Black Horizon

It's September 28. 2018

A week had passed since Lucas first encountered the vortex in the forest. The memory clung to him like a shadow, growing heavier with each passing day. No amount of distraction could keep it at bay. And every night, the dream returned—relentless and vivid.

{ I saw it in the dreams, but I never understood the weight of what I was witnessing. That ruin, that chaos—it wasn't just a nightmare. It was a vision of what was to come. }

The ruined city sprawled before him, a graveyard of buildings. Rifts split the skyline like jagged wounds, pulsating with an eerie, dark light.

Shadows that weren't quite shadows slithered through the rubble—monsters whose forms defied logic, all twisting limbs and glaring eyes.

Lucas stumbled forward, his breath ragged, his body bloodied.

Screams pierced the chaos, a symphony of despair and terror. 

➤

Lucas woke with a strangled gasp, his chest heaving. But this time, the dream didn't end. The walls of his room rippled, warping as though they were made of liquid.

Objects twisted and stretched into grotesque shapes. The low hum of the vortex filled the air—a vibration that crawled beneath his skin.

{ And then, it happened. }

A rift tore through the center of his room, smaller than the one in the forest but no less menacing. Colors swirled within its depths, chaotic and hypnotic.

From the void emerged a creature, smaller than those in his visions but no less terrifying—a mass of tendrils and jagged limbs that reeked of malevolence.

Kikkkkkkkkkk!

The creature screeched, its voice like shattered glass. It lunged.

Lucas scrambled back, his hands fumbling for anything to defend himself. The creature's claws tore through his shirt, grazing his skin. Pain flared sharp and immediate.

| Run, Run, Run! | his mind kept screaming, but something inside him refused.

The warmth in his chest ignited, exploding outward in a surge of blinding light.

Kikkk….. Kikkk…

The creature had its final shriek, as its body is disintegrating into ash.

The force of the blast hurled Lucas against the wall, leaving him dazed.

When he looked down, he saw it: a glowing mark burned into his chest, faintly pulsing with an otherworldly light. It was intricate, almost alive, and entirely unnatural.

➤

September 29, 2018.

The next morning. Lucas told the story of what happened.

No one believed him.

{ I thought they might, but they didn't. It didn't matter how much I tried to explain. I knew the truth, but they couldn't hear it. They wouldn't. }

"It was just a nightmare," his mother said, brushing her hand through his hair. "You're just stressed, Lucas"

"Stress doesn't do this, mom!" Lucas argued, pulling down his shirt to show her the mark.

But when he looked, the glow had disappeared.

His friends were no better.

"Dude, you've been watching way too many horror movies," one of them said with a laugh. "Seriously, you're gonna scare yourself to death."

But Lucas knew the truth. The vortex was real. The creature was real. And the power inside him—foreign and terrifying—was very real.

➤

Days turned into weeks, and by November 5, Lucas had become consumed by the need for answers.

He spent hours at the library, poring over books on physics, mythology, and ancient legends.

His room became a chaotic mess of open tomes, crumpled notes, and diagrams scrawled onto every scrap of paper he could find.

The mark on his chest became his obsession, its faint pulse a constant reminder of that night.

He studied everything: wormholes, alternate dimensions, ancient symbols of power. None of it gave him the answers he sought.

At night, when the world was silent, the mark would glow faintly, casting shadows across his room. He often pressed his hand against it, feeling its warmth—both a comfort and a curse.

{ I knew something was coming. The dreams weren't just dreams. They were warnings. }

In his place was someone quieter, sharper, burdened by the weight of secrets he couldn't share.

| None of them understood me. How could they? |

He carried the truth alone. The mark wasn't just a scar. It was a warning.

{ No one would understand. Not the way I did. How could they? I couldn't share this—couldn't explain. I was the only one who knew what was coming. }

And the visions—the chaos, the rifts, the creatures—weren't a distant future.