Return

I've been residing in Australia for the past 21 years. I was just a 7-year-old when my family and I fled our homeland due to the raging civil war. But now, it feels like the storm has passed, and I'm filled with joy at the thought of returning to the land where my mother and grandparents were born.

Financially, I've managed to save up enough to lead a comfortable life here, perhaps even to raise a family. Speaking of which, my family members are always nudging me about settling down. What's amusing is that they're keen on choosing my wife for me! It's funny how the idea of settling down is starting to grow on me.

Coming back feels so right. Even though I've made friends and have family in Australia, there's always been this niggling feeling of not truly belonging there. But now, being back here, it's like the very soil is embracing me, warming me with a deep sense of belonging.

As I ambled down the familiar streets, I approached the house where five generations of my family lived. Surprisingly, despite the turmoil this country has seen, the house appeared untouched. It felt oddly out of time, still looking as pristine as I remembered. It seemed as though it had been preserved in a protective bubble, untouched by the ravages of war.

As I gently pushed the gate open, I noticed several faces turn towards me. Their jaws dropped in astonishment, as if they had never seen anyone enter this place before. I brushed off the curious stares, attributing them to my own unfamiliarity in the neighborhood, and made my way inside. The residence resembled a small castle, reminiscent of medieval times, with tall turrets and weathered stones that spoke of its age.

The interiors, though regal, were covered in a thick layer of dust. But what caught my attention was the faint hum of electricity. Perhaps my grandparents had modernized it somewhat before their time ended. Cleaning around, I was flooded with memories and regrets.

During my youthful days in Australia, I'd lost my way, entangled with the wrong crowd. I had succumbed to the temptations of drugs and alcohol. And when I was under the influence of the latter, I became a different person, engaging in senseless fights which often landed me in youth detention centers.

The weight of my choices bore heavily on me, especially my absence during my grandmother's last days. The fact that I couldn't be there for her, to offer a comforting touch or to say my final goodbye, pained me deeply. Even now, as I stood in the echo-filled halls of my ancestral home, that remorse pressed on my chest, causing tears to well up and fall freely from my eyes.

While I was engrossed in cleaning, a loud knock echoed from the gate. Setting aside the cloth I had in hand, I headed to the entrance.

"Hello, are you Zak?" one of the men inquired, peering curiously at me.

"Yes, I am," I replied, recognizing this as the delivery I'd been expecting. "Are you the crew delivering my furniture?"

"That's right," the man confirmed with a nod.

"Great, please come in and start setting everything up," I instructed, opening the gate wider for them to bring in the items.

The furniture I had selected was soon being arranged around the house, transforming the ancient space into something that bridged the gap between the past and the present. All that remained now was the delivery of my technology essentials, including my gaming PC. I was also eager to get the internet connection set up, ensuring I'd stay connected with the outside world from within the walls of my ancestral home.

After a rigorous day of cleaning and setting up his new space, Zak felt the need for some downtime. Heading to the kitchen, he cooked up a meal. With his plate ready, he sank into the living room sofa, and turned on the TV. He found himself engrossed in a documentary named "Somalia Today." It spoke of a time when Somalia was referred to as the "Land of the Gods." While captivating, it also saddened Zak to think about the lost history of his homeland.

As the hours waned and the documentary concluded, Zak felt his eyelids grow heavy. Making his way to the bathroom, he indulged in a calming shower, cleaning his hair and brushing his teeth. Dressed in fresh nightwear, he headed to his bedroom and quickly succumbed to sleep.

That night, he was enveloped by a dream where he found himself in a vast void. It was a peculiar space where he discovered he had an uncanny ability to manipulate the elements around him. By merely thinking of fire, flames would dance before him. Imagining water would create ripples, air conjured breezes, and earth moulded itself to his will.

Upon waking, the chilling remnants of the dream still clung to him. To shake off the unease, he took a brief trip to the bathroom, splashing cool water on his face.

Later that day, Zak's curiosity led him to a vault in the house—a place where generational treasures were kept. This vault had a history: his grandmother had passed its access code to his mother, and in turn, his mother had entrusted it to him. With the inherited code, he opened the vault.

Inside, he was met with a panorama of riches. Ancient gold coins sparkled under the dim light, making Zak ponder on the juxtaposition of such wealth and his family's choice to live humbly. As he examined the vault's contents, a meticulously crafted crown stood out. However, as he reached out to admire the crown, its sharp edge pricked his finger.

Distracted by the sting, Zak's gaze shifted to a dark and intriguing painting in the corner of the vault. Drawn to it, he approached, and as his blood-tipped finger accidentally brushed against the canvas, a force yanked him into it.

Suddenly, Zak was back in the void.