Becoming the Sorcerer

Step 1: Awakening

The sky erupted in a cacophony of sound as Mount Rainier’s wrath was unleashed. Lava and jagged rocks burst forth, soaring into the air from its gaping depths. The mountain’s peak shattered, sending deadly shards flying in all directions as ash spiraled into the sky, signaling the chaos below. From the epicenter of destruction, two massive hands, dark as the void, tore through the earth, reducing Rainier to ruins. A colossal creature rose from the debris, its form crowned with horns that twisted from its gaping jaws, tracing its skull, and ending in sharp points. Its eyes, devoid of warmth, surveyed its realm with a calculating stare.
Aldin, just a few miles from the devastation, watched the nightmare unfold. Hovering in the air, he chased after the creature as it made its way toward him. With determination and power glowing in his hand, he aimed for its fearsome face. But the creature was quick; with a single swipe of its massive hand, it extinguished Aldin’s life.
Aldin awoke with a start, his heart racing, his breaths quick and shallow. “Where am I?” he wondered, a sense of dread washing over him. “Was it real?” His eyes, filled with tears, refused to clear.
Usually, his nightmares would fade with the morning light. But not this one. For ten years, the same hellish vision tormented him: the eruption, the creature, his end. It remained as vivid and terrifying as ever.
Even though he knew it was all in his head, the nightmare kept replaying, like a sinister movie stuck on repeat. Nightmares had always haunted him, but this one was unyielding. Aldin longed for the simplest of dreams, anything to break free from this nightly torture.
Now, soaked in sweat and shaking, he fought for breath, the intensity of his personal nightmare leaving him rattled. Yet, there had been some nights almost equivalent. Instinctively, he touched a small scar above his eye, the memory coming back in full force. He had once woken up with his face against the floor in a small pool of his own blood, leading to stitches and another psychological evaluation.
The thought of all the hospital visits for injuries sustained in his sleep made him cringe. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, then threw off his blanket and sat up. A shiver ran through him as his wet shirt clung to his skin. With a sigh, he stood up and removed the damp shirt.
Aldin walked to the kitchen, the act of starting the coffee pot bringing no comfort. He had tried therapy, medication, and countless doctors, but nothing brought peace. Their words were just hollow promises.
“Here, this will help, try this one.”
“Maybe a stronger dose is what you need.”
“We have a new experimental treatment that could work.”
All were simply different versions of the same empty assurances, and none had helped.
The beep of the coffee pot startled him, his nerves still on edge. He poured a cup and stepped out onto his balcony. The view was nothing special, but sitting outside and drinking his coffee offered a brief escape from the lingering shadows in his mind.
As the sun rose, its rays reflected off the building across from him, illuminating Aldin’s face. He closed his eyes, basking in the warmth, but the peace was broken by the persistent vision of his death. His eyes snapped open, his heart racing—a constant reminder that not even being awake could shield him from his nightmares.
Aldin got up, quickly finishing his now lukewarm coffee. He checked the time on his phone—6:30 a.m.—and realized he needed to hurry. He set the cup down and went to take a shower, letting the steam surround him, a temporary escape from reality. He allowed himself to dream of waking up refreshed and worry-free. But the sound of his alarm brought him back to reality, reminding him of the day’s responsibilities ahead.

“Damn it,” Aldin grumbled, his moment of tranquility in the shower cut abruptly short.
He quickly dried off, threw on his clothes, grabbed his longboard and backpack, and headed out. He double-checked the lock on his door, a habit formed after a few break-ins. He didn’t have much, but what he had was important to him.
Walking to the elevator, he was lost in his phone, pressing the call button without thinking. The chime sounded off, but the doors stayed closed. He hit the button again, this time with intention, and the elevator responded, taking him down to the street.
The smell of the ocean filled the air, a storm brewing on the horizon—a scent familiar from his days in Seattle. The salty breeze was a refreshing change from the impending rain. He put on his headphones and hit play on a playlist full of lively beats that matched his stride through the city.
His journey from Fourteenth Avenue near Denny Way was routine, a path well-known to him, leading through the city’s heart and past late-night eateries. He skated down Boren Avenue, blending into the city’s rhythm in the bike lane.
Passing by shop windows, Aldin caught sight of himself—unshaven, black hair pulled back, his green eyes standing out against his rough appearance. His casual clothes hid a body kept fit by daily rides on his board.
