Ronan Winter stared at the fractured skyline beyond the cracked window of his small apartment. The once-vibrant city now lay in ruins, the towering skyscrapers reduced to hollow shells of their former selves. The world had grown silent, its pulse fading with every passing day. The streets, once teeming with life, were empty, save for the occasional flash of a distant fire or the faint hum of an abandoned machine. A constant layer of ash blanketed the city, making it feel like the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
The apartment was bare, a shadow of what it could have been. A single bed sat in the corner, covered with a thin, worn-out blanket. A rickety wooden table was pushed against the wall, its surface littered with half-empty mugs and scraps of paper. The walls were chipped and peeling, and the faint scent of mildew lingered in the air, a reminder that even here, in the silence, time had not stopped.
Ronan didn't care about the state of his surroundings anymore. He had long since abandoned any notion of comfort or belonging. The city was dead, and so was everything in it. He was just one more survivor, drifting through the wreckage, waiting for the inevitable end.
His nights were the hardest. They stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Sleep never came easy, his mind always racing with memories of the war, of the friends and family he'd lost. Every time he closed his eyes, the same images played over and over—screams, blood, the sound of crumbling buildings, and the faces of people he could never forget.
Tonight, however, it was different. There was a strange tension in the air, something he couldn't shake, like the world itself was holding its breath. He had been restless all day, but now, as the night deepened, it felt as though something was watching him, waiting.
Ronan pulled the thin blanket up to his chin and tried to close his eyes. His fingers brushed against the cold steel of the dagger resting beside him on the table. The familiar weight of it was a small comfort, a constant in a world that had lost all sense of stability.
But as he lay there, the silence in the apartment grew unbearable. His eyes snapped open, the shadows of the room pressing in on him. The air felt heavier, thicker, like something was drawing closer.
And then, in the depths of the stillness, a voice spoke.
"Ronan… Winter…"
It was soft at first, a faint whisper that seemed to come from nowhere. Ronan's heart skipped a beat, and he sat up quickly, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger. But there was nothing. The room was still.
"Ronan…" the voice called again, clearer this time.
Ronan's breath caught in his throat. Was it his mind playing tricks on him? Had he finally snapped? He glanced around the room, but everything remained unchanged. The air was heavy with an unnatural cold, and the shadows seemed to stretch and move, as though alive.
"Who's there?" Ronan demanded, his voice low and hoarse.
"I am here," the voice answered, its tone calm yet filled with an eerie sense of purpose.
Before Ronan could react, a figure appeared before him, seemingly materializing out of thin air. It was a ghostly presence, translucent and shimmering, like the fading image of a person caught between worlds. The figure was tall, draped in a flowing cloak, its face hidden beneath a hood.
Ronan froze, his heart pounding. He had seen enough of the horrors of this broken world to know that this was no ordinary vision. No hallucination. This was something else. Something real.
"You…" the figure spoke, its voice filled with a strange urgency. "You are the one. The Chosen."
Ronan's brow furrowed. "The Chosen? What the hell are you talking about?" His grip tightened on the dagger, but he didn't draw it. His instincts told him to fight, but his exhaustion, combined with the absurdity of the situation, made him hesitate.
"You are the one who must save your world," the ghost continued, its voice steady and insistent. "You are the key to its survival. You must leave this place. Your world is dying, and you are the one chosen to bring balance."
Ronan rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the fog of sleep that still clung to him. He was too tired to process what the figure was saying. "I'm not interested in any 'chosen' nonsense. I just need to sleep," he muttered, turning his back to the apparition. "Go away."
But the figure didn't move. It didn't fade. It remained, hovering just a few feet from him, unwavering in its mission.
"You cannot escape your fate, Ronan Winter. You are destined for this. The world needs you. You must step forward."
"I'm not listening to this," Ronan snapped, his patience wearing thin. "I'm going to bed. Good night."
Without another word, he crawled back under the thin blanket, turning his back on the ghostly figure. The room fell silent once more, save for the sound of his breathing. The tension in the air didn't dissipate. If anything, it grew stronger.
His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion claiming him once again. But the world around him did not stay still.
The moment Ronan fell into a restless sleep, the air around him shifted. The familiar world of his apartment began to fade, replaced by something else. A strange, dreamlike glow filled his vision. His breath caught in his throat as he was pulled from the comfort of his bed.
His eyes snapped open, and the scene before him was no longer the cold, decaying city he knew. He was standing in the middle of an expansive, lush landscape, bathed in soft, silver light. The air was fresh, clean, like nothing he had ever breathed before. The ground beneath his feet was solid, yet soft—alive.
"What… where am I?" Ronan murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
This wasn't a dream. It couldn't be. The sky above was a deep, starry black, dotted with two moons that shimmered like jewels in the night. Massive mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks glowing faintly. The air smelled of fresh grass and wildflowers, and the ground beneath him seemed to pulse with energy.
"This is the otherworld," a voice echoed from nowhere, though it sounded like it was right next to him. "The world you must protect."
Ronan's mind reeled. His heart pounded in his chest. He took a step forward, and then another, unable to comprehend what was happening. The landscape stretched out endlessly, alive with vibrant colors and shimmering lights.
This wasn't the dying world he knew. This… this place was alive. It was beautiful, like something straight out of a dream.
He couldn't grasp it. The world he had been pulled into felt so… unreal. So perfect. It was beyond anything he had ever imagined.
But as he stood there, in the heart of this breathtaking, alien world, a sense of unease settled deep in his chest. The world was waiting for him. The burden had already begun.
This revised version sets the stage with a more detailed beginning, showing