1 Prologue: Knocked Off Course
Thanks to all of you wonderful souls for supporting me!
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This chapter is mostly proof of life. I'm halfway to where I want to be before I start uploading so I thought it fit for me to throw this over here. This is here to tide you over. Enjoy!
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Opening the creaking house door, I peered over the wooden fence, catching glimpses of the morning sunlight peeking just over it. There was a general wetness about— expected of London in the autumn.
But like your average Londoner, I grumbled about it almost ritualistically. I was well aware that it didn't change anything, but for some reason, it helped.
"Have you got your bag and suitcase?" my mother asked, her voice as high-strung as it was ten seconds ago.
Beside her stood my father, stoic, but looking just as nervous. His arms were folded over his ample-sized stomach, as if it were the only thing holding him back from assisting my mother in her last-minute frenzy.
I wasn't sure if he was aware of it, but his right hand seemed to twitch imperceptibly every so often. But it would be hard to notice when standing next to a presence as all encompassing as my mother's.
"Yes mum…" I drawled, making a show of hoisting the rucksack over my shoulders before letting it slam against the steps towards the house as a testament to its weight.
"Your train ticket?"
"Yup. Right here."
"Your keys?"
Fishing through my pocket, I twirled the keys to the house around my finger. Maybe the sight of it and its jingling would put my parents' worries to rest. As annoying as the ordeal was, I knew that it was part of the 'Eldest Child Package Deal' I had subscribed to upon entering the world.
I also knew going to university away from my parents was going to be tough, but boy did I underestimate their reaction. Still, it was heart-warming to see how much they cared. Especially since it was a stark change from their more implicit displays of affection.
They weren't neglectful, not in any sense. It's just where my mother thought that "I love you" meant cooking me my favourite food after a long day, my father equated it to getting me into boxing as a child and making sure I stuck to it until the present day.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
I looked over my parents' heads and straight at my little brother sitting atop the staircase. His inky hair fell in loose curls over his face. Despite this, the warmth from his chocolate-brown eyes shone through the frizzy mess. He gave me a shaky smile that I returned with much more enthusiasm than he offered.
"Lunc—"
"Mum." I put a stop to her fretting and met her worried eyes with my own. Shooting her a soft, albeit nervous, smile before I extended the same to my father, abating his nervous twitches. "I'll be fine, okay? I'm going to uni, not war."
"I know, son." my father's baritone voice rumbled. He ran a shaking hand through his balding hair. "But you know? We worry. That's our job as parents. We feed you, annoy you, and worry when you leave."
A soft chuckle slipped through the cracks of my seemingly collected facade but despite its briefness, it was enough to ease the tension. Sensing the shift, my brother flew down the stairs at once.
His soft but plentiful footfalls brought forth groans of protest from the aged wood— they'd lasted a little over two decades now. At this point, they might as well have been immortal.
Clearing the final step, he bounded towards me and clung to me in a death grip. I could feel his soft tremors as he sniffled into my shirt.
"Will you come back?" his voice was muffled on account of his face being buried into my chest but his words shot straight through my already panging heart.
"Yeah, I'll come back." I said, stroking the top of his head in an attempt to both calm him and tame the wild mess sitting atop his head. "In fact, I think I'll get you a present while I'm at it."
"Really?" he looked up at me, eyes widened and gleaming. It seemed his previous sadness was all but forgotten under the promise of gifts— but what else would you expect from a seven year-old?
"Really." I affirmed, gently unwrapping him from around myself as he wiped a few wayward tears from his face. I looked at my parents, who were gazing fondly at our hug. "That goes for you two as well."
My mother began to protest but my father beat her to it.
"No." his rejection was kind but firm. "Your job is to focus on studying."
I withheld a sigh. It seemed for the last few years of my life, that's all I'd been doing. Alas, I knew that in some way, it was my responsibility as the eldest child. After all, my parents had come here in search of a better life and as their son, it was my responsibility to make good on that risk.
Not that the interaction was anything outside of the norm. That was my father. Kind, fair, and always to the point.
I took his dismissal in stride and vowed to get them presents regardless. I could tell that behind his stiff exterior, he knew I'd get him one anyway. That was just the kind of person I was: annoying to a fault.
Steeling myself, I took my first step towards independence. Away from my parents, away from the comfort of being provided for, and most importantly, away from everything I'd known for almost the last two decades.
