The apartment stank of rot, mold, and old regret. Rats scurried in the shadows, nibbling on long-forgotten takeout boxes. Trash covered the floor like dead leaves after a storm.

Bjorn sat in the middle of it all, eyes locked on a glowing screen. His body moved on instinct, his face blank — not out of pleasure, but desperation. He muttered under his breath.

"Ugh... I'm almost there…"

And then — click. Darkness.

The screen died, the light gone. The electricity had cut again.

Bjorn blinked, frozen mid-motion. "...Fuckin' electricity bill again."

No rage. No panic. Just exhaustion. He let out a slow breath and stood, stepping carefully between piles of trash and empty bottles toward the door. As he moved, a thought drifted through him like a ghost.

It's been a while since I've seen the sun.

He opened the door, and light flooded the room, piercing his eyes. It was too bright. Unnatural.

Creeeeeak.

Outside, the traffic screamed past. Engines, horns, curses — the world was loud, overwhelming, alive in a way Bjorn hadn't felt in months. He squinted and stepped closer to the crosswalk, waiting for the lights to change.

That's when he saw her.

Across the street, lost in the crowd, stood a woman dressed in old, tattered, almost witch-like clothing. A suitcase in one hand. Pale skin. Wrinkles that bent unnaturally. And a smile.

Bjorn blinked. Who the hell is that hag?

The light was still red. But the woman stepped forward anyway — right into traffic.

"What the hell?!" Bjorn shouted. "She's not waiting?!"

But no one screamed. No car hit her. She simply... passed through. Untouched.

And then she was gone from the other side. Instead, she was suddenly there. Right in front of him.

Bjorn staggered back. How—? When did she get this close?!

She leaned in, the scent of dried roses and something rotting clinging to her breath.

"You were never given a choice," she whispered, her voice curling into his ear like smoke. "Only the illusion of it. Destiny marked you. My will claimed you. You are mine—by right, by force, or by fate."

Bjorn's legs gave out. His vision spun. The street, the cars, her eyes — all of it blurred and broke apart.

"What the hell is this?!" he gasped, falling. "What did she do to me?!"

—

Clouds. Gray, endless, spinning. He awoke in a strange realm — no walls, no sky, just haze and whispers. People were around him. Dozens. Confused. Panicked. Ordinary people — students, workers, children. All lost.

"Where are we?" someone asked.

Bjorn looked around. "So… I'm not the only one she snatched."

Then a voice rang out — echoing through the clouds like thunder laced with laughter.

"I reckon you all are having a great day?!"

Bjorn's stomach turned. That voice...

A smile behind words. A hook beneath honey.

The old woman.

Her voice crackled like fire.

"This is the night of Walpurgis. A reckoning," she said. "Face your demons... or be devoured."

The clouds pulsed. The people started to panic.

"One wish," she continued, "for the last one standing. Twisted or true. Whatever your heart begs for most."

Silence.

Then her final words dropped like a curse:

"Make your sins... entertaining."

------------

before the curse

Ten years ago.

Bjorn sat in the back seat of the car, knees drawn up, staring out the window as trees blurred past. Up front, his mother's voice broke the silence.

"Where are we traveling to this time, dear?"

His father chuckled. "It's a surpri—"

WEEE-WONK!

BOOM!!

The crash came out of nowhere. Metal twisted. Glass shattered. The world flipped sideways.

And as it did, through the chaos and screaming tires, Bjorn saw something that would haunt him forever—

A woman. Standing by a flickering roadside light. Watching.

Still. Silent. Unblinking.

> They said it was an accident. A freak crash. But I remember… someone watching.

---

When he woke up, everything was different.

He lay in a cold hospital bed, face bruised, stitched at the lip. Machines beeped rhythmically. A nurse moved in the background, more shadow than person.

> I survived. Barely.

---

After the hospital, there was no reunion. No home.

Just rain.

A small, gloomy house waited at the end of a gravel road.

> After the hospital, I was sent to live with my uncle.

They gave him the room nobody wanted. Just a thin mattress. Peeling walls. Dust.

> They gave me the room no one wanted.

At the dinner table, everyone ate. Except him.

"You're too late. No food left," his aunt said.

> I wasn't family. I was the crash they didn't ask for.

---

Time passed. The storm inside him grew.

He sat by the cracked window, watching. Thinking. Burning.

> He stopped hoping. He started planning.

He knew the layout of the house now. Knew where his uncle kept the cash—hidden deep in the drawer.

> He knew exactly where the money was.

One night, while the rain poured and thunder grumbled in the distance, he packed his things.

He didn't look back.

> He didn't vanish. He escaped.

By morning, his uncle's shouts echoed through the house as he discovered the empty drawer.

> They never saw him again.

---

Out in the rain, a boy walked alone.

From the shadows, unseen by him, the silhouette of the old woman appeared again.

This time, she was smiling.

---------

the orb

Darkness.

Silence reigned, deep and eternal, until a whisper stirred through the void like a breath caught between worlds.

A hundred thousand souls…

Then came light — not like fire or sun, but something deeper. Cold. Ethereal.

Shapes began to form. People.

Thousands upon thousands, blinking into existence inside a vast, surreal realm. The ground curved strangely beneath them — as if they were standing inside the belly of a world, not upon it. A giant floating orb hovered in the sky above, pulsing with light. Structures twisted in impossible geometry. The sky cracked in violet veins. This was no heaven. Nor was it hell.

Dragged here by fate… and my will.

In another place — far beyond what the people in the orb could see — sat the old woman.

She rocked gently in a chair inside a dim room, lit only by flickering candles. A strange, feline creature purred by her feet. In her hands, she held it — the glowing orb. The very heart of the realm.

"You are not heroes," she said quietly, her eyes gleaming with delight. "Just citizens."

—

Inside the orb, panic had already begun to grow. People clung to one another. Some cried. Others screamed. Groups were forming — fast. Alliances based on fear, instinct, or sheer luck.

"Seven days," the old woman's voice echoed in the sky. "That is all you have."

Above them, seven glowing monoliths slowly rose into the air like gods waking from slumber. They radiated with strange energy, each color different — crimson, silver, obsidian, emerald, violet, gold, and blue.

"Train. Betray. Manipulate."

Near the edge of the crowd, a girl sat alone.

Young. Fragile. Her knees were pulled to her chest, tears streaking down her cheeks. A soft glow surrounded her, though she didn't seem to notice.

Her name was Eira.

Bjorn saw her.

For a moment, through the noise and chaos, they locked eyes. He didn't know why he noticed her — or why it mattered. But something in her eyes felt… familiar.

Wounded.

"You…" she whispered, barely audible, "feel it too, don't you?"

Bjorn said nothing. But he didn't look away.

—

Far away, the old woman's smile twitched as she watched through the orb.

Her reflection in the glass warped. No longer human. Her face stretched unnaturally — fangs, multiple eyes, skin like cracked porcelain.

"Slay," she hissed. "Deceive. Survive."

Within the orb, chaos mounted. Fights broke out. Theft. Screams. The idea of order dissolved. Trust shattered. People fought over food that hadn't yet run out.

"Only one faction wins a wish," she said, brushing the cat gently as it stirred. "Only one walks away."

She rose from her chair, cradling the orb in both hands. Then, delicately, she placed it upon a velvet pillow, as if it were her most precious child.

She smiled — not wickedly, but softly. Lovingly.

"Fight like your soul depends on it…" she said.

Because it did.

Then, leaning close to the orb, her voice barely a whisper:

"Make it worth my time."

to be continued