'Cold... So cold.'
The thought echoed in Ren's mind even before he regained consciousness. It was a chill that seemed to suck the warmth from his body, from the inside out.
With numb hands, he groped the ground. His fingers felt freezing, rocky soil. When he fully opened his eyes—his head throbbing from a migraine—it was as if he hadn't opened them at all. A deep, terrifying gloom resided where he lay. As he breathed, his lungs felt as though they were about to shatter. The air felt like sand, a storm of grains entering his bronchi, smelling of hydrogen sulfide, or something burnt.
Desperate and aching, Ren stood up and observed his surroundings. It wasn't complete darkness compared to when he first awoke, but his spatial perception was severely hindered. He advanced slowly and stumbled upon something hard and thick with a familiar shape. Slowly, Ren touched whatever was there with the tip of his foot, and, realizing it didn't seem alive, he reached out to identify the object.
'Rails?!'
Astonished, he continued touching more things around him. He noticed a tall pillar to the side—or rather, a rotting wooden stake rising to the ceiling of what he concluded was a mine.
Ren, slightly more hopeful of escaping the situation, continued to walk along the tracks. For an instant, he noticed a brief light amidst the shadowy rocky tunnel. Getting closer, he saw a torch resting on the wall, supported by an iron bracket. It was large, nearly a meter long, and its flame was blue. Somehow, it emanated an indescribable heat that seemed to touch the very atoms of Ren's body. Recklessly—overcome by happiness and relief—he broke the silence of the mine and ran toward it, covering his eyes, which were unaccustomed to the light, with one hand while grabbing the bracket with the other.
Holding it, Ren realized the torch was abnormal. Feeling a vibration run through his entire body, his feelings were no longer his own. Through some unknown means, the flame transmitted a fervent purity and a focused wrath—emotions he hadn't felt since childhood. This caused his migraine to intensify and his nose to bleed, a pain similar to being crushed by pressure. Yet, his body and mind held on strongly, leaving him stunned. Consequently, his instinct screamed excessively not to let go, implying it was his means of survival in that place.
Ren believed that perhaps this was all a dream, even though every sensation was so real. It was fine if it were true, as he currently held the expectation of saving himself.
But, to his misfortune, his safety and moments of peace would not last long.
In a heartbeat, turning his attention back to the place, he saw that the torchlight cast his shadow along the mine's corridors. However, he noticed that his shadow was not the only one present; there was another.
The shape of the other was colossal. It was about ten times his size, possessed dozens of arms, and carried something on its back that resembled wings—not of a bird, but of a bat. Furthermore, the shadow was projected deeper into the damp rocks, giving the impression that it was hovering above him, producing a low growl and emitting an intimidating presence, as if about to devour its prey. Ren had felt few terrors in his life, and this was definitely one of the greatest.
'Shit...'
The fear was so intense that he didn't even need to turn around to know what to do. In the blink of an eye, Ren, concentrating all his strength in his legs and squeezing the torch until his knuckles turned white, ran as if his life depended on it—and it really did. Right behind him, a grotesque creature scuttled through the tight, dark corridors of the mine, making it tremble with its size, weight, and force.
In full sprint, Ren noticed that the pressure the creature exerted on the support beams was so great that the ceiling groaned and cracked, accompanied by showers of stones falling inches from his face.
The entire place was collapsing.
Between life and death, he had to zigzag through the chaos, still clutching his trembling torch, dodging various minerals in his path, fallen stakes, derailed tracks, and jumping over deep mud puddles among other unrecognizable debris.
Whenever he saw a path blocked by rubble, he spun his body and went for the nearest open gap. Right. Left. Left again. Right. And so, the process repeated many times.
Exhausted, the few moments felt like hours. His lungs were burning, his legs felt like they were going to detach from his body, and his hand holding the torch—which once seemed light—now weighed like a truck.
And to make matters worse, his luck ran out. Suddenly, he found himself cornered in a corridor with apparently no more openings. Air fled his lungs, and his breathing became faster and more nervous. To confirm, he swung the torch in all directions, even expecting the obvious: it was the end of the line.
Ren froze.
