Cacophony, slow and steady. The buzz of human activity always hung low over Athens, even in the early hours, the subtle intensity of it never once giving.
But it made sense, they were toiling through trying times. After all, surviving a world ending war was no easy feat.
Dusk was bidding its farewell, and dawn lazily peaked through the horizon, the rising sun painting the sky a beautiful shade of lilac. It was pleasantly cool, spring was in the air, and the morning breeze—wafting through the forlorn streets of Athens, washed away the pungent smell of a working industry.
The city itself was a sprawling metropolis, its gears slowly coming alive as Dawn shook off the dreary shackles of night. Towering skyscrapers stood like ominous monoliths, and the roads stretched in between them like veins, keeping the whole city alive.
People, both checking in and out from work, filled the streets. The buzz of conversation hanging low in the busy city.
And most importantly, perhaps. The heat was, slowly, but inevitably growing unbearable.
The war had taken its toll on the world, and on its people.
An especially dire side effect was the growing heat. If it keeps on escalating at the same pace, experts had predicted the Earth to be uninhabitable in the minimum of a decade.
Yet past all that, Athens had still maintained its rich heritage. Not to say it could compare itself to the city it was a century ago, but even as the 22nd century came to an end, Athens still continued to stubbornly hold onto its relics.
Intricate temples and cathedrals popped out from the sea of gray bricks from time to time, its delicate, yet tasteful designs a refreshing sight in the concrete jungle. Ancient fountains still stood strong as junctions, the clear water coursing through it both a commodity and a guilty respite in the heat.
From the outside, Athens was truly an oasis in a burning world.
But alas, one could never judge a book by its cover.
Outside of the grandiose and peaceful facade, the city was failing, and its residents knew that.
Every single person was tense, rich, poor and beggars alike. After all, there was no way to tell when the terrifying claws of war and famine would finally snatch for them.
It was a depressing life really, knowing your entire world could be blown up by a single nuclear warhead, yet having to live normally through that.
It was especially dire for a particular young man, whose brain had decided that the day of doom had finally come for them.
Leaning on his windowsill, Yuki Veritasis let out a dejected sigh, his drowsy eyes—with pupils as red as a pool of blood, still gazing at the waking city.
The feeling of wrongness had come out of nowhere. First, a small tugging instinct, then growing into this all consuming fear that had kept him company since last evening.
If anyone asked, the dark circles under his could have vouched for the fact.
Yuki was no stranger to the lack of sleep, really, having struggled with insomnia all his life. This particular situation was more or less routine to him by now.
Not the feeling of wrongness, though. That abomination was new.
He had been struggling against it all evening, barely managing to not break down as the feeling grew and grew on his mind. It had taken him all his strength to not call his brother or his dear friend—both away on important business. At one point, he had even had his brother's number dialed on his phone, tears pooling under his eyes as he struggled with the guilt of wanting to disturb him.
But that had passed, same as everything else had in his life.
Now he found himself staring at the widening maws of oblivion. He was tired, tired of caring, tired of worrying, tired of living.
As vibrant as the two pools of red in his eyes were, there was no warmth to be seen in them. He was pale, and his skin was stretched on his gaunt, emaciated body. Yet, even though it should have been impossible, as disheveled as he was, the young man was still unreasonably pretty.
In fact, cradled in dawn's arms, the sight of him was almost haunting.
Like a piece of something that did not belong in this world. Like a deity of a beauty standard so bizarre one could not help but gawk at the epiphany their mere presence bestowed upon a mortal.
The wind picked up, ruffling Yuki's hair and bringing him back to reality. He glanced tiredly at the city once more, then slowly, almost reluctantly, straightened. It took him a moment to step away from the windowsill, but once he did, the terror seized him once more.
He gritted his teeth, then dragged himself out of the room.
Downstairs, the sound of boxes clattering echoed through the house as the young man searched through the medicine cabinet with slight panic.
The exhaustion in his face was more pronounced now, the dark circles under his eyes a little darker—the two vibrant pools of red utterly lifeless. His forehead was damp from sweat, eyebrows scrunched in panicked focus.
Yuki was doing his best to not think about anything as he desperately searched for his sleeping pills.
He was determined to at least see that through before utterly succumbing to the terror that gnawed at his mind.
Then he finally found it.
***
Somber silence enveloped the empty house once more. The darkness that populated its corners slowly creeping outwards as Yuki succumbed to the effects of the sleeping pill.
