CHAPTER TWO

  The explosion had come without warning, a blinding light and searing heat, followed by an all-consuming darkness. Aldain’s body had been thrown against the hard stone, his breath stolen by the force of the blast. He couldn’t remember how long he had been there—floating in the void, detached from his shattered body. There was no pain, no fear. Only silence.

  It felt like an eternity before the world started to take form again. A figure emerged from the darkness, hazy and red. The silhouette of a humanoid figure, its edges dissolving into the air, like smoke caught in the wind. The pale face that emerged from the shadow held a soft, unsettling smile. It looked at him as though it knew him, as though it had been waiting for him.

  The figure stretched out its hands towards him. Its fingers were long, delicate, and beckoning, inviting him closer. Aladdin’s heart ached, but not in the way it once had. There was no fear here. Only the overwhelming pull of peace, of eternal rest. His hands trembled as he raised them towards the figure, the final step toward oblivion.

  But just as his fingers brushed against the cold, spectral hands, something sharp and forceful jerked him back.

  “Aldain! Al, Al, get up! We have to get to the mines before the mastri comes!”

  The voice was familiar, too familiar. It tugged at him, pulling him back into the world of the living. No, Aladdin thought desperately, not yet. Let me rest…

  He felt the force of someone’s grip on his arms, dragging him and pullin him to get on his feet. “This isn’t the time to be lazy, Al,” the voice continued, the tone insistent. “We have to leave before the mastri comes. If we are to show our worth and be promoted out of the mines…”

  It was Falshid. His childhood friend, his closest companion. The last time Aldain had seen him, Falshid had been ripped apart in the arena—left to die without a chance to defend himself, a sacrifice in the eyes of the cruel mastri.

  Aldain's eyes snapped open.

  He blinked in confusion, his vision blurry. And there, standing before him, was Falshid—alive. Not dead. Alive, and looking at him with that same impatient expression Aldain remembered from their youth.

  “Shid!” Aldain gasped, sitting up quickly. His heart thundered in his chest. “How are you alive? How is this possible?”

  Falshid looked down at him, an expression of mild disgust on his face. “What kind of dream are you having, Al?” he muttered, shrugging. “We need to get to the mines. The mastri won’t wait for us.”

  Aldain’s breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling. He could barely comprehend what was happening. His hands trembled as he reached for his clothes, shakily pulling his shirt over his head. His mind raced. Was this a dream? A second chance?

  “Shid,” he murmured, but his friend had already turned and was walking away, too hurried to pay attention.

  Panic and confusion gripped him as he followed, unable to fully process the events unfolding around him.

  ---

  The path to the mines took them through the Alcateen quarters, a district teeming with life and history. The quarter was a town built around the mines, it was located deep in the city of Omazu. The Alcateen were once an ancient race with dark caramel skin tones that radiated under the sunlight and glistened under the moon light, descended from gods long gone. Once blessed with magic and strength beyond that of humans, their people had fallen into ruin a thousand years ago, after their divine protector vanished. The Alcateen had tried to defend their cities, but they were outnumbered and outmatched. Magic, once overflowing in their veins, had faded over time, leaving only whispers of the power they had lost.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The bustling crowds, the distant sounds of people calling out in their ancient tongue, only reminded Aldain of how much had changed. Was it all real? Was this another dream, or had he truly been given a second chance?

  His thoughts spiraled, but before he could settle on any answers, they arrived at the mines.

  The sharp, metallic scent of sweat and earth hit him first. Aldain could almost hear the sound of pickaxes scraping against the hard stone, the grunts of exhausted workers echoing through the cavernous tunnels.

  As he tried to process his confusion, the memories of his final moments before the explosion flooded back. The battle with Aesmodes, the rush of rage, the cold steel of betrayal sinking deep into his chest. He struck the wall of the mine, a surge of fury overtaking him, his pickaxe landing with a deafening clang. But then—

  A scream.

  “Shid!”

  Aldain’s heart skipped a beat. He dropped his pickaxe and rushed towards the sound, dread clawing at his insides. His worst fear had come true. His friend, the one who he watched die in the arena in his previous life, was now lying on the ground, battered and bruised—just like before.

