1 Where Am I?

Sigmund's life had been an unremarkable one, characterized by the mundane routine of a desk job that left him feeling like a cog in the vast machinery of corporate existence. Each day, he would rise with the sun, a weary traveler in the land of responsibility, and set out for his office in the heart of the city.

The hustle and bustle of urban life, with its bustling streets and relentless deadlines, seemed worlds apart from the fantasies he'd secretly harbored as a child. The promise of adventure, of forging a unique path, had gradually given way to the comfort of stability, and his dreams had receded like distant constellations obscured by the city's smog.

After a grueling day at work, Sigmund would return to his quiet home, an empty space that mirrored the hollowness he often felt within. The solitude of the house greeted him like an old friend, but one that whispered of missed opportunities and unfulfilled aspirations. He would shed the trappings of his corporate persona, exchanging the tailored suit for a worn, comfortable set of home attire.

In the kitchen, he would prepare a simple meal, the sizzle of ingredients in the pan a familiar symphony of domesticity. As he savored the flavors, he would watch the television, the electronic voices and images serving as his companions in the solitude of the evening. The glow of the screen would illuminate his face, casting fleeting shadows that mirrored the flickers of thought in his mind.

It was during these solitary moments, in the hush of the living room, that Sigmund would often find himself pondering the elusive nature of purpose, his purpose to be exact. What did it mean to exist in this world, to traverse its pathways without a clear destination in sight? The question lingered, an enigma that tugged at his consciousness.

He questioned the choices he had made, the roads he had walked, and the life he had sculpted for himself. Had he settled for the mundane, forsaking the yearning for something more profound, more authentic? The vast expanse of possibility loomed before him, and he felt adrift in its currents, like a ship without a guiding star.

Sigmund frowns as he sits on the couch staring deeply at his food, the television's voices becoming a distant murmur, Sigmund's thoughts spiraled into a labyrinth of introspection. The nagging uncertainty of his place in the world gnawed at his soul. It was a moment of existential reckoning, a communion with the depths of his own aspirations and doubts.

And then, as though in response to his unspoken questions, a strange sensation washed over him. Whispers, faint and ghostly, drifted through the air, their words a hushed chorus that tickled the edges of his consciousness. It was as though the very walls of his home held secrets, ancient and long-forgotten, that had chosen this moment to reveal themselves.

The voices grew more insistent, their words fragmentary yet tantalizing. They beckoned him, guided him, whispered of answers that lay hidden in the depths of the basement, waiting to be unearthed. In that moment, Sigmund felt a magnetic pull, an irresistible urge to delve into the unknown, to seek the answers that had eluded him for so long.

Sigmund's heart pounded in his chest, each thud echoing through his body as the fragmented messages continued to infiltrate his thoughts. Every fiber of his being screamed caution, urging him to retreat from the enigmatic force that seemed to emanate from the depths of his own home. Yet, an insatiable curiosity gripped him, overshadowing his trepidation and pulling him ever closer to the foreboding entrance of the basement.

A flickering light danced at the edge of his vision, casting long, ominous shadows across the dimly lit corridor. Dust particles hung in the air like ethereal specters, adding to the palpable sense of unease that swirled around him. Sigmund's trembling hand reached for the phone, contemplating calling for assistance, be it a priest or someone who might unravel the mystery that unraveled his sanity.

But something... something unspoken, whispered secrets within the deepest recesses of his mind, beckoning him to confront the darkness head-on. With an internal battle waged between fear and fascination, Sigmund found himself inexorably drawn towards the yawning maw of the basement door.

The air grew heavy with a foreboding presence, a chilling draft slipping past Sigmund's skin like icy tendrils. His fingertips trembled as they grazed the cold metal handle, an intangible connection established between him and the unknown abyss that awaited beyond. Time stood still, as if the universe held its breath in anticipation of what was about to unfold.

Summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, Sigmund pushed open the door, revealing a sight that straddled the realm of nightmares and forgotten memories. The darkness within seemed to possess a life of its own, undulating and shifting like a swirling vortex of shadows. It tugged at him with an irresistible force, luring him further into its inky embrace.

A mixture of awe and terror mingled within Sigmund's eyes as he beheld the uncanny familiarity of the void. There was a recognition buried deep within his subconscious, a connection that defied explanation. It was as if the darkness whispered forgotten tales to his soul, tales that were etched into the very fabric of his existence.

Against his better judgment, his trembling hand reached forward, fingers extending tentatively into the abyss. A sudden surge of unseen energy gripped him, seizing his arm with an unyielding grasp. Sigmund's heart lurched in his chest, panic coursing through his veins as he fought against the unseen force.

Desperation seized him, and he turned, attempting to flee from the relentless pull. But it was as if his skin was being ensnared by tendrils of varying lengths and strengths. They coiled around his limbs with a malevolent intent, like serpents of darkness refusing to release their prey.

His arms shot up, gripping the sides of the doorway, fingernails cracking under the immense pressure as he fought to anchor himself. The tendrils tightened their grip, their relentless force constricting his chest and forearms. It felt as if he was pitted against an unstoppable tide, a maelstrom of maleficent energy.

"Help me! Someone, please!" Sigmund's voice, a desperate cry for salvation, echoed through the abyss, but there was no response, no savior in sight. His fingers clung to the wooden sides of the door frame, his strength waning with each passing moment.

More tendrils emerged from the yawning void, like the writhing arms of some eldritch entity. They grasped and pulled, insatiable in their hunger for his presence. Sigmund's body trembled with the effort to resist, his arms feeling as though they might be torn asunder.

