Tha-thump… Tha-thump… Tha-Thump.

--

Ash gasped, groaning in pain. He could feel the beat of his heart thumping like an old metronome. His head pounded too, each beat like being hit on the head with a hammer. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears, throbbing loud like a swarm of buzzing bees.

Ash’s body ached, and his muscles felt torn and sore. He could feel the familiar burning sensation running down his arms and legs as if he had run 10 kilometers the night before. It had been a long time since Ash last felt that. He didn’t even know if he could still run the distance.

--

As he acclimatised to the rhythmic throbbing inside his skull, Ash wondered what the hell had happened. Was he hungover? Why did his bed feel so weird?

He was alive though; he was aware of that at least. Where, how… in what way was the question. Ash tried to piece together what he remembered.

The storm, the vortex and watching his friends be pulled through it as if it were a portal? What a weird a dream? They must have gotten drunk. They must have played on too late into the morning. That would make sense.

Ash would just have to deal with the aftereffects now. He would open his eyes and stare up at the faded blues of his ceiling from his old creaky bed. The sun would break through the slit of the too short curtains and blind him momentarily. It was always too bright, like someone shone a torch right in his eyes. That’s right. It was all a very weird dream.

--

Ash lay there taking deep breaths; focusing on the rise and fall of his chest as he waited for the pounding in his head to finally die down. A headache this bad in the morning usually meant he must have overslept. Ash had never been one to sleep in, though that had changed since his injury.

He groaned again, rolling onto his side and stretching out to pull in his blanket. His hands met a cold, hard surface like smooth granite. There was no blanket, nor the warmth of his striped bed sheet or the comforting bounce of his mattress.

Ash snapped up, pushing his body with one arm to sit upright while he rubbed his sleepy eyes with the other. It took him a few seconds to adjust to the harsh light.

As his weary eyes craned open, they gazed around dazed and confused.

He blinked. Once. Twice. A third time.

“What the f…” Ash enunciated aloud, his words trailing softly.

This was not his room. This wasn’t even his house!

Ash found himself in the middle of an unfamiliar, cold hall. The derelict building reminded Ash of the old churches his Grandparents had dragged him to as a child. The hall was cavernous with a high vaulted ceiling that had caved in on the far-right side. Iridescent rays of light poured through the moss-covered damage the lined ceiling, illuminating the darkness as light warped around the support pillars that held what remained aloft.

The style was reminiscent yet strangely foreign to the old Gothic design he remembered. Where rows of large, dust stained-glass windows should have adorned the walls of the hall with imagery of the church, they instead depicted strange, esoteric symbols. Ash saw great reliefs carved into the walls of dragons and great beasts like the gargoyles of gothic churches. The walls themselves were engraved with a language Ash didn’t recognise.

Where the hell am I?

--

Ash pulled himself to his feet. He noticed that surround him was a ring of raised platforms upon which sat podiums; six in total that stood at attention like wardens. They circled around him, elevated above the depression in the floor he seemed to find himself in.

Beneath these raised platforms were a series of concentric rings carved into the polished stone floor. The rings rippled outwards from a central circle; the exact point that Ash had woken up.

His heart dropped, a cold feeling lining his throat and lungs.

“I… I’ve been kidnapped” Ash said, running his hands through his messy-cropped mop of coffee brown hair.

“I’ve definitely been kidnapped. By some wannabe cult. For some ritual. And I’m going to end up sacrificed” He ranted to himself, “Just my luck.”

Ash lingered on his words for a moment, looking around nervously. He half expected some occult hooded figures to appear and reveal their nefarious plans. Instead, he was met with nothing beside the faint creaking of the wooden structures of the hall.

--

Ash patted himself down. He grabbed at his arms, his legs, his chest and even his butt. No real pain. He was sore but he didn’t seem to have any serious injuries. He patted at his back pocket again. No phone to be found. Great.

Ash tapped at his face a few times; the faintest hope he may wake up again. No luck there either. He hadn’t noticed that his headache had disappeared. Washed away with the rising tide of the shock at his surroundings.

--

Ash was still wearing his small pair of black running shorts and the faded workout t shirt two sized too big. He wore no shoes but did have on his warmest pair of socks; the fuzzy bright orange pair he had received at Christmas time.

Ash sighed; these were the same clothes as last night. That wasn’t a good sign.

Best case, he had woken up after some bad dreams and gone sleepwalking. Somehow, he had wandered into an abandoned church with bizarre images and had lain down to continue sleeping. That seemed a tad farfetched.

Worst case, well, Ash didn’t know what the worst case could be. Was it not a dream? Had he been sucked into that vortex and plopped out somewhere else? Ash almost would prefer to be proven right about being kidnapped.

