Limbo

  Chapter 1: Sam Faeloc

  Sam Faeloc sat hunched at his desk, his fingers aimlessly tapping a pen against a stack of untouched reports. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a sterile, artificial glow that drained the room of any warmth. Around him, the muffled hum of keyboards and occasional coughs filled the air like a monotonous symphony. It was another afternoon in an endless loop of afternoons, each indistinguishable from the last.

  The office was a cube farm of beige dividers and faded motivational posters, their slogans long stripped of meaning. Sam’ cubicle, though slightly more personalized than the others, betrayed his yearning for something beyond this corporate grind. A small figurine of a woolly mammoth sat on the corner of his desk, its tusks chipped from years of idle handling. Beside it, a coffee mug emblazoned with “Ancient Civilizations Club” served as a pen holder, though the club itself had dissolved over a decade ago, along with much of his ambition.

  Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze wander to the single window at the far end of the office. Outside, the city sprawled in muted grays and browns, the skyline blurred by a haze of smog. His reflection in the glass stared back at him; a man of thirty, with dark circles under his eyes and a perpetually furrowed brow. His once-vivid bright eyes seemed dimmer now, weighed down by years of monotony and unmet expectations.

  That evening, Sam returned to his apartment, a small, cluttered space that echoed his disorganized thoughts. The dim glow of a single desk lamp illuminated shelves crammed with books about archaeology and ancient history. Dust-coated replicas of arrowheads, fossils, and pottery shards were scattered among them, remnants of a passion he’d long since set aside.

  He dropped his bag by the door and slumped onto the worn couch, staring at the coffee table strewn with unopened mail and a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. The television sat silent in the corner, its black screen reflecting the dim light of the room. Sam didn’t bother turning it on. He preferred the quiet.

  On the wall above his bookshelf hung a faded poster of an excavation site, its corners curled from years of neglect. It was from a college trip to a dig in Utah, a time when his dreams had felt tangible and exciting. Back then, he’d imagined himself traveling the world, uncovering the secrets of ancient civilizations. Now, those dreams felt like relics themselves, buried under the weight of routine and resignation.

  Sam picked up a well-worn book from the coffee table: The Mystery of the Younger Dryas. He flipped through the pages absentmindedly, his mind drifting. The Younger Dryas had always fascinated him; an enigmatic period of sudden climate change that had reshaped the Earth’s history. It was a puzzle he’d once longed to solve, but now it was just another curiosity in a life that felt increasingly stagnant.

  He closed the book and stared at the ceiling. “What happened to me?” he muttered to the empty room. The question lingered in the air, unanswered, as he drifted into a restless sleep, unaware that the course of his life was about to change forever.

  Sam stepped off the bus and into the cluttered streets of the city, his boots scraping along the uneven pavement. The hum of the city seemed a million miles away, even though it was right in front of him. People rushed by in a blur, their faces impersonal, all absorbed in their own worlds. Sam, however, had long stopped trying to connect with them. His life had become a routine of isolation, and the noise of the world only heightened the silence inside him.

  The museum loomed ahead, wedged between towering office buildings that seemed to blot out the sun. It was a forgotten relic, a small, unassuming structure with weathered stone steps leading to a creaky wooden door. A tarnished plaque read: “The Natural History and Prehistory Museum,” its words barely legible from years of neglect. Despite its faded exterior, Sam found himself drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

  The door creaked open with a soft groan, and a cool draft hit him as he stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of old wood and dust, and the floors creaked under his weight as though they, too, remembered a time when the museum had been bustling with visitors. It had clearly seen better days. The lighting was dim, the walls lined with yellowed posters of extinct creatures and ancient civilizations. The front desk was manned by a woman who appeared as though she had been there for centuries, her gnarled hands busy with a crossword puzzle, her attention never leaving it.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Good afternoon,” Sam muttered, but the woman didn’t even look up. She gave a vague nod, absorbed in her puzzle, as if he were just another ghost passing through.

  Sam wandered further into the museum, taking in the quiet. His footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, but the exhibits were unremarkable; brittle plaques and faded displays. Yet, Sam felt a familiar spark of excitement stir deep within him. This was his world. It always had been. As a child, he had spent hours in museums like this, imagining what it must have been like to live during the time of the mammoths or the saber-toothed cats. He had dreamed of unearthing these ancient secrets, but life had a way of derailing dreams. Archaeology had long been a forgotten ambition. Now, it seemed so far out of reach, like a story someone had told him once and he had almost forgotten.

