PASSAGE 58: WHISPERS OF A LOST WORLD

Despair weighed heavily on Alaric's shoulders as he turned away from the vacant lot, each step echoing the hollowness within him. He desperately clung to the remnants of his dreams, refusing to accept that the world he envisioned was nothing but a fantastical construct of his mind. Yet, reality, harsh and unyielding, mocked his defiance.

Days bled into weeks, then months. The vibrant tapestry of rifts, Anima, and the thrilling life of a Hunter faded into a dull ache in Alaric's heart. Slowly, reluctantly, he began to accept the truth. It had all been a dream, an elaborate escape his subconscious had built.

But even as the dream waned, a spark remained. The desire to protect, to safeguard lives, refused to be extinguished. It morphed, transformed, seeking a new outlet.

Years passed, and Alaric found himself on the cusp of becoming a medical student. While wielding an Anima blade might have been a fantasy, the urge to heal, to mend the broken, resonated deeply within him. Perhaps this new path wasn't bathed in the glory of monster slaying, but it held its own unique purpose.

The dream of becoming a Hunter might have been a figment, a whisper from a world that never existed. But the embers of that dream had ignited a fire within him, a fire that now burned with the unwavering determination to save lives, albeit in a different way.

Alaric, the aspiring Hunter, might be gone, but in his place stood Alaric, the future doctor, a testament to the enduring human spirit that dared to dream and, even in the face of harsh reality, found a way to make a difference.

A melancholic sigh escaped Alaric's lips as he trudged home from his bustling shift at the hospital. Though years had passed since the crushing realization of his Hunter dreams being a fantasy, a flicker of yearning still lingered. He missed the thrill of the hunt, the camaraderie of a shared purpose, even the fantastical creatures he once believed roamed the world.

Suddenly, a voice jolted him from his nostalgic reverie. "Alaric!" A familiar figure – Dolph, his closest friend since childhood – burst through the park gates, panting heavily. "Dude, have you seen this video everyone's talking about?"

Dolph thrust his phone into Alaric's hand, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "This one! The video of a crazy creature causing havoc in some tiny town in Guam!"

Alaric accepted the phone, a surge of curiosity battling with his usual skepticism. As his gaze fell onto the screen, his breath hitched. There, splashed across the bright display, was a creature straight out of his long-dormant dreams. It was small, barely four feet tall, with a muscular build and an unsettlingly vibrant green complexion. Razor-sharp claws glinted menacingly, and pointed ears twitched with predatory alertness. But most crucially, the creature was rampaging through a panicked crowd, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Alaric stared at the video, his heart hammering a frantic tattoo against his ribs. Was this real? A cruel trick of the internet, a mass delusion, or… something more? Hope, a fragile ember buried beneath layers of cynicism, flickered to life within him.

He forced himself to hand the phone back to Dolph, a nonchalant shrug masking the turmoil within. "Come on, Dolph. Don't believe everything you see online. It's probably some special effects whiz trying to go viral with CGI. With the right skills and equipment, anything seems possible these days."

Dolph, however, wasn't convinced. "But Alaric, what if it's real? What if those things show up here?" A tremor of worry laced his voice.

Alaric plastered a smile on his face. "Relax, Dolph. You're letting your imagination run wild. We both know things like that aren't real, not in this world anyway."

A beat of silence followed, then Alaric surprised even himself. "And even if they were," he continued, a hint of defiance in his voice, "you think a normal gun would faze them? Of course not! You'd need an Anima-infused weapon to take down a Goblin."

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, a jarring echo of the fantastical world he'd convinced himself was a dream. Dolph's face crumpled in confusion. "Anima? Goblins? What are you talking about, Alaric? Why are you suddenly acting like some kind of fantasy expert?"

Panic clawed at Alaric's throat. He fumbled for an explanation, his mind racing. "B-because… I… I read a lot of fantasy novels and comics, that's all! Yeah, those creatures are all over fantasy stuff! Maybe whoever made the video is a big fantasy fan too!" His voice grew shrill with forced enthusiasm.

"Alright, alright," Dolph said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Just… take it easy, okay? You seem stressed. I'll head home, you get some rest."

