When the shard plunged into his chest, John gasped—eyes wide, body seizing as a jolt of pure energy surged through his veins. The pain was brief, but the aftershock lingered: a pressure beneath his skin, a strange warmth in his bones, and a pulse that did not match his heartbeat.
Fear flickered behind his eyes.
"What… what did you do?" he whispered, clutching his chest. "Am I… am I going to die?"
The Divine Stone hovered before him, its glow steady, calm.
"You possess a remarkable… resilience, John." Its voice, usually metallic and cold, carried a thread of something else—approval, perhaps.
"But if you truly desire power, you must first confront and conquer the fear that resides within you. That moment will come. But for now… it is time for you to return."
John's expression shifted—hope breaking through his panic.
"You… you're really going to take me home?" he asked. Then, almost instinctively, doubt crept in. His brow furrowed. "There's something I need to know."
The stone waited.
"You attempted to manipulate my sister, didn't you? You possess her memories," he said quietly. So tell me—does she actually care about me? Or was helping me just some kind of obligation? Is… is she just pretending?"
For a moment, silence.
Then the stone spoke—not in words, but in images.
A holographic memory shimmered above its glowing form.
A much younger John, no older than ten, laughing as he chased after a tall, charming girl—his sister, Luna—through fields of overgrown grass and summer haze. Her smile was real, bright and alive.
But the image darkened.
Luna was pulled away, restrained by unseen hands. A shadow loomed behind young John, whispering things—vile, poisonous things. His expression fell. His laughter died.
The image faded.
The air turned cold.
"John," the stone said, voice level and solemn, "you were told lies. Lies meant to sever the bond between you and your sister. You were led to believe that your family died because of Luna's mother… but that's not the truth. You have a trusting heart—and that has been used against you."
John's eyes filled with pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but the stone continued.
"I offered you a way home, and you followed. Through countless universes. Through fire and memory. But did you ever consider the possibility that I might not return you?
The words hit him like a wave of cold water.
"That you might be lost forever?"
John's knees weakened beneath him.
"I… I've been a fool," he whispered.
The stone's glow softened.
"Perhaps," it said. "But fortune smiles upon you, John. I am, above all, a creature of my word."
Behind John, the very fabric of space began to shimmer.
A swirling vortex cracked open—light, wind, and force spiraling outward like a living storm.
"Go now," the stone instructed. "I have given you the means to become powerful. The rest is up to you."
John turned back one last time. The stone now shimmered with an unsettling familiarity. Its light had reshaped—bearing his likeness.
It watched him with eyes not unlike his own.
He stepped forward into the tear.
Light swallowed him whole.
He plummeted through color and chaos, through moments that felt like days and sensations without names. The universe screamed in silence around him.
Then, at the tunnel's end—one single, brilliant point of white.
"Am I… home?" he thought aloud, heart rising.
He crashed through it.
But when his eyes opened, he knew at once: this wasn't home.
He lay on his back, staring up through a thick canopy of black branches. All around him, gnarled trees clawed toward the sky, the undergrowth dense and wild. The moon hung overhead—full, silver, and familiar.
But not quite right.
"Am I home?" he repeated, sitting up. The trees rustled. No buildings. No lights. No voices.
"Did that stone just dump me into the middle of nowhere?"
He stood, brushing dirt from his hands. "This is Earth… I think. But not my Earth."
The weight of realization sank like a stone in his gut.
"I've never even been in a forest before," he muttered. "Especially not at night."
His breath misted. A chill ran down his spine.
"There could be mutant beasts," he whispered.
Just as the thought took shape, a gust of warm, rank air brushed the back of his neck.
John froze.
Slowly, he turned.
And saw it.
A nose. Enormous. Reptilian. Its nostrils flared, drawing in his scent with slow, deliberate breaths. Each exhale washed over him, hot and humid, laced with the stench of ancient meat and primal instinct.
John staggered backward, heart hammering. But in his panic, his foot crunched on a bed of dry leaves. The sound cracked through the forest like a gunshot.
From the shadows, eyes opened—massive, golden, glowing with hunger. They locked onto John.
And in them, he saw himself reflected.
Small.
Frightened.
Alone.