Chapter 9
The cold rain lashed against Andrew's skin as he lay on the pavement, his tracksuit soaked through.
His father's voice still echoed in his ears.
"STAY AWAY FROM HERE!"
He clenched his fists, his breath shaky as he pushed himself up, glancing around.
The neighbors watched from behind their curtains, silent spectators to his humiliation.
He refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.
"Fine! I DON'T NEED YOU!" he shouted back, his voice hoarse from emotion.
Without another word, he ran.
Past the houses, past the judging eyes, past the life he was leaving behind.
He didn't stop until his lungs burned and his legs screamed for rest.
Eventually, he found shelter beneath a bridge, the sound of the storm muffled by the concrete overhead.
A small group of homeless people huddled around a fire burning in an old metal barrel.
Their wary eyes settled on him as he approached.
"Why are you here, kid?" one of them asked. "Here to laugh at us?"
Andrew leaned against the damp wall and slid to the ground. "No. I guess I'm one of you now."
The group exchanged glances before one of them gestured toward the fire. "Then you'd best stand here and dry off. You're one of us."
Too exhausted to question it, Andrew stood and let the fire's warmth seep into his frozen skin.
---
Hours passed.
When he woke, he was covered with a pristine blue blanket—one that looked completely out of place among the ragged possessions of those around him.
He sat up, scanning the sleeping figures of his companions.
Who had given this to him?
And where had it come from?
Before he could discard it, something caught his eye.
A glowing blue butterfly hovered just beyond the firelight, its delicate wings shimmering unnaturally.
Andrew's eyes widened.
"A fascinating anomaly…"
Compelled by curiosity, he rose and followed.
The butterfly flitted gracefully, leading him down the riverbank toward a strange, radiant light on the ground.
As he stepped into its glow, he realized he was no longer alone.
A figure stood before him—tall, almost ethereal, her body appearing like a living statue of molten gold and charred obsidian.
She radiated something primal, something ancient.
Despite every rational instinct telling him to flee, he remained frozen in awe.
The woman extended her hand.
Her fingers were blackened as if burned, yet they did not crumble.
Andrew's mind raced.
Who was she?
What was this?
He had no answers, only the overwhelming urge to reach out. Without hesitation, he clasped her hand.
His vision exploded into crimson light. Fire coiled around them, alive and roaring. The woman smiled, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then—
---
Andrew bolted upright, gasping.
Warmth surrounded him—not the cold of the rain, not the biting chill of the storm, but a soft, comforting warmth.
He was lying in a bed, the sheets unfamiliar yet welcoming. His hands trembled as he took in his surroundings.
A wooden room, dimly lit by candlelight. The architecture was old, medieval in design. His eyes landed on a wooden staff propped against the wall, its ruby gemstone gleaming in the flickering light.
He swallowed hard. "What… is this?"
The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside.
A barmaid, judging by her simple dress and apron. Relief flooded her face at the sight of him awake.
"Thank the stars, you're alive," she said, setting a steaming bowl of soup on his lap.
Andrew's mind whirled. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Where am I?" he asked.
The woman tilted her head, puzzled. "You're in Snowfall. We found you collapsed in the woods, covered in fire."
Andrew narrowed his eyes. "And… this world? What is it called?"
The woman hesitated, frowning slightly. "Revelation, of course. Did you lose your memories or something?"
His pulse quickened. Revelation. He had expected an answer like that, yet hearing it sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Something was very, very wrong.