Chapter 1 — The Dream and the Calling
John had never liked mornings.
They only reminded him how long a day could be.
The alarm clock on his dresser blinked 12:00 AM — frozen since the last power outage. He hadn't bothered to fix it. Time didn't mean much to a man who lived alone.
His apartment was small: a bed, a desk, a refrigerator that hummed like it was thinking about dying. The walls were bare except for a calendar still trapped on a month that had already passed.
He poured instant coffee into a chipped mug and sat by the window. The street outside was gray and half-awake, as if the world hadn't decided whether it wanted to exist today.
He understood the feeling.
John had grown up in an orphanage on the edge of the city — the kind of place that felt more like a waiting room for forgotten children. Families came and went. Promises came and went faster. Eventually, even the caretakers stopped learning names.
He'd been adopted once. Three months. Maybe four. They sent him back after he broke a mirror in his sleep, screaming about "cracks in the sky." He didn't remember it — only the look in their eyes when he left: relief.
Since then, he learned not to stay anywhere long enough for people to expect him. Jobs changed. Addresses changed. He never unpacked the boxes.
But sometimes, when the city fell quiet and the clouds thinned, something inside him stirred — a pull, faint but constant. Like a string tied to a place he couldn't see. A world that was waiting.
He didn't know it, but that feeling wasn't loneliness.
It was recognition.
The curse had been sleeping in him all along.
He rubbed a hand over his face. The ache behind his eyes pulsed again. Maybe he'd sleep. Maybe not. It didn't matter.
He lay down, staring at the ceiling until the hum of the fridge faded and the city dimmed.
Then the world slipped away.
⸻
The air cracked.
He stood in a vast hall of fractured light. A servant knelt before a figure cloaked in white, hands trembling as he struggled to seal a rip in space.
"Master," the servant whispered, voice shaking, "the lower world is collapsing. It can't hold any longer."
The Master's tone was calm, endless.
"Then it will break."
"What about the mortals?"
"They will be transferred. The System will guide them. Some will adapt. Most will perish."
"And the cursed?"
A pause. Then: "They will return to where they belong."
Light erupted. The hall shattered.
⸻
John woke with a gasp.
The air was wrong.
It hummed.
He sat up slowly. His mug had fallen, coffee spreading across the floor like spilled blood. The lights were off, but a faint glow filled the room — not from any bulb, but from the air itself.
Then came the sound.
A single tone.
Clear. Synthetic.
—[System Online]—
Notice: The current world will be dismantled. Global transfer in progress.
He stared, unblinking.
The words hovered before him, cold and weightless.
A single question will determine your placement.
His voice was low. "What question?"
—[Initialization Query]—
Do you wish to spawn in a Hard Zone with one (1) special ability,
or in a Safe Zone with none?
He let the question hang.
Simple. Too simple.
Every instinct told him to choose safety.
"Safe Zone," he said.
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the letters shifted.
Response Received.
Status: Rejected.
Condition Detected — Cursed.
His pulse slowed. "Cursed?"
You were not born entirely of this world. Your origin predates the lower realm.
Routing override engaged.
Destination: Hard Zone / Extreme Variant.**
The corners of the room bent inward. The paint on the walls began to flake upward, drawn toward invisible cracks that shimmered like heat.
He almost smiled. It was dry, empty. "Figures."
Transfer in Progress.
Designation: John
Classification: Cursed Spawn
Ability: Pending Activation
The air grew dense, every sound swallowed. Light crawled through the seams of his apartment.
The same cracks he'd seen in his dreams opened now — slowly, deliberately — until everything familiar began to splinter.
He felt no fear.
Only the strange, quiet relief of a man finally leaving a place that was never his.