Lux woke before his alarm.
For a few seconds he lay still, staring into the dim room, listening to the soft silence of his apartment. No buzzing phone. No distant traffic. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator through the wall and the slow rhythm of his own breath.
The pressure in his chest was already there.
It was not pain. It was not even discomfort, not exactly. It felt like a hand placed firmly against him from the inside, as if something had pressed its palm to his ribs and decided to stay.
Lux sat up carefully. The blanket slid down his legs. Cold air touched his skin. He waited for the sensation to fade, but it did not.
He swung his feet to the floor, stood, and walked to the bathroom. The mirror showed him the same face as always. Tired eyes. Clean jawline. Hair slightly messy.
Normal.
He brushed his teeth. He washed his face. The pressure remained, quiet but constant, like the background hum of a machine he could not see.
Lux dressed, ate a piece of toast without tasting it, and left for work.
Outside, the city had woken up and started moving. Buses sighed at stops. People crossed streets with coffee in hand. A cyclist swerved past him, muttering an apology. Everything flowed like it always did. Lux moved with it, but his attention stayed inside his chest, focused on that invisible weight.
The train ride was crowded. Lux stood near the doors, one hand on the pole, his shoulder brushing against a stranger's coat. A woman laughed into her phone. Two teenagers argued about something he did not understand. The pressure in Lux's ribs pulsed once, and he flinched.
No one noticed.
At the office, he sat at his desk and opened his email. He tried to work.
His thoughts slid off the screen. He read the same sentence three times and still did not understand it. Numbers blurred. The gray office lights felt harsher than usual.
Around ten, the pressure intensified.
Lux's fingers paused above the keyboard. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. The sensation was no longer a simple weight. It was a tug, subtle but distinct, as if someone had hooked a rope into him and tested it.
Lux breathed slowly, trying to calm his body.
It eased.
He forced himself back into work.
At noon, he sat with his sandwich in the cafeteria and watched the city beyond the window. Sunlight reflected off glass buildings. People walked with purpose. Lux's chest tightened again, stronger, and he had to set his food down.
He pressed two fingers to his wrist. His pulse was steady. That made it worse. If his heart was fine, then what was this?
Lux stared at the sandwich, then stood abruptly and threw it away. He returned to his desk with empty hands and an emptier appetite.
The afternoon dragged.
Lux's manager sent him a message asking for a quick update. Lux replied with the necessary details. His coworker across the aisle told a joke about a client mistake and laughed. Lux smiled faintly without feeling it.
At three thirty, the tug returned and did not stop.
Lux's vision sharpened in a way that made the edges of objects feel too clear. The sound of keyboards grew louder, each click like a tiny snap. Even the air seemed heavier, like it had thickened around him.
He stood up so fast his chair rolled back.
"Everything okay," someone asked, but the words sounded far away.
Lux nodded automatically. "Just need water."
He walked to the kitchenette, each step too light, as if his feet did not fully trust the carpet. He filled a cup. The water trembled in the plastic as his hand shook.
The moment the cup touched his lips, the pull yanked.
Lux's eyes widened. The sensation was no longer inside his chest. It was everywhere, surrounding him, gripping him. He felt as if the world had tilted sideways and gravity had changed direction.
He dropped the cup. Water splashed across the counter.
A coworker turned. "Lux"
Lux tried to answer, but his voice did not come out.
The office lights flickered.
Or maybe they did not. Maybe his eyes were failing. The edges of the room blurred, then snapped into focus again. His hearing filled with a low, deep vibration, like the echo of a giant bell struck in another world.
Lux grabbed the counter with both hands.
The pull became absolute.
It was not a tug anymore. It was a command.
The air in front of him warped as if heat rose off invisible fire. A thin, dark line appeared, like a crack in glass. It widened, stretching taller than a person, and the vibration deepened until Lux felt it in his teeth.
He stared at the crack.
No one screamed. No one ran. People continued typing at their desks as if nothing was happening, as if Lux stood alone in a bubble of wrongness.
His mind tried to reject what his eyes saw. Hallucination. Stress. A breakdown.
But the crack widened again, and behind it there was not the office wall.
There was darkness, thick and real, and something that smelled like damp earth and cold stone.
Lux's fingers slipped on the wet counter.
The crack pulled him.
The moment his skin touched the edge of it, his entire body seized as if struck by electricity. He gasped, and his breath turned into mist.
His vision shattered into fragments.
Gray office. Dark crack. A flash of green. A flash of stars. A sound like wind rushing through a tunnel.
Lux felt himself fall sideways.
He tried to hold on, but the counter vanished beneath his hands. His stomach lurched. His limbs flailed in empty space.
Then the air hit him.
Cold. Sharp. Alive.
Lux crashed onto something hard and uneven. Dirt pressed into his cheek. Stones dug into his shoulder. He rolled, coughing, and tasted soil.
For a moment he could not move.
His brain screamed at him that he had fainted, that he was dreaming, that this was not possible. But the cold air burned his lungs, and the ground was too solid beneath him.
Lux pushed himself up on trembling arms.
The light was wrong.
It was daylight, but not like the city daylight. This light was softer and stranger, filtered through thick leaves overhead. Shadows moved gently as branches swayed in a wind Lux could feel on his skin.
He lifted his head and stared.
Trees surrounded him, tall and dense, their trunks dark with moss. The air smelled of wet wood, wild plants, and something metallic beneath it. Insects buzzed. Birds called in sharp, unfamiliar notes.
Lux scrambled backward until his back hit a tree.
His clothes were different.
He looked down and froze.
He was wearing a simple leather shirt, rough and stiff against his skin. Leather pants, too, held by a plain belt. No jacket. No watch. No office badge clipped to his waistband.
His hands were bare, dirt under his fingernails.
Lux's breath came in fast, shallow bursts.
"Where," he whispered.
His voice sounded louder in the open forest, swallowed quickly by leaves and wind.
He forced himself to stand. His legs wobbled, but they held.
Then he saw it.
A sword lay in the dirt beside him.
It was not the kind of sword Lux had seen in movies, polished and elegant. This one looked old, neglected. Rust ate along its edge. The hilt was wrapped in worn leather, cracked in places. The metal smelled faintly of iron.
Lux stared at it as if it might bite him.
He bent down slowly, picked it up, and felt its weight drag at his arm. It was heavier than he expected. Real. Cold. Rough.
Lux swallowed hard.
He turned in a slow circle, trying to find any sign of roads, buildings, people. There was nothing. Only trees and undergrowth and the endless stretch of unfamiliar wilderness.
The pressure in his chest was gone.
In its place was something worse.
A silence that did not belong.
Lux tightened his grip on the rusty sword.
He did not know where he was.
He did not know how he had gotten here.
But the dirt under his feet, the cold air in his lungs, and the weapon in his hand told him the same thing.
This was not a dream.
And somewhere in this forest, something was moving.