He couldn't endure it any longer. With a heart-wrenching decision, he released his grip on the door frame, a cry of agony escaping his lips. The pull from the abyss was too great, too overwhelming. He barely had time to let out a final scream before he was inexorably dragged through the void, leaving behind the known world for an uncertain destiny in the enigmatic depths of the unknown.

Ravian awoke with a jolt, his heart pounding as if trying to escape his chest. He found himself lying in a sunlit clearing, the warmth of the sun prickling his skin in an uncomfortable, familiar way. He sat up slowly, his hand instinctively moving to rub the sleep from his eyes as he tried to piece together his situation.

The clearing was a small oasis of calm, surrounded by towering trees that swayed gently in the breeze. The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. The distant sound of a stream reached his ears, the gentle babbling a soothing counterpoint to the whirlwind of confusion in his mind.

Ravian sat up, his muscles protesting slightly from the lethargy caused by the sunlight. He glanced down at his hand, watching as a faint violet glow pulsed around his fingers. Yet, despite his efforts, he was met with nothing but the silent echo of his own power.

A frown creased his forehead, his golden eyes reflecting his confusion. He tried again, pushing his magic outwards, but it was like trying to grasp onto smoke with his bare hands.

"Terrible," he muttered to himself, his words carrying a distinctively British accent. "Perhaps I have to collect myself first."

He turned his head, squinting against the sunlight that was starting to irritate him. His right hand felt lethargic, and there was a faint itch that seemed to be spreading across his right arm. He stood up, brushing off the dirt from his black outfit. His black cape, usually a vibrant shade, looked dull under the sunlight.

He looked around, his gaze sweeping across the clearing. The tall trees surrounding the clearing seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The sight was beautiful, yet it did nothing to quell the unease that gnawed at him.

He was alone, in an unfamiliar place, with no memory of how he got here. The realization was disconcerting to say the least. A sense of unease settled in his gut, a gnawing sensation that refused to be ignored. But Ravian was not one to succumb to panic. He took a deep breath, grounding himself into the present moment.

Rising to his full height, he stretched his arms above his head, the muscles in his torso rippling with the movement. With a final glance at the sunlit clearing, Ravian turned and walked towards the dense trees and shrubbery. His golden eyes, preferring the darkness, scanned his surroundings with a keen gaze.

He carefully sidestepped those irritating rays filtering through the canopy above as he maneuvered through the forest, listening intently to the many sounds of nature that surrounded him. From the rustling of leaves to the distant babbling of the nearby stream out of sight, informing him of the nearby terrain.

From between the trees Ravian could see the bright terrain in the distance and turned his course, tracing a tree's bark. He lightly clenched his hand, breaking into the bark with a loud crunch as it shattered into splinters. His strength was returning, though it seemed that he required more stretching. A sudden headache assailed him but he simply shook his head and moved onwards to gain a better view.

"That is quite the view," Ravian mused aloud, his voice echoing softly in the quiet forest.

His golden gaze fell upon the vast expanse of the verdant forest that sprawled out before him, bisected by a river that flowed from a distant mountain. The mountain's peaks, barely visible, grazed the clouds. Patches of grass and rock punctuated the sea of green, and large clearings hinted at the presence of wildlife. The sunlight bathed the landscape in a warm glow, casting long shadows that danced and flickered with the rustling leaves.

Ravian's eyes were momentarily enveloped in a violet glow as he casted the spell once again, wishing to pinpoint the location of this place for its breathtaking view. But again, he furrowed his eyebrows and let out an reserved sigh.

Unsure if it was this strange lethargy or something more ominous, he tried a different spell. Brushing strands of his hair aside, he extended his right arm, aiming at a cluster of trees in the distance. With a mental command, he unleashed a fireball at its highest setting. The fireball roared through the air, exploding on impact and reducing a dozen trees to ashes.

"Strange. Very strange indeed." Ravian's eyebrow arched in surprise. His fireball had worked. He quickly absorbed the flames into his arm like a vacuum, sparing the forest from a great fire. His mind raced with questions, but he had no answers, at least not ones that were comforting.

He tensed and quietly leaned back on a tree. His eyes quickly darted from side to side, and not a single leaf escaped his senses. He gave in to a mounting paranoia for five minutes… but nothing he expected came at all. One possibility had been eliminated.

Still cautious, he held a nearby branch and concentrated his mind. Like a singer controlling his pitch, Ravian raised his thoughts into the formless void. "Good Father, hear me." He said, but silence had spoken.

A million thoughts raced in his mind, theories coming and going to rationalize the strange and deafening silence of the mental void. Dead? Fortunately no, instinctively sighing in relief and dismissing those terrible thoughts. The golden halo is still there, but strangely faint, deep within the void.

"Far." He uttered, slowly opening his golden eyes. "I'm far beyond the stars." He declared softly, with a heavy whisper. How? Why? This is not possible, he had seen it himself. He glanced at the sun, gauging its position in the sky and determined that it was still morning here.

He ran his hand into his dark hair, his thoughts still in denial as a thousand objections were raised with every passing moment. But it's clear now, he cannot keep denying it. The speculations can now cease and Ravian hefted himself up, glancing shortly at a distant pillar of smoke from beyond the cliff.

"I'm… in another world." He said in a breathy voice, barely resisting the urge to shake his head. It was a maddening truth and Ravian could do nothing but accept it.