Chapter 1: The Descent
The world had never been kind to him.
Isaac always thought he would die in the way most people did—slowly, quietly, an insignificant blip in the grand scheme of things. But fate had a different plan, and now, he was no longer sure if he was alive or dead.
His last memory was the screeching of tires, the sound of metal crushing against metal, and the searing pain that filled his body. He had braced for impact, certain that it was the end. But when the darkness finally came, it was not the end he expected. Instead of the cold embrace of death, Isaac awoke in a strange, oppressive place.
The air smelled of decay, as if the very land itself was rotting. Gray skies loomed overhead, heavy with the weight of unspoken misery. The ground beneath his feet was cracked and dry, with jagged rocks rising like the bones of long-dead creatures. The horizon stretched endlessly, but there was no sign of life, no hint of hope.
Where the hell was he?
His heart pounded as his thoughts scrambled. This wasn't a hospital. There were no doctors. No warm, sterile lights or beeping machines. The cold, stony landscape stretched in every direction. The only sound was the echo of his breathing and the faint, distant howling of something he couldn't see.
A flicker of motion caught his eye. Turning quickly, Isaac's breath hitched in his throat. In the distance, there was something—no, someone—standing motionless. A silhouette against the bleak backdrop. The figure was tall, cloaked, and impossibly still, like a statue in a forgotten temple.
"Hello?" Isaac's voice cracked as he called out, his words barely carrying in the heavy, stagnant air. No response.
He started walking towards the figure, each step carrying the weight of an unseen force pressing down on him. He had to know. He had to figure out where he was, what was happening.
But as he drew closer, the figure's presence grew more unsettling. It wasn't just still—it felt like it was watching him. Waiting. The very atmosphere seemed to thicken around him as if the land itself was holding its breath.
When he was only a few feet away, Isaac reached out a trembling hand, but the figure spoke before he could touch it.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Isaac froze. The voice was calm, almost serene, but there was an underlying malice in it that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"What do you mean?" Isaac's voice wavered. "Where am I? What is this place?"
The figure stepped forward, the ground beneath its feet cracking with each movement. As it neared, Isaac could see the details: a dark cloak, tattered at the edges, and a face obscured by a silver mask—smooth, featureless, and cold. It was the mask that unsettled him the most. Not a face, not a person—just an empty void staring back at him.
"You're in Raventhorn," the figure said, its voice like a whisper through a long-forgotten grave. "A place for those who have lost everything. And now, you belong to it."
Isaac took a step back, his heart racing. "Raventhorn? What the hell is that?"
"A land of shadows," the figure continued, its tone growing colder. "A prison for the broken. You've been chosen."
"Chosen?" Isaac's mind raced. "For what?"
The figure tilted its head slightly, as if amused by his confusion. "To survive," it said simply. "Or perish."
Before Isaac could speak again, the figure raised one hand, and a rush of dark energy enveloped him. His body convulsed as if something were tearing at his very soul. He gasped, clutching at his chest, but the pain only intensified, until it felt as though his insides were being torn apart.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the pain ceased. Isaac stumbled, his knees nearly buckling under him. He gasped for breath, feeling like he had just run a marathon.
"You have two choices now, child," the figure said, its voice now more detached, like it was speaking through layers of time. "You can accept your fate, and walk this world as a slave to its twisted rules. Or, you can rise up and take control. But know this—you will not leave Raventhorn unscathed. If you survive long enough, you will become something darker than you could ever imagine."
Isaac stood in stunned silence, unable to process the words, the pain, the dread filling his chest. He wasn't sure what to make of any of this. He was in some other world, and the only thing certain was that it would not let him leave unbroken.
"Why me?" Isaac managed to choke out.
The figure's mask seemed to shimmer for a moment, its voice a mere whisper against the winds of the wasteland. "Because... you have no choice."
Before Isaac could react, the figure was gone, leaving him alone in the endless wasteland of Raventhorn, with nothing but the sound of distant screams and the feeling of something ancient and terrible closing in.