PASSAGE 57: FRACTURED REALITY
A wave of warmth washed over Alaric as a soft chime echoed in his mind. The notification was unmistakable – Level Up! His grueling battle with Nidhogg had paid off, propelling him from level 24 to 25. The familiar surge of energy coursed through him, mending his injuries and banishing the lingering fatigue. As an added bonus, another basketball-sized orb materialized in his palm. This one, like the one he received after defeating Garmr on the first floor, was black as night, swirling with mesmerizing streaks of golden particles. It pulsed with a strange energy, a mystery to be unraveled later.
More importantly, the key for the next floor materialized alongside the orb. A sense of accomplishment settled over Alaric, but it was quickly overshadowed by the gravity of the situation. He helped Hrimr dig a grave for Njord, placing him to rest beside his wife and daughter. A simple prayer, laced with grief and respect, rose from their lips as they bid farewell to the fallen warrior.
Silence descended once more, broken only by the mournful sigh of the wind. Finally, Alaric turned to Hrimr, his voice gentle as he asked, "So, what's your plan now, Hrimr?"
Hrimr's gaze hardened with newfound determination. "I want to know everything about Sindri Steelfrost," he declared, his voice resolute. "And I want revenge for my family and the suffering of my people."
A flicker of understanding passed through Alaric's eyes. He knew the weight of loss Hrimr carried, the burning desire for justice that mirrored his own.
Hrimr continued, his voice gaining strength, "Alaric, I want to ask for your approval. Let me join you on your quest throughout the Nine Realms!"
Alaric didn't hesitate. A confident smile stretched across his face as he met Hrimr's gaze. A simple nod was all the answer he needed.
Fueled by a newfound purpose and a thirst for answers, Alaric and Hrimr wasted no time. Their grief was a burning ember within them, pushing them forward. Together they approached the imposing gateway leading to the next floor. The key, pulsing with an otherworldly light, fit perfectly into the intricate lock.
With a dramatic flourish, Alaric turned the key. A blinding flash erupted from the gateway, momentarily engulfing them in its brilliance. When the light subsided, they found themselves blinking against a new vista. Gone was the icy desolation of Hvergelmir, replaced by… Well, they weren't entirely sure yet.
"Are you ready, Hrimr?" Alaric asked, a hint of excitement lacing his voice. The unknown always held a certain allure, a thrill that even the weight of their recent loss couldn't completely extinguish.
Hrimr met his gaze, a newfound confidence shining in his eyes. The shadow of grief still lingered, but it was tempered by a resolute determination. He offered a smile, mirroring the one on Alaric's face. This was a new beginning, a new chapter in their journey.
One last glance fell upon Hvergelmir, the frozen realm that had become a reluctant haven and a somber graveyard. Then, with a deep breath, they stepped through the gateway, leaving the chilling past behind.
A jolt of icy fear snaked through Alaric. A voice, hauntingly familiar yet strangely distant, echoed in the thick darkness. "Alaric? Alaric?"
He blinked, trying to pierce the suffocating blackness. "W-what is this? Why is it so dark?" Alaric muttered, his voice barely a whisper swallowed by the void.
"Alaric? Wake up, honey." The voice called again, softer this time, laced with concern.
With a supreme effort, Alaric cracked open his eyelids. A wave of disorientation washed over him. The harsh black had given way to the familiar, comforting wallpaper of his childhood bedroom. Panic clawed at his throat as he sat up abruptly.
"What?! What am I doing here?!" he exclaimed, staring around the room in disbelief.
"Alaric? Are you already awake? It's time for school," the voice continued, a gentle lilt that tugged at his memory.
Alaric whipped his head towards the source of the sound. Confusion warred with a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Mom?" he choked out, the single word heavy with a disbelief that bordered on terror.
He scrambled out of bed, legs shaky and unsure. A glance at his reflection in the mirror sealed the chilling truth. The face staring back wasn't his own. It was younger, smoother, with an innocence that had long faded from his battle-scarred features. And most importantly, the familiar swirl of the Eye of Chronos was absent from his blue eyes.
A whirlwind of questions assaulted his mind. "What the hell is going on here? Why am I here? Why do I look years younger? Where is the Eye of Chronos? Is this a dream?" He pinched himself hard, expecting the familiar sting of reality. The sharp pain was a confirmation, not a hopeful denial.
"So, is this real?" he whispered to himself, his voice barely a rasp against the sudden silence.
The panicked internal monologue in Alaric's head screeched to a halt. A new, far more immediate threat had emerged – his mother's voice.
"Alaric! Get yourself down here before the food gets cold!" It boomed from downstairs, a familiar yet terrifyingly jarring sound in this bizarre situation.
The playful lilt of childhood had been replaced with a sharp edge that sent a jolt of fear through him, a fear that transcended even the icy grip of Hvergelmir. "Y-Yes Mom! I'll be downstairs!" Alaric stammered, scrambling to his feet.
He raced down the stairs, a whirlwind of questions churning in his mind. Was this truly his past? Was everything he had experienced in the Nine Realms just a figment of his imagination? A cruel dream his pre-teen self had conjured?
