"You’re late."

  The words hung in the air, soft yet absolute.

  John didn’t move.

  He had been hunted. Chased. Dragged into a war he hadn’t signed up for.

  But never—not once—had something like this happened.

  A presence.

  Not a person. Not a machine.

  Something else.

  Something waiting for him.

  John clenched his fists. He wasn’t afraid.

  But deep down—he already knew.

  This was the moment everything changed.

  The tunnel was still.

  Too still.

  John took a slow step forward, his heartbeat the only sound.

  "Who’s there?" he said, voice low.

  Silence.

  Then—

  "You already know."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  John’s breath caught.

  That voice. It wasn’t just speaking to him.

  It was inside him.

  Like it had always been there.

  Waiting to be heard.

  The air shifted.

  Dust swirled, light flickering against the tunnel walls.

  Then—he saw it.

  A faint glow.

  Not from a machine. Not from a screen.

  From something buried beneath the rubble.

  John stepped closer.

  And there it was.

  Half-buried in stone. Ancient. Impossible.

  A Mask.

  Dark. Unmarked. Perfect.

  John inhaled sharply. He had found it.

  But the voice?

  The voice was still there.

  "Not found."

  "Returned."

  John stilled.

  What did that mean?

  John knelt, brushing dust away from the Mask’s surface.

  It was smooth. Cold.

  But beneath that?

  Something else.

  Something alive.

  His fingertips barely grazed it—

  And his vision shattered.

  John wasn’t in the tunnel anymore.

  He was somewhere else.

  A place with no time, no walls, no light.

  Just echoes.

  Faint whispers of something lost.

  Images flickered past him—too fast to hold on to.

  A figure wearing the Mask.

  A city in flames.

  A war that never should have happened.

  A choice that could never be undone.

  John staggered back.

  Then—

  Everything snapped back to reality.

  John was on his knees.

  The Mask was still there.

  Still waiting.

  Still calling.

  "It’s yours."

  The voice was softer now.

  Not commanding. Not demanding.

  Just… expectant.

  John exhaled slowly.

  He had spent his whole life running from power.

  From people like Cain. From the kind of attention that got people killed.

  But now?

  Now he was standing at the edge of something bigger than himself.

  Something inevitable.

  John reached out.

  His fingers curled around the Mask.

  And the moment he lifted it—

  The world changed.