Chapter 1 - Prologue

Paul’s life was lonely, or so some would say, but he didn’t mind. He was perfectly content with his routine. He had no real friends, just acquaintances from work, school, and his neighbors. His greatest joys were TV shows, comic books, novels, and video games—anything with a compelling story, especially if it involved fantasy elements. Every day was the same: work, then immerse himself in reading, watching, or playing.

One evening, as usual, he finished work and settled in front of his computer to read something new. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise coming from the kitchen.

“It’s just my imagination,” he muttered.

But the noise grew louder, and then a voice emerged from the din: “Come to me…nture avaits. Come to me…ure avaits. Come to me…avait.” The voice gradually faded away.

Startled, Paul grabbed a baseball bat and headed to the kitchen. He slowly opened the door, only to be struck by a severe headache. He collapsed to his knees, unable to see anything but blinding white light.

“Who? Who are y—”

Everything went dark, and he fainted.

When he came to, Paul thought it was all a dream. He began to wake up, expecting to go to work. As he opened his eyes, he was confused.

“Huh? What is this? Where am I? What’s going on? Am I still dreaming?” He slapped himself. “Ouch…no, I’m not dreaming. But what is this bed, this room, and where are my clothes?” He screamed in panic.

An old man with a broad grin suddenly burst into the room. “Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho…I see you are awake. Good. Very good.”

“What? What is this? Who are you?” Paul’s panic increased.

<<Have I been kidnapped?>>

“Relax, relax, young man. You’re just weakened from what’s happened,” the old man said soothingly.

Realizing the old man meant him no harm, Paul calmed down and started to piece together his situation.

<<The last thing I remember was the kitchen, the powerful headache, and the white light. And the voice…>>

The old man watched Paul with a smile. “Good, you’re calming down and in good health. I know you have many questions, and I will answer them while we drink tea.”

“Huh? Oh…ok. Thank you,” Paul said, still bewildered.

“First, let’s introduce ourselves. My name is Jonathan, and I am 257 years old.”

“Ummmm… my name is Paul and I’m… wait, how old did you say you are?”

“257, ho ho ho.”

“But how… you don’t look older than 60.”

“Thank you. Now that we know our names, I’ll explain a few things to you, and then I’ll answer any questions you might have,” Jonathan said with a smirk and a glint in his golden eyes.

“Okay…” Paul replied, noticing the glint in Jonathan’s eyes.