Dominated by dread, he was distracted for a fraction of a second. That was enough for the creature to tear through his back with its claws. The simple touch was enough to split his skin, leaving it raw. In certain spots on Ren's body, white surfaces could be seen. They were his bones.
Falling, bordering on the end, he dropped his torch on the ground. Its abnormal flame continued burning, illuminating his own defeat. He dragged himself toward the wall, feeling strips of his skin detach and drag in the cold mud. Even in pain, he saw his only option was to lean against the wall, facing the creature.
Even with the high illumination the torch produced, it still wasn't enough to see the creature entirely. It had countless pairs of frighteningly large legs, like a spider, covering the entire corridor; two monumental wings resembling a bat's; and its face was too high to be visible. Only two red dots located in its center observed its prey with a hungry and calculated coldness, like the headlights of a hunter knowing the hunt was over, diminishing him as if he were nothing.
Losing his vision, Ren began to black out.
In the last instant, the blue fire of the torch gave a desperate flare.
Ren saw it.
Not a monster, but something human. A blurred figure, wrapped in the glow of the torchlight.
The creature hesitated.
And then, darkness.
***
Warmth.
Ren's first sensation was warmth. The air no longer carried the strong, rotten smell of minerals. Instead, it had an organic, soft fragrance, smelling of crackling wood—his lungs were grateful. Furthermore, it smelled of... food?
Emerging with the sensation of a soft, spacious mattress, he cast his eyes over the things around him. Everything was so natural, with objects made of wood, antique furniture. Where Ren was resembled the old bedroom of a small cottage.
Still groggy, he tried to get up to ensure this wasn't a dream. In his attempt, he remembered the wound on his back, which was incredibly bandaged and... almost healed?
Curious and astonished, he looked at the rest of his body. His physical and mortal exhaustion had vanished, replaced by a strange vigor. His clothes, previously soaked in blood, had been exchanged for simple linen pants, and his torso was covered only by clean bandages.
Certain that he was safe, at least for now, he stood up completely, confirming he was in a room with the door closed.
With caution, he walked slowly across the floor—which felt warm and completely smooth against his previously aching feet—toward the door. With a slightly trembling hand, but moved by interest, Ren turned the knob and pushed.
Immediately, the smell of food intensified, and an unprecedented, comforting view extended before him.
In front of Ren lay a small living room integrated with a side kitchen, fully furnished with solid dark wood. It was all so rustic, illuminated by the orange glow of old lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Another light was present: the embers of a large wood stove, whose dancing flames conveyed an impression of absolute safety.
Before him stood a middle-aged man. He was very tall, easily reaching two meters. His dark hair was shaved close, in a rigorous military style. On his face hung a look of knowledge and wisdom, coupled with a thin beard. He was wearing an overcoat that stopped just at his shins, further accentuating his stature and granting him an aura of natural authority.
The tall man looked to the side and observed Ren, and immediately—with his hoarse voice reverberating in the small space—exclaimed:
"I see you didn't feel like visiting the realm of the dead."
Ren, slightly startled, took a step back and, avoiding eye contact, replied with a faltering voice: "What is happening? Where am I?"
The man looked at him, noticing his insecurity, let out a small, raspy chuckle, and replied: "You really are unlucky, kid. Of all places, you ended up in this specific Flux."
"What is a Flux? Am I dreaming? What was that thing?"
The man let out a long sigh. Then, he pulled something resembling a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with the stove's flames. Pointing to the armchairs positioned in the cozy living room made up of beautiful furniture, he spoke in a casual warning tone:
"Calm down. While the food is still cooking, we have much to discuss. That is, of course, only if you don't want to become worm food or have your brain imploded by the static."
Hesitant, Ren followed him, and they each sat in an armchair. The man crossed his legs and leaned back in a comfortable position. He dragged deeply on the smoke, observing Ren through the haze, who was huddled in his seat, averting his gaze from the imposing figure before him.
The middle-aged man took the smoke from his mouth, blew a smoke ring, and, in a tone deeper and clearer than before, declared:
"Welcome to this Land, rookie. A place where feelings and emotions scream louder than logic."
Pausing, the man concluded:
"And it is precisely because we answer that scream that we are here."
The man stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, stared Ren in the eyes, and finished:
"Get used to the noise. You are now a Resonant."