Alaric sat at the edge of the school rooftop, legs dangling into the air. The wind tugged at his silver hair, the breeze tasting faintly of metal and city dust. Below, the city pulsed—honking cars, chattering crowds, flickering signs. Life marched on with cruel indifference.

  But inside him, everything was still.

  Dead still.

  He stared into the distance, where the sunset tried to dye the sky in golds and oranges, but even beauty felt dull now. He had stopped feeling a long time ago.

  School was a blur. He wasn’t bullied. He wasn’t mocked. He was simply unseen. His name sat forgotten on attendance sheets. His voice didn’t echo back when he answered. He walked the halls like a ghost still chained to a world that had no space for him.

  Home was no safer.

  His parents spoke in whispers when they thought he wasn’t listening. They left early, returned late, and avoided his eyes when they did speak. He remembered once, as a child, hearing his mother cry through the walls. But when he knocked, she only smiled through a lie.

  Something had always felt... off.

  Wrong.

  He had dreams. Vivid ones. Too vivid.

  Worlds not made of Earth—burning skies, floating monoliths, rivers of light and flame. And always her: a woman with hair like fire, her eyes deep wells of sorrow and strength.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “You were never meant to stay here,” she would whisper. Her voice sounded like a memory too old to name.

  The dream always ended the same.

  He’d reach for her—

  And wake up to this.

  Grey walls. Empty desks. Cold food. Empty words.

  He rose from the rooftop floor and stepped closer to the ledge. His shoes grinded softly against gravel. From here, the world looked far away—like a movie screen showing someone else’s life.

  He pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket. It was torn at the edges, the ink smeared from sweat and time.

  “If I disappear, will anyone notice?”

  A pause.

  Then he smiled. Not out of joy. But out of peace.

  He closed his eyes.

  Breathed.

  Listened to the wind.

  And stepped forward.

  But he didn’t fall.

  The world cracked.

  Not metaphorically. Literally.

  The air fractured—hairline splits glowing gold and silver like broken glass touched by starlight. Light flooded through the cracks. Time bent. Gravity stuttered.

  Alaric hung mid-air, weightless.

  The rooftop, the city, the sky—all shattered around him like a mirror dropped by the universe. A low hum rose from the fractures, pulsing like a heartbeat older than Earth.

  Symbols appeared, floating, burning, circling him like a halo—spirals, eyes, runes with motion and meaning.

  He knew them.

  Not how, but he did.

  His skin prickled as energy passed through him, warm and cold all at once. The wind became quiet, like the world was holding its breath.

  Then:

  "Equilibrium. Sacrifice. Redemption."

  The words echoed—not from the air, but from within.

  He opened his eyes. The cracks in space had become a gate. A swirling, golden void pulsed before him, shaped like a perfect circle, as if carved into reality by a divine hand.

  From its depths, a voice called:

  “You have returned.”

  And Alaric was gone.

  No scream. No sound.

  Only a whisper of light left behind, like the last breath of a fading star.