The forest quieted as Dawn and Gary stood before the lake. The air was oddly still, the rustling leaves behind them softening into silence as though the trees held their breath. In front of them, the Vanishing Sky Lake stretched wide like a silver mirror, undisturbed by wind or ripple. Its surface reflected everything. But different from normal water, the reflections within was in a state of infinite stillness.
Gary's breath caught in his throat. He had heard of this place before—every noble child had. Tales whispered during long winter nights, of those who walked into the Vanishing Sky Lake never to be seen again. His father used to scoff at the stories, but his mother had always warned him with a serious tone.
"Only those who seek the past return," she would say, brushing his hair gently, "but those who chase the future vanish forever."
Dawn stepped forward, his gaze locked on the surface.
"You know the stories?" he asked without turning.
Gary nodded slowly. "Everyone does."
Dawn's eyes never left the lake. "Then you understand what I'm doing."
"I don't." Gary stepped forward until they stood side by side. "And I don't think you do either. You're not someone who looks back. You're someone who ran."
Dawn didn't answer at first. His expression was unreadable, as always. "Maybe I've reached the point where I can't run anymore."
He took another step.
"Wait," Gary said suddenly. "Before you do—what did it feel like when you touched the lake?"
Dawn hesitated, then raised his hand. "Like nothing. No cold, no wetness. Like walking into shadow. It's not water. It only looks like it."
Gary crouched and dipped his hand into the lake. The cool sensation of liquid greeted him. His reflection stared back—unchanged, still tethered to this world.
He looked up. "Why you? Why now?"
"I don't know," Dawn said. "But something… something is calling me from within. Something buried. I need to know what it is."
Gary studied him carefully, his mind flickering back to all the moments of inconsistency he had noticed. Dawn's moments of inhuman stillness, his eerie calm even under pressure, the flickers of something deeper in his eyes. There was something twisted about him. Something that should not have been.
And yet, Gary didn't feel fear. He felt curiosity. Worry. A strange, budding sense of loyalty he didn't yet understand.
Dawn stepped forward again. His foot passed through the lake's surface as if through air. Then the next. And the next.
There was no splash, no ripple. Only silence as his body vanished into the still mirror.
The last thing Gary saw was his friend's face—calm, unreadable, almost peaceful—before the lake consumed him entirely.
Gary stood frozen.
The sun—if it could be called that—had begun its strange descent, not by sinking beneath the horizon, but by simply dimming, its brilliance fading until only starlight reigned above. The world grew quieter with each passing second.
Gary looked down at the water again, then at his reflection. He could still feel the chill of it on his hand.
But for Dawn, it had been different. As though the lake had chosen him. Or perhaps… recognized him.
"What are you searching for, Dawn?" Gary whispered. "And what will you find?"
He sat down at the edge of the lake, eyes still fixed on the spot where his friend disappeared.
Would he return?
Would he remember?
Would he be… the same?
Gary could only wait.
And hope.
---
As the lake consumed him, Dawn felt his senses unravel. First went the sound—the whisper of wind, the heartbeat in his chest. Then the feel of the ground, of gravity, of breath. One by one, reality peeled away.
He felt weightless, but not in body—in being. His thoughts disintegrated like dust, drifting in some endless expanse of nothing. No pain. No warmth. No him.
And then—
Light.
Like an old memory returning from a dream. The light of a summer sun, the sound of rustling grass beneath small feet.
He blinked.
He was running through golden fields.
His legs, tiny and sure, carried him across the plains like a whirlwind. Laughter burst from his lips. His lungs burned with life.
The world was small and full of wonder.
Dawn was a child again.
The city walls rose in the distance, quaint and welcoming. He dashed through the gates without fear. The guards smiled and waved. Vendors tossed him fruit. Women in shawls called him "little fox" as he zipped past their stalls.
He was an orphan, but he was everyone's child.
At night, he would curl into old blankets under the temple stairs and dream of distant stars.
He read every scrap of paper he could find. Every book. Every journal. Every tale. He wanted to know, to learn, to understand the mysteries of the world and the power that whispered behind the sky.
He was bright. Hopeful. Wild and kind.
But then—
A shadow on the hill.
A firelight bloom across the night sky.
He didn't notice it then, but the reader did.
The city would not survive.
Something ancient had stirred. Something dark had found its way.
The memory blurred, turning cold. The child Dawn smiled up at the stars.
Unaware.
Unknowing.
And in that moment, Dawn the youth, deep beneath the Vanishing Sky Lake, watched it all unfold with breathless dread.
The past had opened its arms to him.
And the disaster was coming.
---
To be continued