The government had finally authorized the renovation of an old, run-down mansion that had long sat empty at the edge of town. Local residents would mention it in whispers, claiming the mansion was filled with ghosts from another era. But to seasoned construction manager Thomas Rodriguez, the mansion was nothing more than just another job—albeit one with spooky speculation. A few feet from the house, Thomas and his crew saw the old house, its former grandiose front shrouded in ivy and decay.
"Alright, crew," Thomas began, his tone strong and consistent as he addressed his employees. "I'm sure you've all heard whispers about this location, but we're here to breathe some life into it. It's going to be hard labor, but if we look out for one another and work hard, we'll turn this old beauty into something amazing."
They were words of encouragement, but still a fear could be felt within the group. The house towered in front of them, its shattered windows like empty eyes gazing out into the world. The atmosphere surrounding it was heavy, nearly suffocating, as if the house itself was trying to fight off their approach.
Tom, one of Thomas's veteran employees, could not help but try to lighten the mood with a bit of humor. "Well, let's hope ghosts don't mind a little noise," he joked, earning a few nervous laughs from the others.
Thomas chuckled, shaking his head at Jim's attempt at humor. "If they do, we'll just tell them we're here to clean up after them," he replied, his tone teasing but with a touch of earnestness. With that, he led them to the front door.
The door creaked ominously as they opened it, and the interior of the house was revealed. Within, the mansion was a time capsule from another age. Dust motes danced in the air, catching the dim light that seeped through the grimy windows. Cobwebs clung to the corners like fine lace, and the bones of ancient furniture were covered in torn sheets. The walls were lined with faded portraits, the faces of long-dead ancestors appearing to regard the intruders with a mixture of suspicion and sadness.
The boards groaned underfoot as the workers moved stealthily along the house. Each step echoed through the empty halls, a testament to the decades of neglect that had taken their toll on the once grand house. The air was thick around them with the acrid smell of rot, mixed with the musty odor of old wood and long-buried memories. The house seemed to be breathing on them, the air thick with the weight and secrets it held trapped in its walls.
They went from room to room, drinking in the crumbling opulence of the house. A large parlor held a grand piano in one corner, its keys yellowed and split, the piano itself long unmusical. A chandelier dangled perilously from the ceiling, its crystals covered with grime and years. All of the furniture in the house seemed stuck in a moment, as though time itself had halted the day the house was left.
A small room to the side, its door half open, caught Thomas's attention. Something about it beckoned him, a promise of privacy that he could not resist. He went in, and it was sparsely furnished, with just one ancient chest in the corner. It was covered in dust, the metal trim around it worn by years, and it was locked.
Thomas's interest was piqued, and he began to search the room for the key. In minutes of searching the dusty bookcases and sorting through the discarded belongings, he spotted the key stuck in a small crevice on the wall. It was nothing more than a plain piece of rusty metal but one that went into the lock with exactness. With a soft click, the chest creaked open, its interior exposed.
Inside, between yellowed papers of great age and what looked like antique trinkets, was a book. Dark, worn leather covered it, the cover itself marked with strange, intricate symbols that seemed to pulse with their own life force. The edges of the pages were yellow, and the book felt heavy in Thomas's palms, as if it carried centuries of weight. He couldn't help but experience a strange connection to the object, as if it held something important, something to him.
"My son will adore this," Thomas muttered to himself, his thoughts going to George, his book-loving son who would be overjoyed at such a find.
Just then, Jim came into the room, noticing the book in Thomas's hands. "What did you discover there, boss?" he asked, peering over Thomas's shoulder with interest.
"A book," Thomas answered, continuing to read the cover material. "It's old—very old. I think George would like it. He reads more than anything else nowadays."
Jim laughed, a touch of nostalgia in his tone. "My boy could do with some of that. All he does is video games. Perhaps he ought to spend more time with your George—could learn a thing or two."
Thomas grinned, shoving the book under his arm. "Who knows? Perhaps someday George will turn out like your son, stuck to a screen all day," he teased, although there was a hint of worry behind his words.
They both chuckled, and the room's tension dissipated a little bit. But as they stood to leave the room and head in the direction of the others, neither of them detected the faint glow that radiated from the book for a moment before it disappeared into the dust and blackness.
Earth name: Earth Eldoria
Code name: (EE-77)
George's body gradually reconstituted, his body particles reappearing as he came to. He blinked his eyes open in confusion, not sure where he was. His last memory was of the strange, ancient book in his hands—then nothing. Now he found himself lying in a thick jungle, on the ground of towering trees and lush, exotic plants. The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers, and the distant calls of unseen creatures echoed all around him.
He slowly sat up, his head spinning from the intensity of his surroundings. "Where am I?" George asked himself, trying to make sense of the bizarre landscape. It was all so much like the fantasy books he loved to read, but this was so much more intense, so much more real. The colors were too intense, the sounds too clear. It was as if he had been taken to another world.
As George gazed about, he noticed that the plants and trees around him emitted light, their leaves glowing with an otherworldly sheen. The ground beneath him was spongy, carpeted with a thick layer of moss that felt like a velvet cloak against his fingertips. He listened to the gentle susurrus of the wind through the trees, blended with the distant roar of running water—though there was no river or stream to be seen.
As he struggled to rise, still dazed from his strange new reality, a gentle woman's voice spoke to him from behind. "You are in AlbëToryl," the voice said, melodious and soothing.
George was taken by surprise and spun around to face a staggeringly beautiful deer. Her coat shone with a rainbow of hues, as if she were a living prism, and her eyes were large, expressive, and impossibly intelligent. But the most surprising thing to George was that this deer was speaking to him.
"I'm dreaming," George stuttered, his heart pounding in his chest. "Animals can't talk."
The deer smiled, her voice soft and soothing. "I am Mia, and this is no dream, George. You are in AlbëToryl, another dimension—a parallel universe, totally parallel to your universe."
George staggered, still trying to get his head around what was happening. "But… but this can't be possible. This can't be real. You're just an animal!"
Mia stepped forward, her mere presence calming the upset in George. "I realize how strange this must be, but I assure you, this world is as real as yours. Just believe me, please."
Something in Mia's voice and manner brought George's fear to begin to recede. He breathed deeply, trying to compose himself as he nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just… all of this is a bit too much to process."
Before Mia could reply, a high-pitched, agonized shriek pierced the jungle. George and Mia moved in the direction of the cry, their hearts racing with instant fear. "We have to go," Mia said with alarm.
They dashed through the thick underbrush, tracing the cries to a clearing. There, feebly lying on the ground, was a baby griffin. The beast was small, with the body of a lion cub and the wings and head of an eagle. Its feathers were ruffled, and it appeared not to have eaten for days.
"Poor thing," said Mia, her eyes brimming with sympathy. "It's been left behind. It must have been the runt of the litter."
"We have to rescue it," George replied at once, bending down beside the griffin and gently picking it up into his arms.
Mia looked on, her heart moved by the kindness of George. She sensed that under his confusion and fright, George was a selfless and compassionate man. "You have a good heart, George," she murmured softly. "But we must leave here as quickly as possible. It is not safe here."
Cradling the ill griffin in his arms, George followed Mia as they ran through the jungle, the thick layer of leaves overhead filtering the light and creating splintered patches on the floor of the woods. They weren't aware of the large, watchful eyes that followed all movement from elevated positions in the tops of trees. The griffin mother, motionless on a branch, sat in a thoughtful stare, her sharp eyes on her deserted chick and the peculiar boy who now occupied its space