—When the last sigil wakes
Everything fractured.
A burst of white light flooded Shawn's vision—blinding and unrelenting, like something had torn through reality.
He wasn't falling. He wasn't flying.
He was being pulled—taken. His awareness yanked into a swirl of shifting color.
He tried to think. Am I still me? Am I even here?
Panic slowly built up. He wanted to scream, but there was no voice. Just motion. Just light.
Then—everything stopped.
Air rushed into his lungs, thin and cold. His chest heaved with a gasp.
His eyes snapped open.
Above him stretched a strange sky—violet and still, with faint silver streaks tracing the horizon.
He stared, trying to make sense of it.
The ground beneath him was smooth and hard. Not earth. Not stone. Something metallic.
He pushed himself upright. No birds. No wind. Like time had paused.
Yet beneath the silence was a sound—faint, distant. A soft rhythm, steady, like a machine working far below the surface.
Ahead, space warped inward. At the center of the distortion pulsed a dim blue glow. It wasn't bright. It didn't feel artificial. It felt like… a signal. A presence.
Shawn stepped forward, cautious. His skin tingled. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't normal—but it was happening.
Is any of this even real?
The air brushed his face. The ground pushed back beneath his feet.
No—this was real.
Suddenly—
Clang!
A metallic crash shattered the stillness. Shawn froze.
Not a wall—armor. Tall. Imposing.
Figures emerged from the shadows: towering, faceless warriors encased in gleaming alloy.
Their movements were precise.
Their armor bore a faded inscription:
O.S.S.
Without warning, they raised their weapons—long, jagged spears crackling with dark energy.
What are these things? Soldiers? Machines?
One stepped forward. His armor was more elaborate, edged in dark silver. The leader.
"Halt."
His voice was sharp and clipped—each word delivered with military precision.
"This sector is restricted."
Shawn stood still, hands half-raised, heart hammering.
The air tightened, drawn with invisible tension.
"I—I don't even know how I got here."
The leader's helmet tilted slightly. His visor was unreadable.
"You stand before the Rift," he said after a pause. His tone was smooth but impersonal—like a protocol recited a thousand times.
"No one crosses without permission."
"The Rift?" Shawn echoed. The word sent a chill through him.
The figure paused, as if weighing something.
"You truly don't know where you are?"
Shawn shook his head. Thoughts raced. Is this a simulation? A failed experiment? Am I still on Earth?
The leader gave a short, mirthless chuckle.
"Ignorance won't protect you."
Shawn steadied his breathing.
"Please. Just tell me—what is this place? What happened here?"
The warriors exchanged glances. The leader spoke again, his voice like stone dragging over steel.
"There will be war.
Between modern technology and ancient truth.
Between control… and freedom."
The words landed like weights. Shawn staggered, but didn't fall.
"A war?" he whispered. "Who are you?"
The leader straightened. His presence swelled, his gaze behind the visor seeming to pierce straight through Shawn.
"We are the Keepers of Order.
The enforcers of fate.
The strongest force in the known universe."
Shawn's mind reeled. This wasn't just a glitch in space-time.
It was something far bigger.
It had to be a nightmare.
Before he could speak, motion stirred among the warriors.
One stared at his own hand, trembling.
"The sigil…" he whispered, disbelief thick in his voice.
Shawn followed his gaze.
There it was—the paper. The symbol.
A perfect circle. A V-shaped crack splitting its center.
The lead warrior's stance shifted. His grip tightened.
"He's one of them." The words were low, but laced with fear.
And then—everything broke.
Spears shot into the air, crackling with raw energy.
Shouts erupted—sharp, urgent. The warriors surged as one, their intent unmistakable.
"Meta-Origin Sect! Seize him!"
Shawn's instincts exploded into motion. He ran.
His feet hammered the surface, each step a desperate beat, breath tearing through his lungs, mind reeling.
Meta-Origin Sect?
What the hell is that?
No time to think. No time to stop.
Behind him, metal clashed and echoed. Footsteps pounded, drawing closer.
There was no turning back now.
But something felt… different.
His body moved faster—lighter. Sharper.
As if something ancient had awakened deep within him.
Something electric hummed through his veins.
A flash of red.
A glow in the vast, endless void.
He looked up, heart pounding—
A sun.
But not the familiar golden warmth of his memory.
This sun burned a deeper crimson, like fire held in a divine forge—raw, primal, immense.
Its light bled through space, illuminating everything with a haunting beauty.
And around it, turning in slow, solemn grace—
A single blue planet.
His breath caught. His chest tightened.
It looked… familiar.
Earth?
Could it be Earth?
But no—something was wrong.
The hue was off. The continents subtly skewed. The atmosphere shimmered with a strange iridescence.
And yet—it pulled at him.
Called to something buried deep in his being.
Like a forgotten melody remembered only in dreams.
He had to reach it. He had to know.
Panic twisted with exhilaration.
A fire lit inside him—pure energy—racing through every nerve.
He surged forward.
Faster.
Faster.
Beyond thought.
Beyond logic.
Then—gravity.
A violent yank.
The weight of existence slammed into him.
Air thickened, rich with the scent of wet earth, fresh rain, life.
Sound returned in a rush.
Murmurs. Footsteps. Engines.
Voices.
Real, human voices.
Impact.
The ground caught him like stone fists, sending a dull ache through his limbs. He reeled, breath shallow, his chest rising in sharp, uneven rhythm.
Slowly, shakily, he lifted his head.
Relief flooded him—deep and grounding. He drew a shaky breath, fighting the urge to sink to his knees.
He was home.
He could feel it.
But—
His eyes scanned the streets. The buildings. The people moving in the distance.
Familiar. Achingly familiar.
But not his home.
Not his Earth.