Morning in Pleraz was scarcely different from night. The only sign of the changing hour was the thinned-out flow of people on the streets.
To tell the exact time, residents used datificators — compact devices the size of a palm. Perhaps that was their most important function.
A grey five-story building with many windows, one of which stood out — it was tightly shut with black curtains. Behind that glass, on a nightstand, a datificator with a web of cracks on its screen rattled and jumped as it rang.
Then, like in a horror film, a pale, thin hand reached for it. A click of the off button — and the hand vanished just as suddenly.
It was, of course, Lloyd's hand.
To the right of the nightstand stood a single bed. On it, limbs splayed out, lay a pale figure. The young man's dark eyes bored into the ceiling.
"Day off. And I forgot to turn the alarm off yesterday... Damn it" — he rasped, swinging his legs to the floor. Sleep had retreated for good.
Lloyd lazily turned his head, surveying his one-room apartment. In the corner — the bed, next to it a completely empty nightstand. Opposite — a modest wardrobe hiding a meager collection of clothes: a couple of T-shirts, a couple of warm sweaters, and pants. To his left — a writing desk cluttered with papers. But Lloyd's gaze wasn't drawn to the mess.
On the very edge of the desk lay a scroll of yellowed paper, tied with a red thread.
'How did it end up in my hand?'
Memories of the previous evening surfaced. That very scroll from the dream, given to him by the mysterious woman, was right in front of him.
"Haa..." — a sleepy sigh escaped his lips.
Lloyd got up from the bed and headed to the bathroom. A click of the switch — and the small room was bathed in yellowish light. His gaze immediately fell upon the shelf holding a cheap, transparent terrarium.
The guy tapped on the glass. A couple of seconds later, a long, narrow creature crawled out from under a rock at the bottom.
It was a snake. A small one, about twenty centimeters long. Its scales were a deep black, as if absorbing the light.
But the most remarkable thing was its eyes. Completely white, without pupils.
Lloyd watched it for a few moments, then picked up a piece of yesterday's meat from the table and tossed it into the terrarium.
The snake turned its head towards the offering, and then...
It stared back at Lloyd with its milky-white eyes.
'I'm not eating that.' — that's exactly what its gaze said.
"Don't like it?! A couple of years ago I could only dream of this, you brazen leech!" Lloyd grumbled.
He had taken it in about a couple of weeks ago, and since then it hadn't eaten a thing.
'What do you even live on?'
Walking over to the sink, he splashed his face with icy water and met his own gaze in the mirror. A pale youth with wet white hair falling just below his ears stared back at him.
"Well, there's progress. Still look like a corpse, though" — he concluded, and without drying his face, he left, closing the door behind him. Who knew what that black worm might get up to.
Today he planned to visit the library.
Taking his worn backpack from the wardrobe door, he started packing the essentials: a water bottle, a pack of cheap crackers, a notepad. His gaze lingered on the scroll for a moment. Hesitating, Lloyd threw it into the backpack too.
Outside, it was as stuffy as always. The white-haired youth walked along the sidewalk of the park he'd known since childhood — always so deserted, it seemed to him. His glance slid over the old gazebo and caught on a dark spot.
"That... Is that black again?!.."
On the wooden bench sat a girl, hunched over a book on her knees. Her face was hidden by a thick curtain of raven-black hair.
"Maybe spending money on a psychologist isn't such a bad idea after all" — Lloyd concluded sadly, shook his head, and walked on.
The library building breathed antiquity: tall windows, well-kept flower beds, wide steps worn by time. It all created a feeling that knowledge gathered over decades was stored within its walls.
Lloyd pushed the heavy door open and found himself in a spacious hall where shelves laden with books, newspapers, and magazines rose all the way to the ceiling. A pleased smile flickered across his face.
Without wasting time, he delved into the labyrinth of shelves. His attention was caught by a book titled "The Subterranean Age" by someone named Varley Gellion.
"Curious..."
He took it off the shelf, skimmed a few pages, and, his interest piqued, headed for a single-person reading carrel — the common halls with long tables caused him an inexplicable discomfort.
Settling in comfortably, he opened the book to the first chapter. His dark eyes darted across the lines.
——————
"The Subterranean Age" Varley Gellion
Initially, humanity lived in complete safety, enjoying the sunlight and clear skies. But one fateful day, everything changed.
No one can name the exact date — time has killed those who might have known. Anomalies began to appear on the planet's surface — strange holes dubbed the Gates of Darkness.
Their sizes varied from two meters in diameter to the size of a five-story house.
The Gates possessed a strange, sinister allure. Initially, they remained inert, but at a completely random moment they could activate — in a week, a month, a year, or even an hour. Predicting that moment was impossible.
When the Gates opened, monstrous creatures — the Drifters — spewed forth. Incredibly strong, endowed with magical abilities, they quickly proved their superiority. People classified the threat by ranks:
·(0) Deep-Dweller
·(1) Blinded
·(2) Deprived
·(3) Darkened
Humanity was fighting a war it was rapidly losing. Everyone considered people the prey, and the Drifters — the hunters. But as the chronicles tell, one was found who refused to accept this. He used cunning traps, created powerful weapons, sought out the monsters' weak spots, and struck at them. He proclaimed himself the hunter, and the Drifter — the prey.
And something incredible happened to him: something inside him cracked, and he gained magical power. His example became a beacon of hope for others. Those with enough courage to challenge the creatures began to fight side by side with the new leader. In time, they too awakened abilities, but the path was thorny. Most failed.
·In 50% of failure cases, people went insane, turning into Drifters.
·In 30%—they mutated into "Outcasts," ugly beings, neither human nor monster, that had to be destroyed.
·The fate of the remaining 20% was the most tragic: their personalities were erased, leaving only a living, empty body. A living corpse.
The survivors discovered that by shattering a Drifter's core, one could absorb its essence and grow stronger. Thus, the Resonators emerged, and people created their own system of ranks, mirroring the threat:
·(0) Deep-Dweller
·(1) Seer
·(2) Gifted
·(3) Enlightened
For a time, people held on. Until Something emerged from the Gates that surpassed all known ranks. A creature of such power, it was as if the world itself had sided with it.
Humanity suffered a crushing defeat. We were forced to descend into the underground...
——————
Lloyd looked up from the book and realized he was no longer sitting, but lying down. He looked at his backpack, where the scroll lay.
"Are you... part of this story too?"