As he burst into the dining area, a scene ripped straight from his forgotten past unfolded before him. His father, Ricardo, sat at the head of the table, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in his hands. His mother, Angela, bustled around the kitchen island, a familiar scowl etched on her face.
"Good morning Alaric. How's your-" Ricardo began, his voice warm and welcoming. But his greeting was cut short as Angela materialized beside him, a whirlwind of maternal fury.
"How many times do I have to call your name?!" she roared, the sound reverberating through the room. "I always told you not to make the food wait!"
Alaric flinched, the echo of her voice a stark contrast to the gentle concern she'd displayed just moments ago in his childhood bedroom. "I'm sorry Mom. It won't happen again. I promised," he stammered, the words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to appease her.
Angela gave him a withering look before throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Hmfp! Fine! Sit down and eat your breakfast!"
Alaric scurried to the table, his gaze flitting between his parents. Ricardo offered him a weak smile, his own way of acknowledging the awkward tension. "Your mom is scary, right?" he whispered conspiratorially.
The question was barely out of his mouth before Angela's voice cut through the air like a whip. "What did you say?!"
Ricardo, his face paling, whipped his head towards his wife, shaking his head frantically.
Alaric forced a smile at his parents, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. A glance across the room, intended to quell his unease, only intensified it. There, hanging innocently on the wall, was a calendar. It displayed a date that sent a jolt through him – October 2019.
His eyes widened as he lunged towards it, the forgotten argument between his parents fading into background noise. "October 2019?!" he exclaimed, the disbelief in his voice cracking through the forced normalcy. "This date is almost five years ago! Does it mean I came back in time?!"
A torrent of questions bombarded him. Why? How? Was this some twisted dream, a cruel joke played by fate?
Angela and Ricardo, their playful banter momentarily forgotten, turned to stare at their son with furrowed brows. "Is there something wrong, Alaric?" Angela inquired, a concern replacing the earlier annoyance.
Ricardo, oblivious to the storm brewing within Alaric, chimed in with a teasing smile. "Let me guess! Did you forget that you have a date?! Tell us, who's the lucky girl?" A playful nudge followed, earning him a pointed look from Angela that spoke volumes of mock jealousy.
Alaric forced another smile, feeling like a terrible actor on a poorly lit stage. "Ah! No, I'm sorry. I just thought that I forgot to meet my friends yesterday. That's all," he stammered, his voice strained.
Angela, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow. "Yeah! That's right! Just his friends!" she said, directing a playful jab at Ricardo.
Their playful banter resumed, a comforting white noise in the face of Alaric's growing turmoil. He stole another glance at the calendar, the date mocking him with its stark reality. Five years. He had somehow traveled back in time.
The disquiet that had gnawed at Alaric throughout breakfast intensified as he stepped out into the familiar, yet strangely alien, streets of his hometown. He walked with a practiced ease, yet his gaze darted around, searching for something amiss.
Where were the towering holographic billboards promoting the latest Hunter prodigies? Gone. Replaced by mundane advertisements for local businesses. The vibrant glow of Anima crystal-powered street lights had dimmed to a dull, ordinary luminescence. The shops that once boasted gleaming displays of Anima-infused weaponry were now filled with everyday wares.
Panic flickered in Alaric's chest. A desperate urge to run, to find something, anything, that confirmed the world he knew existed, took hold. He sprinted through the streets, memories flashing before him – the thrill of his first successful raid with Selena, the camaraderie, the unwavering desire to become a protector of humanity.
His frantic run came to a sudden halt before a vacant lot. This was the place, the very spot where the imposing Hunter's Embassy had stood, the gateway to his dream. Now, a desolate expanse of overgrown grass and scattered trash mocked his shattered memories.
The shock practically choked the air out of Alaric's lungs. Where the imposing structure of the Hunter's Embassy should have stood, there was nothing but a desolate wasteland. Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind. He stumbled towards a passerby, a young woman with a bright smile and a carefree gait.
"Excuse me," he stammered, his voice rough with urgency. "Do you know where the Hunter's Embassy is?"
The woman's smile faltered, replaced by a frown of confusion. "Hunter's Embassy? What are you talking about?" Her voice held a hint of concern, laced with a growing suspicion.
Ignoring the rising tide of mortification, Alaric pressed on. "The building, the one that trains Hunters to fight… the rifts, the Anima…?" Each word felt heavier than the last, a desperate attempt to find a shred of familiarity.
The woman's frown deepened. "Sir, are you alright? Rifts? Anima? Those sound like… nonsense words." Her voice now held a sharp edge, laced with a hint of fear.
Alaric staggered back, his heart hammering in his chest. He tried another passerby, then another, each encounter echoing the same bewildered disbelief. The dream, the vivid, exhilarating dream of becoming a Hunter, of battling monstrous creatures and saving humanity, was crumbling around him.
Was it all a dream? Had his yearning for purpose, his desire to be a protector, conjured an elaborate fantasy world? A chilling question crept into his mind – was he losing his sanity?
He clutched his head, the familiar sights and sounds of his hometown morphing into a distorted reflection of his shattered memories. The world he knew, the world that fueled his every ambition, seemed to be slipping through his grasp like a wisp of smoke.