Immortal Voyage

(Chapter 1) But... Immortality is just a Myth!

The flames danced and licked at everything around with an insatiable hunger, casting an eerie glow that painted the night sky a fiery orange.

Theron stood frozen in the center of his home village, the air was thick with burning soot and ash, choking the very air out of his lungs.

Witnessing the devastating destruction, his heart pounded in his chest as he helplessly watched his beloved village being ravaged with tears in his eyes. The sounds of crackling flames and anguished cries echoed in his ears, drowning out any other noise.

The nightmarish experience takes a harrowing turn when Theron catches sight of his own home, now a roaring blaze.

Through the flames, he sees the silhouette of his older sister trapped inside, engulfed in the searing heat. Her piercing screams played at his heartstrings like a demonic performance.

At that moment, Desperation, Despair, every emotion seemed to claw at Theron's very soul, his legs sprinted on their own.

"Godul!!" His adolescent voice cracked with the amount of sheer desperation he felt.

As he reached out his hand, an unseen force held him back, not allowing him to get any closer, but just enough for Theron to feel the blaze singeing his left palm, scarring it.

As her charred black hand reached out from the blaze, her screams were now the only thing Theron could hear. "Theron! Please, run away! Theron!! THERON!!!"

"THERON!"

"GUH!?" Theron's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as if he just finished slaughtering hundreds of goblins.

Hastily taking a survey of his environment, he quickly realized what he just witnessed was just a dream... No, his repeated nightmare.

In reality, he was in his favorite guild tavern, Eve's Flask, the night crowded as usual. The atmosphere was electrified, charged with the joyous laughter, chatter, rhythmic clinking of tankards, and revelry of patrons who sought respite from their own unique daily toils.

Looking up from the hand on his shoulder, Theron glimpsed its owner.

An olive-toned man with rugged, blonde hair and a beard. His blue eyes and amiable smile carried nothing but simple joy. Numerous stains adorned his black apron and blue jeans, it was evident he had just finished work.

"Jeez my mans, you already went ahead and started drinking without your best pal?"

The man who saved Theron from his nightmare was none other than Jonathan Joshin, Kirull Village's very own blacksmith, and Theron's closest comrade.

Quickly straightening himself up, Theron realized just how much of a mess he was.

When he lifted his head from the hardwood table, he unwittingly extended a thin, glistening bridge of saliva, connecting from his lower lip to the puddle on the table. While normally translucent, it had a honey-brownish hue due to the ale that put Theron to sleep.

"Hehe, oh gods... This is super embarrassing. I'm sorry you had to see me like this my friend, haha..."

Reaching into his left pocket, Jonathan replied with a small chuckle. "Ah, no worries. Here, use my handkerchief. Must have been some gnarly dream if you were drooling that much."

Theron tried to laugh it off, but it trailed off. He couldn't help the distinct look of heaviness weighing down his entire face. Something Jonathan quickly noticed.

"Theron, you alright man?"

"Yeah, I'm just still a little... Out of it, I guess..." Theron said, his dispirited voice betraying him.