The old station was dead.
Even the wind didn't bother coming through anymore.
Rust gnawed at every beam. Vines coiled over broken bricks like veins on a dying body. The tracks hadn't held a train in over two decades, but something else pulsed beneath them—something alive.
He didn't understand how he could feel it… but he did.
A slow heartbeat beneath stone and steel.
Like a beast waiting under the floorboards.
The farther he walked down the platform, the heavier the air became. Breathing felt like pulling tar through his lungs. Each step dragged him deeper into something unseen—a membrane between worlds stretched paper-thin.
Then he saw it.
At the far end, where the concrete gave way to collapsed tunnels and shadows too deep for sunlight, there was a ripple in the air. Not quite visible, not quite invisible—just wrong.
He reached out instinctively.
And the world… bent.
Not violently. Not even loudly. Just a soft twist, like a page turning in a book too big for human hands.
And suddenly—he wasn't in the train station anymore.
It was cold.
The sky overhead was a swirling sea of black clouds, streaked with violet lightning. Mountains loomed in the distance, jagged and monstrous. The wind smelled of ash and iron. Beneath his feet, the earth was cracked obsidian.
But the most terrifying part?
He didn't panic.
He felt calm.
As if this place had always been waiting for him.
He took a step forward—and the ground welcomed him. Each footfall echoed with a strange resonance, like the land was humming with approval.
The voice in his head stirred.
"Home."
He flinched. "Shut up."
But the voice didn't retreat this time.
"You feel it now. Don't pretend. The others will come for you. The Watchers. The Reclaimers. But they are weak. They don't know who you were… who we are."
"We?" he asked aloud, but no answer came.
Only the wind.
As he walked, the world changed around him.
Dead trees clawed the sky. Rivers of silver fire flowed between broken hills. Strange monoliths, covered in unreadable runes, stood like ancient sentinels watching from afar.
He passed bones the size of houses.
Statues of beasts long extinct.
And then, at the center of a valley… he saw it.
A throne.
Not made of gold or stone—but of souls.
Thousands of them, screaming, writhing, twisting into the shape of a seat carved from agony. And atop it sat…
Nothing.
It was empty.
Waiting.
Something in his chest pulled tighter, like chains around his heart. He didn't want to go near it. He didn't want to look. But his body moved on its own.
With each step, fragments returned.
Flashes of fire.
Screams.
A city crumbling under a black sun.
His own voice, deeper, darker, shouting commands in a tongue lost to time.
And then—
A memory.
A moment.
Himself, but not.
A tall figure in black, face hidden beneath a mask of bone, standing atop that very throne as armies knelt before him. Demons. Dragons. Men. All bowing.
He had ruled this place.
And now he had returned.
But he wasn't the same. He wasn't complete. Not yet.
He stepped back, breath ragged.
This wasn't a dream.
It was a warning.
And he wasn't alone anymore.
He turned to leave—
But a figure stood blocking the way.
A girl.
Or at least, something that looked like one.
Pale skin. Eyes like mercury. Long silver hair flowing unnaturally in the windless air. She wore a dress stitched from shadows, and when she smiled, the edges of her mouth didn't stop where they should.
"You found the gate," she said softly. "Or rather… it found you."
He stepped back instinctively. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head. "A Messenger. A Remnant. One of the few left who remembers who you truly were."
"I'm not him."
"No," she agreed. "You're worse."
Her smile widened. "Because you still think you have a choice."
Lightning flashed overhead.
"You were born of sin, bathed in blood, and crowned in betrayal. The throne remembers. The world remembers. Even your enemies remember. Only you have forgotten."
He clenched his fists. "I'm not going back."
"You never left."
She raised her hand, and from the soil below, a ripple pulsed outward. Dozens of eyes opened across the ground, blinking up at him. Not human eyes. Not animal either.
Soul fragments.
Watching.
Judging.
Begging.
"Soon," she said, lowering her hand. "The other realms will learn you've awakened. Heaven will tremble. The Demon Courts will fracture. The mortals will pray—though it won't matter."
"I don't want this," he whispered.
"But it wants you," she said, fading slowly into mist. "And it always gets what it wants."
Suddenly—
He was back at the station.
Breathing hard. Knees shaking.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the grime-smeared windows. A rat scurried across the tracks. Everything was still again.
But something had changed.
Inside him.
The part that once cowered… now watched. Patiently. Like a dragon coiled around a mountain of corpses, waiting for the signal to rise again.
He stumbled home.
Didn't speak.
Didn't eat.
That night, he opened the mirror closet in his room and looked at himself again.
The reflection smiled.
He didn't.
The next morning, the doorbell rang.
His mother opened it—hesitant.
A man stood outside. Sharp suit. Thin tie. Sunglasses despite the overcast sky.
"I'm here for him," the man said without preamble.
"For who?" she asked, already afraid.
He stepped into the hallway.
"I'll go."
"No—wait!" she said, voice shaking. "What's this about? What—"
"It's alright, Mom," he interrupted softly. "I'll be back."
But they both knew it was a lie.
He walked out, letting the door close behind him without another glance.
The car was sleek. Black. Silent.
Inside, the suited man finally spoke.
"You accessed it."
"Yeah."
"Did anything come through?"
"Not yet."
"Good," he said. "That buys us time."
"For what?"
The man's face twitched. "To clean up your past lives' mess."
The car pulled into a tunnel—and vanished without a sound.