  He lingered in front of a large display that featured a reconstructed saber-toothed cat skeleton. Its massive fangs gleamed under the dim lighting, its skeletal frame an impressive reminder of the dangers of the past. He studied it for a moment, tracing the sharp curve of its claws. It was always the predators that fascinated him the most. The saber-toothed cats, the wolves, the creatures that ruled the ancient world before humanity ever had a chance.

  Further down the hall, he found another exhibit; stone tools from early humans. Scrapers and spearheads that looked so foreign, yet so familiar, to his trained eyes. The placards were yellowed, the text faded, but it didn’t matter. Sam knew what they were, what they meant. These were the tools of survival, the objects that allowed humans to carve a place for themselves in a world that was anything but welcoming.

  His feet carried him into another room, smaller than the others, and dimmer still. A placard on the wall read “The Mystery of the Younger Dryas,” and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with excitement. The Younger Dryas. A brief but mysterious period of abrupt climate change, one that scientists still debated. Sam had read every book, every journal article on it, his mind consumed by the idea of what might have caused the sudden shift in the Earth’s climate. Was it a comet? A volcanic eruption? The answer was elusive, like a puzzle that no one had yet managed to solve.

  The exhibit was sparse; only a few items on display. A detailed map of the world during the Younger Dryas, showing the shifting ice sheets and altered climate zones. He traced the map with his finger, imagining the frozen landscape that had once stretched across much of the northern hemisphere. It was like stepping into a time machine, if only for a moment. His heart quickened as he read the placard beneath it, but his attention was soon diverted by something else, something far more intriguing.

  In the corner of the room, partially obscured by shadows, sat an orb the size of a tennis ball. At first, he thought it was just another artifact, but there was something about it that caught his eye. It wasn’t like the other objects in the museum; there was a strange energy about it, something that made his pulse quicken. The orb was perfectly round, smooth to the touch, but its surface was etched with intricate carvings that seemed out of place. The patterns were geometric and appeared to rotate, too precise to be made by any human hand he had ever seen. It caught the dim light in a way that made it shimmer, almost as though it were alive. It beckoned him.

  He stepped closer, drawn in by an inexplicable pull. His fingers itched to touch it, to feel the smooth surface against his skin. He glanced around quickly, but the receptionist was still absorbed in her crossword puzzle. No one was watching. Slowly, almost without thinking, he reached out, brushing his fingers against the glass that encased the orb. A strange warmth radiated from it, a hum that seemed to vibrate through the air.

  The placard next to it was vague, as if the museum didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Unknown origin. Found at a remote dig site. Date and exact location of discovery unknown.”

  That was all. No more information, no explanation. Just the orb. Sam leaned in closer, his breath fogging the glass. The carvings seemed to shift before his eyes, the patterns swirling, twisting into shapes that made his mind ache.

  His heart raced as the pull to it grew stronger. He wasn’t sure why, but he needed it. It felt like fate had brought him here, to this moment. Something about the orb felt... important. As though it was meant for him.

  He glanced once more at the receptionist. She was still immersed in her puzzle, oblivious to him. Sam felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly overtaken by the growing desire to take the orb. He knew it was wrong. He knew it would be a mistake. But his fingers tingled with the sensation of something bigger, something out of reach, just waiting for him to claim it.

  His eyes darted around the museum. No one was looking. His heart pounded in his chest as he carefully slid the orb from its case. It was lighter than he expected, almost weightless. His hand tightened around it, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

  He tucked the orb under his jacket, hiding it from view. The warmth from it radiated against his side, but he forced himself to remain calm. Slowly, he made his way toward the exit, careful not to draw attention. As he stepped back into the sunlight, the weight of the orb felt heavier than before. But it wasn’t just the orb that weighed on him; it was the decision he had made, one that felt like he could never undo.

  As Sam walked away from the museum, his mind raced. He couldn’t explain why he had stolen it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his life was about to change in ways he couldn’t possibly understand. The orb, now hidden in his bag, pulsed with an energy that seemed to resonate deep within him, a connection he had no words for, but one that would soon become undeniable.