For some time, I continued along the pavement. It was devoid of all life, be it people or animals, and left me feeling strangely nervous with every step I took. The soft, and more importantly, solitary crunch of gravel beneath my shoes reminded me that for the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone.
But for some reason, it didn't feel like a bad thing.
OOOO
"Here we are, friend!" the cab driver chirped, disgustingly chipper for 8 AM in the morning.
He turned around and flashed me a wide grin. Huffing, I unfastened my seatbelt and leaned over the back.
It took me all of five seconds to realise the better course of action would've been to leave the car and then open the boot from the outside— but as the Americans say: hindsight's always twenty-twenty.
"Thanks Tanveer." I said, smiling at the gap-toothed cab driver.
The journey from Surrey to St. Pancras station took a little under two hours— which was more than enough for me to learn quite a lot about the man.
Though me being the same age as his daughter might have eased the process. It was with that thought that I slammed the door shut and thumped its roof in farewell. I smiled at the sound of the car's horn and stepped out onto the cobbled street.
"Well," I sucked in sharply, my front teeth tingling at the sudden chill. It was early in the morning but from the look of the entrance, you'd think it was the middle of the day. "Here we go."
I trudged along the street, my fingers tingling as I approached the grand archway leading into the station. I was never one for trains, both underground and overground. Not on purpose, I just found myself using the bus more often.
That hadn't changed in the eighteen years I'd walked the earth, and so arriving at St. Pancras station for the first time led to a series of "Wow…" moments.
The biggest of which was definitely the arch that pretty much spanned the entire width of the station. Not that I had long to admire it. After all, travelling through a station as busy as this one meant that I'd been pushed aside by more suitcases than I would like to admit.
Straightening my overcoat, I sighed and removed my slightly crumpled train ticket from my pocket before smoothening it out.
"Platform B at 9:36 AM. Seat 42." I muttered, eyes roaming in search of a sign that could point me in the right direction.
I wasn't worried about being late, but still upped my gait from a relaxed stroll to a brisk walk whilst repeating the details on the ticket like a mantra. Over the course of ten minutes, I'd dodged countless trailing trunks and the occasional toddler in a sort of reverie. So when I finally stopped and looked around, it was of no surprise to me that I was lost amongst the hordes of the station.
My panicked eyes flicked over to my watch. '9:17 AM', it read, and I slowly allowed the tension to seep out of my bones.
There was still some time left.
With a now calmed heart, I peered around in search of someone—anyone at all—who could point me in the right direction. And lo and behold, just over yonder I spotted the towering but loveable figure of the station's patron: Paddington Bear.
He was accompanied by an exhausted looking, yellow-vested ticket inspector. She was leant against his left leg, her posture slouched as she took frequent sips from a mug.
Doing my best to not trip over my own two feet, I dragged my trunk towards the life-sized teddy bear.
"He-Hello there sir!" the inspector yawned in a sordid attempt at a greeting. Her hazel eyes were puffy and it seemed the steaming cup of coffee in her hands wasn't doing her much good.
"Yeah, hi," I said, somewhat breathlessly, and showed her my ticket. "I'm trying to get to—"
"—Platform B, yeah?" she broke in, swallowing another yawn. "Yo-You head down there, right? And you see the pole over there?"
I followed her finger until I spotted a navy-blue signpost pole.
"Yeah, I do." I nodded.
"Cool. Then you turn left, take the escalator right in front of you—the middle one—and it should take you up to the platform, okay?"
"Alright, thank you." I said, offering her a sympathetic smile as she battled what seemed to be her fifth yawn yet.
Spinning on my heels, I shot off towards the pole, the inspector's recommended route burned into my mind.
This time, not even the widest of suitcases and wildest of children would stop me.
OOOO
"The train now approaching Platform B is the Northern Line Crown service to: Leicester. Please stand back from the platform edge."
The automated female voice brought me back to reality in an instant— though it might have been the faint whistling of the wind as the sound of a speeding train grew closer.
Wiping the trail of saliva that had slipped down the side of my mouth, I rubbed my bleary eyes and downed the last of the tea my mother had kindly packed for me.
Jumping to my feet, I fumbled for my thermos, screwed on the lid, and hastily stuffed it into my bag. The faint aftertaste of tea dried my mouth and I lamented the fact that I hadn't any water on hand.
