Whispers of Astoria

Chapter Two: Beneath the Surface

The small cottage Andre led him to was nestled at the edge of the forest, almost hidden by the thick ivy that covered its stone walls. It was quaint, the kind of place Florence imagined only existed in fairy tales, with its thatched roof and a soft glow spilling from the windows. As they approached, the air around them seemed to shift, the quiet hum of the woods becoming even more subdued, as if the world were holding its breath.

Inside, the space was cozy, the scent of herbs and firewood filling the air. Andre motioned for Florence to sit by the hearth, where a crackling fire danced. Despite the warmth, a chill lingered in the pit of Florence's stomach, an unease he couldn't shake.

Andre moved about the room with a calm grace, gathering a kettle and filling it with water. Florence's eyes followed him, watching the way his body moved, his dark hair falling in waves over his shoulders. There was something so effortless about him, yet Florence sensed there was more beneath the surface—something unreadable, perhaps dangerous, but undeniably alluring.

"You seem troubled," Andre said, breaking the silence as he set the kettle to boil. His back was to Florence, but his voice carried a note of concern.

Florence didn't know how to respond. Troubled didn't even begin to cover it. He had been ripped from his world, transported to a place that defied logic, and now he was sitting in a stranger's home, feeling more drawn to him than he should.

"I don't understand any of this," Florence admitted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "One minute, I'm in my apartment, and the next... I'm here. In this world. Astoria." He said the name again, still grappling with its strangeness.

Andre turned then, his dark eyes locking onto Florence's with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Astoria has a way of finding those who are lost," he said cryptically, taking a seat across from Florence. "It's a place between worlds, where the threads of destiny intertwine."

"Destiny?" Florence frowned. The word felt foreign on his tongue, like it belonged in the pages of a fantasy novel, not in his life.

Andre smiled faintly, his gaze softening. "I know it sounds strange, but Astoria is a place of purpose. You were brought here for a reason, even if you don't see it yet."

Florence's heart pounded at the weight of those words. He wanted to believe it was all just a dream, that any moment he'd wake up in his bed, but everything about this world—about Andre—felt too real. Too vivid.

"What reason?" Florence asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Andre didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood and walked to a shelf, retrieving a small, weathered book. He handed it to Florence, his fingers brushing against his. The brief touch sent a spark through Florence's skin, igniting something inside him that he didn't quite understand.

Florence looked down at the book. Its leather cover was cracked with age, and the symbol on its front—a swirling pattern that looked like a spiral galaxy—felt oddly familiar.

"This will help you understand," Andre said softly. "It's not just coincidence that you're here, Florence. Astoria is filled with mysteries, and you've become part of them now."

Florence swallowed hard. His fingers traced the symbol on the book, but before he could ask more, a sudden, loud thud echoed from outside the cottage.

Andre's expression darkened immediately. He moved swiftly to the window, his posture tense, eyes scanning the treeline. The air in the room thickened, and the hum that had been faintly present outside grew louder, more insistent.

"What was that?" Florence asked, his voice tight with unease.

Andre didn't answer at first, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something in the darkness beyond the window. Then, in a voice barely above a murmur, he said, "They've found us."

Before Florence could ask who they were, Andre turned to him, his expression deadly serious. "Stay here. Don't move."

Without waiting for a response, Andre disappeared out the door, leaving Florence alone with nothing but the crackling fire and the ominous hum that now seemed to pulse through the air. Florence's heart raced, his mind whirling with fear and confusion.

They've found us.

Who? And why was Andre so certain they were in danger?

Florence stood, unable to sit still any longer. His gaze flicked to the door where Andre had vanished, his thoughts churning. He had barely begun to make sense of this strange world, and now something—or someone—was threatening them.

His eyes drifted back to the book in his hands, the spiral symbol gleaming faintly in the firelight. Something about it called to him, like it held the answers to questions he hadn't yet asked.

With a trembling breath, Florence opened the book.

The pages were filled with intricate drawings and symbols, their meaning unclear to him. But as he flipped through, something caught his eye—an illustration of a man, standing before a large, shadowy figure, with the same spiral symbol glowing at his chest.

And then, beneath the image, a single line of text in a language Florence didn't recognize but somehow understood:

"The one marked by fate will bring the storm."

A sudden, violent gust of wind slammed against the cottage, rattling the windows. The fire flickered wildly, and the hum in the air grew louder, almost deafening. Florence's pulse quickened, fear surging through him as the words on the page seemed to pulse with life.

In the distance, he heard a shout—a voice that sounded like Andre's, followed by a crash that shook the ground beneath his feet.

Without thinking, Florence dropped the book and rushed to the door, yanking it open.

What he saw outside froze him in place.

Andre was standing at the edge of the clearing, his back to Florence, facing a towering figure cloaked in shadows. The air around them crackled with energy, the ground trembling as if the earth itself was afraid.

Florence's heart pounded as he took a step forward, his voice trembling as he called out, "Andre!"

Andre turned slightly, just enough for Florence to see the sharp intensity in his eyes. But what Florence saw in that gaze wasn't fear—it was determination.

"You need to run, Florence," Andre said, his voice low and steady. "Now."

"But—"

"Run!"

Before Florence could respond, the shadowy figure lunged, and in that split second, the world erupted into chaos.