Chapter 4 : Show me

Alistair awoke with a start, gasping for air as if he had been submerged in water. His chest heaved, his mind a blur of fragmented images—darkness, voices, the crushing pressure that seemed to press down from all sides. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

It was no longer the study of Lord Whitmore's estate. He was lying on a cold, stone floor. The air was thick with dust, and the walls were cracked and uneven. Strange carvings adorned the stones, their symbols twisting in ways that seemed utterly alien to him. His body ached, as though he had been lying in the same position for hours, or even days.

Alistair's heart raced, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he scrambled to his feet. He stumbled, his legs weak, but managed to catch himself against the jagged stone wall. He blinked, trying to make sense of what had happened. Was this part of the mansion? No, it couldn't be. This place—this… this was something else entirely.

"Where am I?" His voice cracked, sounding foreign in the vast, empty space.

The room—or whatever it was—seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. There were no windows, no doors, just an overwhelming sense of isolation. The only source of light was an ethereal glow emanating from the symbols on the walls, casting strange, flickering shadows that danced in the corners of his vision.

"Am I…dreaming?" Alistair muttered, his hand pressing to his forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to will the room to make sense. "No. No, this is real."

His thoughts were a tangled mess. He had been in Lord Whitmore's study, then there had been the figure, the chair, the whispers—and now he was here. He remembered the overwhelming sensation of being pulled, the darkness closing in, the voice telling him he was marked. He had been *chosen*, the voice had said. Chosen for what, though? And where had that strange sensation come from?

"You have begun the journey."

The words echoed in his mind, and he felt the weight of them press against him. It was as though something deep within him had shifted, an ancient door had opened in the dark recesses of his soul. His fingers twitched, the urge to understand clawing at him. He needed to know. He had to know.

But before he could gather his thoughts, a faint sound reached his ears. A crackling noise, like paper being torn. Alistair spun around, his heart pounding, and found himself facing a swirling mass of darkness at the center of the room. It was impossible to make out its shape—like liquid shadows bending and shifting before his eyes.

Without thinking, Alistair stepped back, his instincts screaming for him to flee. But something held him in place, something he couldn't explain. It was as though the darkness was calling to him, urging him forward, whispering promises of knowledge and power.

"Who's there?" Alistair called, his voice sounding more confident than he felt. The air around him seemed to thrum with an unsettling energy, and his pulse quickened in response. He steadied himself against the wall, forcing his breathing to slow. "What do you want from me?"

The swirling shadows paused for a moment, and then—a voice.

"You have been chosen."

The voice was not physical—it wasn't spoken aloud, but rather, it reverberated within his mind. It was deep, ancient, and undeniably knowing. It was the voice he had heard before, the one that had accompanied him in the darkness of Whitmore's study.

Alistair's chest tightened, his mouth dry. "I don't understand," he said, more to himself than to the disembodied voice. "What do you mean? What is this place?"

The darkness seemed to pulse in response to his words, and then the whisper came again. It was softer now, almost like a murmur. "This is your awakening. The door has opened, and now the path is clear. You are no longer just an observer. You have become part of the story."

"Part of the story?" Alistair repeated, his voice incredulous. "This doesn't make sense. What are you talking about? I'm an investigator. I solve mysteries. I find facts. This… this isn't real."

But as the words left his mouth, Alistair felt something deep within him stir. It was a subtle shift, like the flicker of a flame in the distance, something that whispered at the edge of his consciousness. He felt something in the very marrow of his bones. An unfamiliar sensation, a pull towards the unknown. The world around him seemed to bend in on itself, warping, reshaping. He could see the lines of the room flickering, reality itself seeming to strain under some unseen pressure.

"Wake up," the voice said, more forceful now, almost urgent. "The truth lies beyond your perception. You must embrace what you are."

Alistair staggered back, his breath catching in his throat. "I'm not—" he cut himself off. Embrace what you are? What did that even mean? His mind raced to grasp at some semblance of logic, something that would pull him from the abyss that was swallowing his thoughts. 

But there was no escape from it. No way to push it away. It was here, in him, around him, within the walls, the air. It was as if he had always known it, and yet he hadn't. It was something primal, something ancient, and yet so new, so alien. His skin prickled with an awareness that he could not ignore, the kind of awareness that one only feels when they are standing on the precipice of something unfathomable.

He closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself with the familiar act of breathing. Focus, Alistair. Focus. His mind scrambled for control, for any rational explanation. But deep down, he knew he couldn't fight it. Not anymore.

"You… you said I was chosen," Alistair said aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But for what?"

"For knowledge," the voice answered, its tone softening. "For power. For the truth that lies hidden behind the veil. You will see the world as it is, not as you wish it to be."

Alistair's thoughts swirled as he absorbed the weight of the words. Knowledge. Power. Truth. They were heavy concepts, concepts that he, the man of facts, the investigator, had never fully grasped. But now, they felt tangible, almost within his reach. The world around him, everything he had ever known seemed fragile now, as if it were made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

"I don't know if I can…" His voice faltered, but he forced the words out. "I don't know if I can accept this. I need more time."

"Time is a luxury you no longer have," the voice replied, its tone filled with something almost… pitying. "You are already a part of it, Alistair Lockwood. The path is laid before you. And you will walk it, whether you choose to or not."

Alistair felt his chest tighten as the darkness continued to swirl, its weight pressing down on him. For the first time in his life, he understood that there were things in this world that could not be explained, not with facts or logic. And no matter how he tried to fight it, the darkness, the truth had already found its way inside of him.

As the shadows began to close in, Alistair closed his eyes and whispered the words that had been repeating in his mind.

"Show me."

And in that moment, the world as he knew it cracked open.