ALGEA: Divine and Chaos

Chapter 2:Fantasy or Reality?

              When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the smell of old wood. The air was cold, and the room around me was dim, lit only by a weak light coming through the small windows. My head pounded, and for a moment, I had no idea where I was. The mattress under me was thin and uneven, the kind you'd expect to find in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

I sat up slowly, my body stiff and sore. A dull ache throbbed in my shoulder, pulling the memory back—running through the rain, the gunshot, falling into the river. Panic rushed in, and my hand shot up to where I'd been hit. But instead of the wound I expected to feel, there was nothing. No blood, no torn skin, just smooth muscle under my fingertips.

How is that even possible?

I stood up, still shaky, and took a better look around the room. The cabin was small, barely furnished. Two windows on one side, a wooden cabinet near the corner, and a table with a single chair on the opposite wall. Everything looked old, as if it had been here untouched for years. 

I closed my eyes, and the memories hit harder now, more vivid. I was with Jade, that night in the alley. His voice had been hushed, tense, as he talked to those two men. I hadn't known what they were saying, not until I saw the gun flash. One shot, and Jade was down. I could still see it, his body collapsing to the wet pavement like a puppet with its strings cut. My legs had frozen.

Then that sound—the bottle. I had stepped back in shock, kicking over a bottle in the alleyway. The noise echoed louder than the gunshot, alerting them to my presence. I didn't wait for them to see me—I just ran. I could still hear the pounding footsteps behind me, the rain, the shouts, the gunfire. One of them had gotten me. The bullet tore through my shoulder, the pain like fire as I tumbled over the edge of the cliff, falling into the freezing water below. The river had dragged me under, swallowing me whole, leaving me to drown.

And now... now I was here. No bullet wound. No blood. But the memory was as clear as day, fresh in my mind like it had happened only moments ago.

I needed to get out of there, to find out where I was. The room felt too small, the air too still. I walked to the door, my legs wobbly, and opened it.

I stepped into what looked like a dining area. It was just as plain as the bedroom. A wooden table, mismatched chairs, a few plates on a shelf. The windows here were fogged from the cold. I kept moving, heading straight for the front door.

When I opened it, I stepped outside into the cold morning air. The porch was old, the wood creaking under my feet. The sky was overcast, a thick layer of clouds blocking out the sun. Everything around was wet from the rainstorm, the ground muddy, and the trees were dark and dense, stretching out into a forest.

That's when I saw him.

An old man, sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, facing away from me. He was holding a long, slender cigarette holder, puffing smoke that curled lazily into the air. He didn't look at me, didn't say anything, just sat there, rocking slowly back and forth as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

I stood there, staring at him for what felt like an eternity. My mind raced. Was he the one who brought me here? Did he save me? And how did my wound disappear? I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right, that I wasn't safe here.

I took a cautious step forward, the floorboards creaking under my weight. The old man kept rocking, his back to me, the smoke from his cigarette swirling into the gray sky.

The old man noticed me standing there and, without turning fully, said in a gravelly voice, "You're already awake."

I hadn't expected him to speak first, let alone to know I was there without looking at me. Before I could muster a question, he continued, "I know you're confused about where you are." His gaze turned to meet mine, and I felt an unsettling chill as if he could see right through me.