  He knelt beside Shid, his chest tight with the weight of the memory. He told himself "I remembers this," it happened when when he was sixteen. The events of his youth—when Enalk and his gang had beaten them almost to the brink of death—were happening again. Enalk the biggest and most terrifying kid in the mine.

  “No,” Aldain muttered. “Not this time.”

  He stood and moved toward Enalk, the leader of the bullies. His fists clenched at his sides. This time would be different. He wasn’t the same weak boy who had let it happen. Not anymore.

  He shoved one of the boys in Enalk’s gang so hard that he fell to the ground, his face pale with shock.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Enalk sneered, stepping forward. “Walk away, Al.”

  “No,” Aldain said coldly. “Only my friends call me Al, and the only friend I have right now is lying on the ground, bloodied because of you and your cowardly gang.”

  The words stung, and the group around him bristled. Enalk’s eyes flared with anger. With a growl, he charged.

  The first punch came swift and furious, but Aldain was quicker. He dodged, easily sidestepping Enalk’s attack and leaving him stunned. Enalk looked up at him, confusion clouding his eyes.

  “How… how did you do that?” Enalk grunted.

  He simply smiled. “You’re slow.”

  Enalk had always hated the fiery glare in his opponents eyes, always looking like he was better than everyone.

  Enalk’s fury burned even brighter. He swung again, this time with more force, but his opponent danced around him, fluid and agile. The second attack was missed entirely. Aldain went for a kick, but it lacked power, and Enalk managed to dodge. Before Aldain could react, Enalk’s fist landed hard across his lips.

  Pain flared through his face, and blood spilled from his mouth. He spat the blood onto the floor and took a deep breath, steadying himself. This was no dream. He told himself this wasn't the body of Aldain the hero but of a weaker version of himself. Picking himself up he adjusted his balance and edged his opponent to come at him.

  Enalk came at him again, but this time Aldain’s movements were too fast—too sharp. He moved like a nimble cat, dodging every strike with ease. Finally, with one fluid motion, He landed a punch square between Enalk’s eyes, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

  Silence fell.

  Aldain stood over his fallen opponent, breathing heavily, a victorious smile tugging at his lips. He turned to Shid, who was staring up at him in disbelief.

  “How… How did you move like that? Fight like that?” Shid whispered, eyes wide.

  “It was just luck,” he said with a chuckle, wiping blood from his mouth " Pure luck".

  But as he helped his friend to his feet, a new presence made itself known.

  The mastri.

  The very man who had overseen their lives in the mines, the one who controlled their fate. His aura was overwhelming, a heavy presence that made everyone around him fall to the ground involuntarily, finding it had to breathe. His eyes narrowed as he observed Aldain and Shid, his grin predatory, like a tiger sizing up its prey.

  “Take them to the isolation cells,” the mastri ordered, his voice dripping with cold authority.

  ---

  The isolation cells were cold, unforgiving, and silent. Al and Shid were locked away, separated from the world and everyone in it.

  Shid’s wounds had been treated, but the silence was unbearable. Al lay on the cold stone floor, staring at his chest flashing back to the glow of the rune on his chest. His mind raced with questions. What had happened to him? The scarlet figure, the pale smile, the voice calling him back.

  Could it have been a god? No—this didn’t feel like any deity he had ever heard of.

  Was this really a second chance?

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His body was weak. The fight with Enalk had proven that. If he was to change the future, to prevent the disasters that lay ahead, he needed to be stronger.

  He crossed his legs and placed his palms together, closing his eyes. He focused on the technique he had learned in his past life—the *Pacific Breathing Technique*. It was the only way to draw mana from the nature around him, to feel the power of the world itself flowing through him.

  His first attempt failed. Blood dripped from his eyes, nose, and mouth. The second attempt ended the same way. But Aladdin refused to give up.

  On his third attempt, something shifted.

  The mana began to flow into his body, a powerful warmth flooding his veins. The bleeding stopped.

  His body relaxed.

  “I almost died again,” he whispered to himself, a smile breaking across his face. “But I made it.”

  His thoughts turned toward the dungeon of Oryx, where the artifact that had granted him his runes lay. *The key to everything*, he thought. The runes, that is the power I need to change the future. But first, he needed to leave the mines and make it to the arena.

  This was just the beginning.