I swung my bag over my shoulders, wincing, and walked towards the boundary line hoping that there would be some kind of refreshment trolley on the train.
"This is the final call for the Northern Line Crown service to: Leicester approaching Platform B. Please do not leave your luggage unattended. Unattended luggage may be removed or destroyed by the station's security services."
The robotic voice sounded again, heralding the arrival of the train as its roar filled my ears. Gusts of wind buffeted the platform, forcing me to squint. The vibrant red locomotive slowly came to a stop in front of the platform and its yellow doors slid open with a soft hiss.
I could hear the faint and faraway call to mind the gap as I stepped onto the train, feeling the uncomfortable nudge of somebody's bag. It seemed that I wasn't the only one dead set on claiming a window seat.
A few tussles and near misses later, my seat was secured and I collapsed against its sinfully soft back with a sigh.
"Dear Lord, that was exhausting…"
"You can say that again sonny…" an equally tired but elderly voice sounded from behind me.
Nearly leaping out of my chair, I looked up at the old man smiling genially down at me. The wrinkles spread across his face told a tale of toil in the mire of the modern world— a tale that was only exacerbated by his attire.
He was outfitted in the traditional garbs of the working man: stained cargo pants, a ratty shirt that smelt of several things—none of which I wanted to think about—, a high visibility jacket, and an ancient looking skipper's cap.
Taking a closer look at the insignia woven into his cap, I blinked, completely stumped as to whether I should be amused or confused. It seemed that old Popeye over here was working for a cheese company?
In the time that he set down an opened can of lager on the table and melted into the seat opposite mine, the thought had disappeared from the forefront of my mind.
Instead, I was more focused on his choice of beverage at 9 AM in the morning. A bit too early for day drinking, I thought, but far be it from me to judge another's life choices.
Lord knows I've made poorer.
There was also the irrefutable fact that the old man had graced the earth with his presence for far longer than I had.
And lastly, it wasn't my life so who was I to judge?
"Headed for Leicester too?" he asked with kind eyes, though they were alight with something I couldn't quite place my finger on.
"Yeah." I tried for some bravery that I definitely wasn't feeling at the moment. "First day of university— or rather, moving into university."
"Oh!" he crowed, his face somewhat proud.
I was quick to dismiss it though. The UK was rife with odd characters and the occasional crackhead. For all I knew, he could just be another one amongst the bunch.
"Quite the place university is," he said. "A place where learning and debauchery are often bedfellows, if you get what I mean."
He followed his poorly concealed innuendo with a wink and I could swear his eyes were twinkling.
I snorted and whipped out my phone to open up my PDF of 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'— completely legally acquired mind you.
A while later I looked up to realise that the old man was still talking. He was, if anything, infuriatingly thick-skinned. Though there was something oddly endearing about his persistence in striking up a conversation with me, so I set down my phone on the table and crossed my arms.
"Hear this… My theory, little chap, is that Albus Dumbledore was a madman! Stark raving mad I tell ya!"
"Well once you've explored magic for as long as he has, you've got to take pleasure in the little things, right?" I asked the cheerful senior citizen who still hadn't given me his name.
"And have you seen the length of his beard?!" he broke out into a snicker, completely ignoring my input.
I swallowed and tried my best to dismiss the burn of annoyance and shame tickling the back of my throat once it dawned on me that I'd been ignored.
"Yeah, it's pretty long, isn't it." I smiled, bringing an end to the spell of negativity with an exhale.
I wasn't sure what I'd done, but he immediately stopped laughing, his gaze boring into me with unsettling intensity.
Beady eyes narrowed as he exhaled noisily through his nose. His eyes were a yellowish-orange, a detail I'd failed to notice until that very moment. The colour reminded of the eyes of an eagle, and much like the man himself, they were currently frighteningly intense.
I think what made his current expression so unsettling was the one-eighty in demeanour from the previously ditzy old man. But it was more likely to be the fact that you usually don't see an amber-eyed person every day.
His inquisitive stare dragged on for far longer than was comfortable. My eyes roamed around our section of seating—anywhere but at his unnerving eyes—in a futile bid to escape the awkward situation.
After what felt like an eternity, the elderly man pierced the silence with a snort.
"Heh." the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "That's what Grindelwald said, ain't it lad?"