It had taken him a long while to find his tablets, but once he had, the terror gnawing at his mind had finally receded.
He had swallowed two of the small white pills—more than what he was prescribed, and slowly exhaled, letting go of the tension in his chest.
Still sprawled on the floor, he let out a small yawn, trying to blink away the bleariness in his eyes before he slowly made his way onto a nearby couch.
It was a weird sensation—it always had been for him—falling asleep.
Insomnia was no small part of his life. The cursed disorder had consumed entire parts of it, sometimes almost driving him to the point of utter insanity.
It had, at some point, consumed him entirely.
So thoroughly that he couldn't even remember most of what had happened.
But that was all in the past.
He was comfortable now, had his medicine, and his brother who would always support him whenever it was needed.
He settled into a comfortable position on the couch, covering his head with a small pillow as his consciousness drifted into the void.
Stillness reigned—and darkness took over, consuming anything and everything. His raging mind desperately tried to claw past the chilling clutches of oblivion, but it was only futile. For the tablet had already worked its way into his body.
Yet... Still...
Even falling asleep, there was still something...
Something in the serenity that held him, something extremely wrong and unfamiliar, just like earlier.
He startled awake, sucking in a heavy gasp as he regained consciousness.
Strangely, nothing flowed into his lungs. No air, not even the smallest bit of it.
Instead of the comfortable house, It was pristine darkness all around him, untouched and unblemished.
He let out a surprised yelp, and his voice rang all around him, coming from nowhere and everywhere, all at once.
Cold dread seized his mind, and he descended into a moment of helpless panic. Being utterly unable to understand what was happening.
Then, a moment passed by—one that felt like an eternity—before a soft chime rang, accompanied by an elusive voice.
[The Veil parts, welcoming you, Seeker.]
Another beat of silence followed. Then the terrifying thing... voice... spoke again.
[Your trial will now begin.]
In an instant, his surroundings sprang into life once more. Though instead of his house, a barren rocky land stretched before him. A moist, musty breeze flowed into his lungs, and he felt the absence of ground beneath his feet.
He had a split second to buckle before gravity pulled him down.
The hard rock bit into his sides, and a pained gasp escaped his lips before he started tumbling down a jagged slope.
He rolled once, then once more, then once more... the world tumbling around as he rolled down like a broken ragdoll.
It was excruciatingly painful.
It was so painful in fact, that for a damning moment, all he knew and understood was pain.
All of his existence was just... pain.
Then, just as abruptly as he had fallen, he came to a stop.
Dazed and still in excruciating pain, he managed to let out a small groan, before his vision flickered and he lost consciousness.
***
The evening sun hung low on the horizon, its beautiful crown illuminating the sky in a mesmerizing shade of golden brown. A musty breeze flowed through the desolate rocky landscape, no sound other than the monotonous crashing of waves breaking the deliberate silence.
It was a slightly eerie place. If he had to be honest.
Laying on the cold hard ground, Yuki couldn't help but let a slow shiver run through his spine.
The pain had subsided enough by now for him to at least be able to form coherent thoughts.
The first thing that crossed his mind—obviously—was the question of what the hell had happened to him.
He was just sleeping on his couch.... and then there was a voice...?
...and then he was here?
He let out a low cough, blood gargling out of his mouth as his lungs wheezed for air.
He took a moment to himself. Then slowly pushed his battered off the ground, groaning in pain as his battered body protested.
Yuki would have liked to just lay down there and do nothing as well, but he had a feeling that being without cover when night fell wouldn't be the greatest of ideas. Especially in such an eerie place.
He had no idea where he had found such rationality, but he couldn't argue with the part of his brain that wanted to keep him alive.
'Maybe it's the adrenaline..' He thought as he limped forward.
And most importantly, his mind was already screaming at him, at least thankfully, with some reason this time.
He slowly limped to a large rock he saw in the distance, wincing each time he took a step, but still stubbornly refusing to stop. Hoping to get some cover once night fell.
Once he was there, he checked his surroundings for anything, finding a stick he could use as a support in the process. Then he slowly lowered himself to the ground again, resting his back against the cool rockface.
He was panting by now, and the pain had flared up once again. It was still unbearable, but not unreasonably so. The adrenaline coursing through his body helped him bear some of the burden.
He looked around, searching for something, anything—anyone that could help him.
The land around still remained desolate and uncaring, and night slowly, but inevitably, encroached.