--

Ash scanned the hall again, his neck craning to look up at the ceiling then back down to the rings he stood within. He blew hot air through pursed lips and pacing forwards.

“I may as well find out where the hell I am.” He said, climbing out of the circular rings.

He walked towards the stained-glass windows to his right, each step billowing a small puff of dust from a floor that hadn’t been used in a long time.

They were enormous; the arch shaped windows taller than Ash and framed with a rich gold lining. Dust and cobwebs clung to the windows like a veneer of neglect, hiding the vibrance of each glass scene.

As walked between the windows that dotted the long stone brick wall, he noticed that each was stained with a tapestry of a single colour.

Set amongst a background of reds, oranges and yellows was imagery of swirling fire that surrounded a resolute figure of deepest crimson.

In the next window a graceful figure of vibrant cyan danced amongst glass frames of blues, sea greens and foamy whites.

Each scene seemed to follow the same format, depicting strange mythological characters alongside specific types of nature.

Ash counted among them fire, earth, water, air and lightning and what he assumed was shadow; the purples, blacks and greys that had confused him at first. They reminded him of the elemental charts of the RPGs he and his friends played.

--

“Sh*t!” Ash said.

His shoulders dropped heavily. He had been so caught up in the strangeness of his surroundings that he hadn’t realized he had woken up alone.

He thought hard, trying to remember exactly what had happened last night. Maybe… maybe they had gone home before his sleepwalking? maybe he really was just dreaming?

As much as Ash hoped, his body betrayed him. His fists clenched hard, and his body felt hot as he remembered clearly for the first time since waking.

He remembered the madness of last night. The overbearing thunderstorm that had billowed outside all night. It hadn’t been a normal storm; Ash knew that but brushed it away.

Then he remembered the alien vortex of energy that ripped into his small apartment. He remembered the strange and bizarre chanting. He remembered watching his friends disappear one by one through what he was beginning to wonder… Was it a portal?

His last memory before waking up was the look of desperation on Oliver’s face; his outstretched hand grasping for Ash.

“F**k…” Ash whimpered. He had no idea what was going on. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know where his friends were. He didn’t know if they were safe. If they were nearby or somewhere else entirely. Ash didn’t even know if he were dreaming.

He punched against the stone wall. Hard. The force of the angry thud sent pain shooting through his hand and up to his elbow. His hand flushed a hot red, throbbing as the pain turned dull.

The one thing Ash knew, dream or not, was that he was alone in some strange unknown place.

--

The same images played over in Ash’s mind again and again. He tried to calm himself with long, deep breaths. He had to be calm. He couldn’t let this overwhelm him right now. He didn’t have that luxury.

Ash pushed off from the wall he was leaning his against.

“No backwards step” he said weakly, reciting his coach’s old mantra.

It was one he had used for a long time, both before and after his injury. It had carried him through good times and bad; centred him when he was lost.

Today felt like one of the days it was needed. With one last, deep breath Ash turned. He pushed back the doubt and bottled the fear as best he could. All Ash knew he could do right now was to try and work out what was happening, and that meant one step at a time.

Ash made a circuit of the walls of the hall, studying the caved in ruined section of the ceiling in the far right before looping back to the circle pit in the centre. He was like a mouse caught in a maze, moving back and forth on repeat.

The stained-glass windows had left him with more questions, but Ash hoped that the strange pit he woke up in would provide some answers. Any answers.

He walked back, noticing a glint from the centre podium on the far side of the ring. It sparkled against the ray of sunlight that had moved out and away from the centre he woke up in. He raised a brow, wondering what it could be. Ash crossed his fingers that it might be his phone.

Ash followed along the raised edge of ring, noticing that in the centre of each podium sat a stone statue of a human hand. The palm of each faced upwards with the fingers and thumb drawn together as if they had cupped an item.

As Ash rounded to the last podium, he found the same hand, with the same posture. Unlike the others however there was a small, smooth obsidian gem that sat neatly in the palm of the hand.

--

Ash stood there transfixed upon the orb. The gemstone was polished to a glass like finish; small veins of purple penetrating the pitch-black surface. It was beautiful. He could feel his heartbeat slow as he stared into the obsidian gem, swallowed by the darkness before him.

It felt familiar; like an old blanket from his childhood wrapping itself around him. He felt at home before the gemstone. Like Ash had always known it somehow. He could see the purples pulsing, swirling beneath the glossy, reflective surface. It called to him to take it. To be his.

Ash could feel the vibrations emanating from the orb as his hand slowly reached out, a tingling feeling from an electric energy lapping against his fingertips. There was a gravity, a force within the orb. Ash could feel power from the item. It might be able give him answers. They could be his.

As Ash’s fingers curled around the stationary black orb, he heard that strange chanting again. Rhythmic. Calling. Beckoning him. Ash made contact and all at once the world turned dark again.