The tense atmosphere collapsed in an instant. I exhaled, both in relief and exasperation, and pinched the bridge of my nose; all whilst the man cackled at his joke.
He slapped his thigh as his laugh grew into a hearty roar, drawing many odd looks from our fellow passengers. A particularly snobby-looking woman seated across from me huffed derisively before drawing her newspaper over her face. The tips of her horn-rimmed glasses peeked over the top, and she took not-so-discreet glances over her morning paper when she thought I wasn't looking.
This was going to be a long train ride, of that I was sure.
Not that I was averse to it, though. The old man had proved to make for good company, and I was sure he'd make for even better company once I learnt his name.
After all, I was growing tired of referring to him as 'old man' in my head.
OOOO
"Okay then, name your favourite Tamrielic deity!" said the old man.
At long last he had finally told me his name. But by the time I'd found out his name was Bob, 'old man' kind of stuck.
"Not Sheogorath, that's for sure." I said, shaking my head.
"Aww, why?!" he hung his head low and sighed. When he looked up, he fixed me with an accusing stare, as if I'd kicked him whilst he was down.
"Because!" I huffed. "He's mad! You can never tell what he's going to do. One minute you're having a calm conversation and the next he's in a rage and threatening to skip with your innards whilst stuffing cheese wheels down your throat! No, I much prefer Akatosh. Thank you very much."
"Why the old dragon of all u— them?" he asked, now more curious than upset.
"Well… I think it's because you play as the Dragonborn in Skyrim— son of Akatosh and aspect of Talos to some." I paused and rolled the words around my mouth, trying to get a feel for where I wanted to go with this. "So you feel some kind of bond or tie to him, even though you don't really interact with him. The same with Talos. You feel like you have to live up to their mantles in the game— or, well, at least I do."
"But anyways, why are you asking me this, it's not like any of this is real, right?" I laughed.
"Oh lad," he warned with a sombre shake of his head. "There are things in the world that would drive you mad. Best not write off that which you can't see."
And in that moment, I couldn't help but notice how similar he was to the Daedric Lord of Madness himself.
"That's besides the point though!" he clapped, sudden joy blossoming across his face in the form of a lazy smile. "I hear the trolley man coming towards us. I do hope he has some cheese for me!"
I snorted and leaned over my chair's armrest. And as the slightly odd old man had said, the train's catering staff was wheeling the trolley down the aisle. He was a portly middle-aged man.
"Any refreshments?" he called. He was pretty loud, but not in an unpleasant way. "I've got tea, biscuits, scones, fizzy drinks, and sweets!"
At the mention of sweets, I heard a few kids call out before being furiously silenced by their parents. In fact, just behind me there was a father who was whispering promises of McDonald's to his irate son in exchange for his silence on the train.
I watched the interaction in amusement before sitting back against my chair thanks to the aching in my neck.
"So, d'you want anything? From the trolley, I mean." I asked.
"Well, does he have any cheese?"
"No he does not." the old man pouted. "But he does have some Wotsits."
"Well," he huffed, folding his arms over his stomach. "It's not genuine cheese, but it'll have to do."
I snickered and waved over the trolley man.
"Hello there gents!" he greeted us. His face was flushed and he took in several deep breaths before continuing. "What'll you be having from the trolley?"
"Could I have a packet of wotsits and a coke please?" I asked, standing to remove my rucksack from the luggage rack.
I opened up the zip on the side of the bag and removed my wallet before returning the bag onto the rack.
"That'll be two pounds and ninety-four pence, sir." he stuck out a meaty palm and looked at me expectantly.
"Cheaper than I thought." I muttered and handed the man a two pound coin followed by a one pound coin. "Pleasure doing business!" I smiled at his chuckle and pocketed the change as I handed my elderly companion his packet of crisps.
He opened the packet and grumbled about a loss in integrity or something along those lines. Still, he ate his Wotsits without much complaint. In the end, cheese was still cheese, and from what I could tell, the old man liked his cheese.
We ate and drank in silence until we'd finished our respective snacks and I pulled out my phone to continue reading.
A good fifteen minutes later, I caught the old man's curious amber eyes flitting between my phone and myself. At first I ignored it, but I eventually caved and placed my phone back onto the table.
"You know," he began, his tone almost wistful. "There was so much that could be done to build upon the Wizarding World. If it's called a world, then surely there's more to it than the journey of one Harry Potter, no?"
