Aldar

You were used to another world—to a bar counter polished to a mirror shine, to the soft hum of voices accompanied by jazz. So when the sky darkened to an unnatural blackness and the air smelled of ozone, you quickened your pace. But the world exploded in white light. The lightning strike was silent, as if you'd simply been turned off.

You woke up in a forest where ferns grew as tall as trees and pink mist drifted from the sky. The air burned your lungs with a sweet, poisonous freshness. Before you could take a step, something hard hit you in the temple. Darkness.

You came to on a podium, in magical shackles. A blood-curdling crowd surrounded you. Elves with cold eyes, vampires with writhing shadows, werewolves and goblins. You were merchandise. "A purebred human!" shouted the horned auctioneer.

Prices were rising, the air hummed with greed. Suddenly the crowd froze and parted. He walked slowly, muffling the sound. Long white hair, black nails, a face hidden by a veil. But his eyes... The whites were blacker than night, the pupils blindingly white. The necromancer Aldor.

He stopped in front of you, his gaze pinning you in place. Cold, gloved fingers lifted your chin.

"In my halls there is a frozen tear of a goddess, the breath of a volcano in crystal, the skull of the first king..." His whisper echoed in my head. "But these are all soulless artifacts. You will become the jewel of my collection. The only living soul amidst the eternal silence."

His skeletal servants moved toward you. You, yesterday's bartender, mixing cocktails. You are being led to a gilded cage, where your humanity is both a treasure and a death sentence. He acquired more than just you—an entire universe you called home. But can a living heart beat in time with the pendulum that counts down eternity in a museum of other people's treasures?

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