Reaching Pine Street, he made his way down into the depths of the Westlake light rail station, situated between 5th and 6th avenue. He bypassed the escalators for the stairs, heading straight to the platform where he found a quiet spot on a bench, his longboard beside him.
His foot tapped in time with the music, each beat a wave of emotion that filled the void left by, his sister, Colleen’s death.
Aldin and Colleen shared a bond that was both tender and enduring. Despite the five-year age gap, Colleen never saw Aldin as just a little brother; she saw a companion, an ally in their childhood adventures. She was his protector, his guide, and his confidante. When Aldin struggled with the monsters under his bed, it was Colleen who bravely checked every corner of the room and assured him that they were safe. She taught him how to tie his shoes, shared her love for stargazing, and introduced him to the world of books. Together, they built forts, explored the woods behind their house, and created a secret language only they could understand. Colleen’s nurturing presence helped shape Aldin into the person he became, and those early years forged a friendship that time and distance could never diminish. Then she died.
The memory of that day was vivid—a scream that woke him, his mother on the floor, his father’s tears. Colleen’s life had ended in a car crash, her boyfriend Terry’s drunken mistake sending them off a cliff into the sea. A witness described the car swerving, hitting a puddle, and then hydroplaning off the edge. It took six hours for the rescue team to retrieve the car, but by then, it was too late.
A year later, Aldin’s parents were gone too, lost in a plane crash over the Atlantic on their way to Ireland. Out of hundreds, they were among the ten who did not make it.
At eighteen, Aldin was alone, his grandparents long gone. He inherited everything but couldn’t bear to stay in the house that was once a home. So, he moved from one place to another, each more impersonal than the last.
Aldin’s mother had always been the beacon of warmth in his life. Even when the days grew long and the nights cold, she would wrap him in a hug and whisper, “Everything will be alright, my little star.” That nickname stuck, a tender reminder of her unwavering love and the light she brought into his world.
On the anniversary of their passing, Aldin found solace in the small rituals that kept their memory alive. He would ride the ferries, the gentle sway reminiscent of the times his mother would dance around the living room, Aldin’s small hand in hers, giggling as she called him her little star. With each note of the familiar music, it was almost as if he could hear her singing along, her voice a soothing balm to his aching heart.
The house they once shared held too many echoes of laughter and love, now silent. It was in the quiet moments, looking out across the water, that Aldin felt closest to them. The stars above seemed to twinkle just a bit brighter, as if his mother was looking down on him, her little star, guiding him still.
As the light rail arrived, something caught Aldin’s eye across the platform—a figure in a dark hoodie. When the train’s arrival blew her hood back, he thought he saw Colleen’s smile. “Colleen?” he whispered, but she disappeared as quickly as she appeared, leaving him in disbelief.
He called her name, but it was too late; she was gone, and the train doors closed behind him.
The fleeting glimpse of the woman in the hoodie had shaken Aldin to his core. It was more than just a resemblance; it was the curve of her smile, the spark in her eyes that he remembered from a thousand shared moments. As the light rail carried him away, his mind replayed the scene, each detail etched with the possibility that it was indeed Colleen.
He remembered their childhood, the way she would ruffle his hair and call him “champ” as they raced their bikes down the neighborhood streets. She was always the fearless one, leading the charge, her laughter the soundtrack of their youth. Now, the city’s cacophony couldn’t drown out the silence of her absence.
As Aldin stepped off at Pioneer Square, the familiar hustle of the city enveloped him. The urban symphony was punctuated by the rhythmic tapping of his skateboard, a metronome to his racing thoughts. He navigated the concrete waves with an agility born of years of practice, but today, each push felt heavier, each turn sharper. The vision of Colleen lingered, a ghostly presence in the crowd.
Could it have been a trick of the light, a figment of his longing? Or had the universe conspired to give him a sign? Aldin didn’t know, but as he rolled past the vibrant murals and the echoes of street performers, he allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that Colleen was still with him, guiding him like a north star in the bustling city night.
Turning onto First Street, he noticed a staircase he had never seen before, hidden in plain sight. It was as if the city had kept it secret just for him.
His ride came to an abrupt stop when a stray stone sent him flying. Time seemed to slow as he fell, only to come crashing down as he hit the ground, his head meeting a rock in a painful encounter. Blood began to trickle down, and he cursed himself for not wearing a helmet.