I was silent for a while, mulling over his words and the story that I'd come to love.
"You're right." I said, and for all my love towards the story I'd grown up reading, it, at times, felt so restricted in terms of scope. "The cameos in the story by some foreign figures wasn't really enough, but it, in essence, is a children's story. And for what we got, it was a damn impressive one. I only wish we could've seen more, you know?"
"So do I, lad. So do I..." the old man agreed, his voice deepening.
Then, there was silence, and I was content with staring at the pull-down table in front of me until curiosity drove my gaze upwards.
Now, the old man's gaze was predatory, and a scythe-like smile stretched itself across his face.
The temperature around me dropped in an instant, and I gazed in the eyes of something that I honestly wasn't sure was human. I was overcome by the urge to escape—to get away from that… thing—until I realised I was on a train.
It was then that I came to an epiphany: there would be no escape.
Gone was the cheerfully eccentric old man I'd been chatting with for the last couple of hours. Sat before me was something that a part of me knew could destroy me in an instant. But us humans… We are masters at denying the reality of situations until the very end.
But those eyes… There was something about them that, quite frankly, scared the shit out of me.
"W-What's the matter with you Bob?" I stuttered, my voice unable to truly portray the levels of fear pumping through my veins.
What made it worse was that I had no idea why I felt the way I did, and it was my fear of the unknown that made the situation all the more terrifying. My throat constricted and with each breath I took, it became harder to take another.
"Bob he says!" the elderly thing chuckled, yellow eyes flashing.
This time, there was something different about his laugh. As if instead of laughing with me, as he had been over the course of the train journey, he was now laughing at me.
He continued laughing for several minutes until his laughs turned into choking coughs and he wiped mirthful tears from his face and the corners of his eyes.
"Dearie me!" he said, chuckling into his hand. "Well lad, you've entertained me well enough for the last few hours so I'll do you a solid in return."
He raised his hand and began to draw in his fingers until he stopped.
"In fact how about I…" he began to mutter, whispering to himself so quietly that not even I could hear him.
Suddenly, he drew into himself and the oppressive presence seemed to have… retracted.
Taking that as my sign to escape, I shot out of the chair and readied myself to bolt down the aisle. As my frightened gaze swept across the seats, it began to dawn on me that nobody could see me.
It wasn't that I was invisible. Simply that the rest of the passengers were going on with their lives as if the old man and myself weren't there at all.
"Ah, not so fast there, lad." I stopped and turned around to the smirking old man. "I did say I'd reward you, didn't I? Sit back down."
I did so immediately because at this point, what other option did I have?
"Thank you!" he said, crossing his legs. "Now then. As thanks for the lovely company, despite the counterfeit cheese, I'll throw you a once-in-a-lifetime gift."
He cleared his throat, adjusted his skipper's cap and snapped his fingers as I squeezed my eyes shut.
There was no flash of light. No expected explosion. Nothing. All was completely silent until the whir of a ceiling fan entered my ears.
My heart pounded in my chest and I took deep lungfuls of air in an attempt to calm myself. Slowly, I opened my eyes to a room that I could only describe as decrepit.
The plaster walls were peeling and odd smudges ran across the walls and around the thin pipes spanning the room. It was mostly bare of furniture besides a dilapidated bed that took up most of the space on the floor and a wardrobe that was tucked away in a corner of the room.
I would love to say that I calmly analysed the situation but I, in fact, did the opposite. Jumping back with a yelp, I slipped on a stray shirt that was strewn across the floor and fell against the mattress.
I was then overcome by the most peculiar of sensations. It was like I'd been submerged within water or something, as an odd but not uncomfortable pressure made its presence known in my head.
This wasn't my room… but it felt so familiar.
With trembling feet, I wandered over to the wardrobe and blinked owlishly at the figure staring back at me.
The child's eyes widened and raised a shaking hand to his face— or rather, I did.
Then, as if a spell had been broken, there was a knocking at the door as a worried voice filtered through.
"Cyrus, are you okay in there?" a distinctly female voice, I noted.
My older sister: Sadie's. A sister that didn't exist before today but she was the one who tucked me into bed just last night.
"Yeah, I'm fine Sadie!" I called out, the words escaping my lips on instinct.
Squeezing my hands into tight fists, I struggled to bring my breathing under control as I whispered harshly.
"What the actual fuck?!"
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