange flutter in his chest—a bond forming with this girl, this world, and the destiny he had finally stopped running from.