Daniel never believed in miracles. At least, not the kind that tore you from one world and hurled you into another. He was just a boy—ordinary, forgettable, the kind of student who blended into the background of crowded classrooms and noisy streets.
That night, though, the ordinary shattered.
He had been walking home from cram school, his backpack heavy with textbooks, his mind heavier with the weight of exams. The city buzzed around him—neon signs flickering, motorcycles roaring past, the smell of fried food drifting from stalls. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages, when the screen went white.
Not the kind of white that came from a glitch. This was blinding, searing, as if the phone had swallowed the sun.
Daniel gasped, stumbling back. The world tilted. His ears rang with a sound like rushing water, and then—silence.
---
When he opened his eyes, the silence was gone.
Birdsong filled the air. The sky stretched wide, painted in colors he had never seen before—violet streaks across a golden horizon, twin suns climbing above jagged mountains. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of wildflowers and something sharper, like ozone after a storm.
Daniel sat up, heart pounding. He was lying in grass taller than his shoulders, each blade shimmering faintly as though dusted with silver. His backpack was gone. His clothes had changed too: a tunic of rough-spun fabric, boots that fit perfectly, a leather belt with a small pouch.
"What… is this?" His voice trembled.
The words weren't Japanese. They weren't English either. Yet he understood them. The language rolled off his tongue naturally, as if it had always been his own.
---
A rustle in the grass.
Daniel froze. Slowly, he turned his head.
A creature emerged—half-wolf, half-stag, its body sleek and muscular, antlers branching like living crystal. Its eyes glowed with pale blue light. It regarded him silently, then bowed its head.
Daniel's breath caught. The gesture wasn't hostile. It was reverent.
"Chosen…" The word echoed in his mind, though no lips had spoken it.
Before he could react, the creature vanished into the grass, leaving only the faint shimmer of its passage.
---
Daniel staggered to his feet. His legs felt stronger, his senses sharper. He could hear the distant rush of a river, the crackle of fireflies in the air, even the heartbeat of a rabbit hiding nearby.
He clenched his fists. This wasn't a dream. His body was different. Enhanced.
A sudden pain lanced through his skull. He cried out, clutching his head. Images flooded his mind—ruined castles, armies clashing beneath stormy skies, a throne carved from obsidian. A voice whispered:
"The Heir of Ashenfall has returned."
The vision ended as abruptly as it began. Daniel collapsed to his knees, gasping.
---
"Hey! You there!"
The shout startled him. He turned to see a figure approaching through the grass—a girl, no older than him, with fiery red hair tied back in a braid. She wore armor that gleamed like polished bronze, a sword strapped to her side.
She stopped a few paces away, eyes narrowing. "You're not from around here."
Daniel opened his mouth, then closed it. How could he explain?
"I… I don't know where I am."
The girl studied him for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Figures. Another one pulled through the Rift."
"The… Rift?"
She gestured toward the horizon, where the twin suns burned above the mountains. "This land doesn't take kindly to outsiders. If you want to survive, you'll need to learn fast."
Daniel swallowed hard. "Survive… from what?"
The girl's gaze hardened. "From everything."
---
They walked together toward a dirt path winding through the grasslands. The girl introduced herself as Lyra, a squire of the Dawnwatch.
"You're lucky I found you," she said. "Most Rift-born don't last an hour. The beasts smell them out. And the Ashenfall Lords… well, they don't take kindly to strangers."
Daniel frowned. "Ashenfall… I heard that name."
Lyra glanced at him sharply. "Then you've already been marked."
"Marked?"
She didn't answer.
---
The path led to a small village nestled between hills. Wooden houses with thatched roofs, smoke curling from chimneys, children chasing each other in the streets. It looked peaceful—too peaceful compared to the visions Daniel had seen.
But as they entered, the villagers stared. Whispers followed him.
"Rift-born…"
"Another one…"
"Will he bring ruin?"
Daniel's stomach twisted. He had never been the center of attention before. Now every eye was on him, filled with suspicion.
Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ignore them. They fear what they don't understand."
---
At the village square, an elder awaited them. His beard was long and white, his eyes sharp despite his age. He leaned on a staff carved with runes that glowed faintly.
"So," the elder said, voice deep. "Another child of the Rift."
Daniel bowed awkwardly. "I… I don't know how I got here."
The elder studied him. "None of you ever do. But the Rift does not choose at random. Tell me, boy—did you see the vision?"
Daniel hesitated. "A throne. Armies. The name… Ashenfall."
The elder's eyes widened. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Lyra stepped forward. "Elder, what does it mean?"
The old man's voice trembled. "It means this boy is not just Rift-born. He is bound to the prophecy."
---
Daniel's heart raced. Prophecy? Him?
"I think you've made a mistake," he said quickly. "I'm just… normal. I don't belong here."
The elder shook his head. "The Rift decides. You are here because you must be."
Lyra's hand tightened on her sword. "Then we must protect him. If the Ashenfall Lords learn of this, they'll hunt him down."
The elder nodded gravely. "Indeed. The boy must be trained. His fate will shape the war to come."
---
Daniel stared at them, panic rising. Trained? War? Prophecy? He wanted none of it. He wanted his old life back—exams, neon lights, fried food stalls.
But deep inside, a spark flickered. The vision of the throne, the armies, the voice calling him heir.
Maybe… maybe he wasn't ordinary anymore.
---
That night, Daniel lay in a small hut offered by the villagers. The bed was rough, the air filled with the scent of burning wood. He stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
His mind replayed everything—the creature bowing to him, Lyra's warning, the elder's prophecy.
He clenched his fists. "If this is real… then I'll survive. I'll find out why I'm here."
Outside, the twin suns sank below the horizon. The stars blazed brighter than he had ever seen, constellations unfamiliar yet strangely comforting.
And somewhere beyond those stars, the Rift pulsed—waiting.