Arsh woke up in the morning and was greeted by his butler. He responded with a polite, "Good morning," before heading off to freshen up. Today, he had an important meeting with the elders to provide more details about his project. After getting ready, he went downstairs to have breakfast.
Once he finished his meal, Arsh chose his favorite car—the Rolls-Royce Droptail La Rose Noire. He insisted on driving it himself, as he disliked anyone else handling his prized possession. To him, the experience of driving was deeply personal, something no chauffeur could ever replicate.
While driving, his thoughts drifted to the dream he had once again seen in the early hours of the morning—the same dream that had haunted him countless times throughout his life. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a proper explanation for it. Desperate for answers, he had even consulted a psychiatrist, but the doctor had never encountered anything like it before. Arsh was left wondering—what did this dream mean, and why did it keep returning to him?
After half an hour of driving, he encountered a traffic jam. He had only fifteen minutes left to reach the hotel where the elders were waiting. A surge of frustration washed over him—he had no time for delays. The cause of the congestion was an accident involving a truck just five minutes ago. He needed to hurry, but leaving his car in the middle of the road was out of the question, and he was boxed in by other vehicles, making it impossible to maneuver.
As he mulled over his options, his eyes landed on a boy standing on the sidewalk. He appeared to be around fourteen or sixteen years old, with blond hair, fair skin, and an enigmatic presence. There was something eerily captivating about him. But what truly unsettled Arsh were the boy's eyes—they were a light purple color, with darkened sclera and visible pupils.
The boy, dressed in a black and gold shirt with matching black pants, was staring directly at him. Then, as if speaking to him, his lips moved, but Arsh couldn't hear the words through the glass. A strange sense of familiarity stirred within him, an inexplicable connection he couldn't ignore.
Curious and somewhat unsettled, Arsh lowered the car window.
"Hey, kid! What did you just say?" he called out.
The boy simply turned and walked into a narrow alleyway. Without thinking, Arsh abandoned his car in the middle of the road and followed him. He wasn't sure why, but he had to know what the boy had said.
"Hey!" Arsh called as he entered the alley. "What did you say back there?"
The boy stopped and turned, a smile forming on his lips—an unnatural, almost eerie grin.
"Are you still in this reality?" the boy asked, his voice calm yet laced with something unsettling. "We are beings beyond space, time, and existence."
Arsh frowned. "What kind of nonsense is that? Kid, you've been reading too much manga, watching too many anime. Go home."
Shaking his head, he turned to walk back to his car. But then, a chilling laugh echoed behind him. He froze.
"You fool," the boy's voice rang out, filled with amusement. "Mother is ready to bring you back to our original world."
Before Arsh could react, the boy dissolved into a swirl of purple dust. And in the next instant, Arsh was no longer in the alley.
He was standing in a void.
Everything around him was darkness—vast, endless, and consuming. A weightless sensation overtook him as his mind struggled to grasp what had just happened.
Where was he?
And who—no, what—was that boy?