He reached for his first aid kit, usually sitting just inside his bag, but it was gone. Tying a bandana around the wound, he could not help but be drawn to the mysterious staircase, glowing faintly in the dim light.
Despite his hesitation, Aldin descended into the depths, the air growing thick with the musty scent of decay. The corridor before him was a mausoleum of relics left to time’s cruel embrace. Ahead, a room pulsed with an eerie, unnatural glow. A figure with raven-black hair stood in the center, her silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescence. He called out, a tentative “Hello?” that hung in the stagnant air.
She turned slowly, and where a face should have been, there was nothing—just a smooth expanse of skin. Her mouth opened to release a scream that was not a sound but a vacuum, pulling at his very soul. Panic clawed at Aldin’s chest as he stumbled back, the scream echoing in his ears, chasing him up the stairs.
Bursting onto the street, he dared to look back. The faceless woman was there, gliding over the ground, her dark hair billowing like the wings of a raven. A false sense of sanctuary washed over him as he boarded the bus, the doors closing with a hiss. But then, she was there—right across from him, her blank visage a silent accusation. He cried out, a strangled sound of terror, but in the blink of an eye, she vanished. The passengers’ eyes bore into him a mix of concern and fear, as Aldin sat trembling, wondering if he would ever escape her haunting presence.
“Sorry, just something I saw on my phone,” he said, trying to laugh it off, but the fear clung to him.
Was it all in his head? The faceless woman, the chase—it felt so real. He touched the blood on his cheek, the cut on his forehead lining up with the old scar, a cruel reminder of the fall.
He got off the bus early, heading for the hospital. He sent a quick message to his boss, Nadia, who offered little more than a mandatory doctor’s note.
Aldin’s second search for the first aid kit proved futile, so he improvised with a spare shirt, wrapping it tightly around the wound. The next bus arrived, and as he settled into his seat, a needle caught his eye. “Just my luck,” he muttered, moving to another seat to avoid the sharp object.
His attempt to find solace in music was interrupted by a sudden, intense headache that gripped him without warning. It vanished as quickly as it came, leaving him disoriented and alone at the bus stop. “What’s happening?” he whispered to himself, a sense of unease creeping in.
When the bus came again, Aldin boarded with a sense of déjà vu. He closed his eyes, hoping to shake off the strange occurrences. But the needle was still there when he looked again, its presence unsettling. “This can’t be happening,” he said to himself, struggling to understand the bizarre events unfolding around him.
After leaving the hospital, Aldin got on the bus, feeling every bump and turn amplify the pain in his head. He got off and tried to ride his board, but his balance was off, and he stumbled.
Aldin’s return to his apartment was a battle against his own body. As he reached the entrance, his foot caught on an unseen obstacle, sending him sprawling to the ground. The expletive that escaped his lips was a reflex, an echo of frustration in the empty hallway.
The pain in his head was a merciless tyrant, each pulse a drumbeat of agony. Nausea overtook him, and he retched, the bitter taste of bile a stark reminder of his vulnerability. All he yearned for was the sanctuary of his bed, a haven where he might find a moment’s respite from the relentless torment.
His vision blurred, a watercolor world of smudged shapes and dimming light. He dragged himself upright, leaning heavily against the wall, only to find the elevator mocking him with its ‘Out of Service’ sign. A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound hollow in the deserted lobby.
The ascent up the staircase was a journey through purgatory. Each step was a herculean effort, each landing a milestone of pain. By the third floor, his limbs betrayed him, and he was reduced to crawling, the carpet burning against his skin.
At last, he reached his door. His hands, trembling and slick with sweat, fumbled with the keys, the metallic clink a taunting chorus as he struggled to unlock the door. He stumbled inside, the familiar scent of home a cruel contrast to his suffering.
He whispered a mantra of encouragement, “Just a bit further,” but his body refused to obey. The world tilted on its axis, a maelstrom of shadows and light spinning around him. And then, darkness claimed him, his last conscious thought a feeble acknowledgment of his plight.
Curled up on the cold floor, Aldin surrendered to oblivion, the deep, dreamless sleep enveloping him like a shroud. For once, the specters of his nightmares were kept at bay, granting him a brief reprieve in the silent embrace of the unconscious.