As Dolph disappeared down the street, Alaric slammed the door shut, his facade crumbling. He leaned against the cool wood, heart pounding. What had he just done? Blurting out about Anima and Goblins like some kind of lunatic. Yet, beneath the self-recrimination, a spark of hope flickered. Maybe, just maybe, his past wasn't entirely a dream. Maybe there was a way to bridge the gap between reality and fantasy, to find a place where the fantastical creatures he yearned for actually existed.

A cold sweat prickled Alaric's skin as he slammed the door shut. Denial had evaporated, replaced by a burning curiosity. He practically sprinted to his room, flinging his laptop open with a vengeance.  Dolph's video was the first thing he pulled up, followed by a frantic search for anything related.  

His jaw clenched as a torrent of similar incidents flooded the screen.  Norway, Tokyo, Los Angeles – even Mongolia. All within the span of a few days, reports of otherworldly creatures terrorizing unsuspecting civilians. 

"Calamity?" he muttered, his voice laced with disbelief. These attacks felt… diluted, a pale imitation of the monstrous assaults he'd faced in his dreams. More importantly, there were no telltale signs of rifts, the gateways that spewed forth those creatures.  

But where, then, did these things come from? 

His gaze drifted back to the videos, a flicker of something new catching his eye. In the chaotic blur of fleeing people and rampaging beasts, a small, shadowy figure seemed to lurk at the fringes. Cloaked in darkness, it blended seamlessly with the background, easily missed by the frantic viewers who uploaded the footage. 

Intrigued, Alaric zoomed in, his brow furrowing in concentration. As he sharpened the image, a jolt of shock coursed through him.  Just as he felt he was on the verge of identifying the figure, a voice, barely a whisper, echoed through the room. 

"Alaric."

The sound sent a shiver down his spine. It was a voice that seemed to emanate from the very fabric of the room, a voice that called his name with an otherworldly familiarity. 

Alaric shot upright, his heart hammering against his ribs.  He spun around, eyes darting frantically across the room, searching for the source of the sound.  

"What was that?" he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of fear and… anticipation.  "Who called my name?"

A bead of sweat trickled down Alaric's temple as he scanned his room, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Had he imagined the voice? Was it simply a trick of the mind, a product of his rekindled fascination with the fantastical? Silence, thick and heavy, filled the room, offering no answers. Just as he began to settle back into his chair, a shrill ring shattered the quietude. His phone lurched to life, the caller ID flashing with Dolph's name. 

Alaric snatched the phone, nearly leaping out of his skin in the process. "Hey Dolph! You almost gave me a heart attack-!" His sentence died in his throat as Dolph's voice, laced with raw urgency, cut through the speaker. "Turn on the TV, Alaric! Now!"

A sense of foreboding washed over him as he reached for the remote. The television flickered to life, and the image that greeted him sent a jolt of pure terror through his system.  There, on the screen, was the unmistakable facade of The Heart of Manila Hospital – the very hospital where he toiled long hours as an intern. Yet, the sterile, familiar sight had been transformed into a scene of utter chaos. A monstrous creature, a hulking mass of fur and fang, tore through the hospital corridors, its crimson eyes glinting with feral savagery.

It was a Feral Direhound, a creature straight out of his long-dormant dreams.  These monstrous, mutated wolves, once confined to the fantastical realm he'd believed a mere figment of his imagination, were now rampaging through his very reality.  A primal fear, a fear he thought long-conquered, surged through him.  These beasts, according to his fragmented memories, hunted in chaotic packs, overwhelming their prey with sheer numbers.  Even a single Feral Direhound could unleash carnage, capable of taking down hundreds in a bloodthirsty frenzy. 

The image on the screen showed only one Direhound, but the raw terror in the faces of the hospital staff spoke volumes.  Alaric's mind raced.  Were there more?  And where had these creatures come from?  The questions hammered against his skull, demanding answers that were nowhere to be found.  One thing was certain – the line between his fantastical dreams and the harsh reality he inhabited had become dangerously blurred.  The world he once thought he knew was under attack, and he, a mere medical intern, was right in the heart of the storm.