Chapter 1

Tristan Anderson jolted upright, drenched in a cold sweat, his heart pounding against his chest as he gasped for breath. The remnants of a horrifying dream clung to his senses, refusing to release their grip. It was a recurring nightmare, a haunting reminder of the tragic day that shattered his world.

In his mind's eye, Tristan found himself trapped once more within the confines of an airplane, innocent and oblivious to the impending calamity. The rhythmic hum of the engines reverberated through the cabin, lulling him into a false sense of security. But then, without warning, darkness enveloped the aircraft, consuming everything in its path.

Within the inky blackness, screams echoed like desperate cries for salvation, blending with the harrowing roars of monstrous creatures lurking in the void. Fear gnawed at Tristan's insides as he strained to catch a glimpse of the figures that haunted his dreams, but they remained obscured, mere specters in the abyss.

And then, just as the nightmare had reached its crescendo, Tristan was abruptly yanked back to consciousness, his heart pounding against the confines of his chest. The remnants of terror still lingered, clawing at his mind and etching deep wounds in his soul.

In the aftermath of his awakening, Tristan lay there, trembling, his body coated in a sheen of perspiration. The images from his dream were etched into his memory with a cruel precision, a constant reminder of the loss he had endured. The pain, still raw and unhealed, resurfaced, threatening to overwhelm him.

The weight of his parents' absence pressed upon him, their absence a void that could never be filled. The memories of their loving smiles, the warmth of their embrace, and the sound of their laughter were etched into Tristan's heart, a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost.

A surge of helplessness washed over him, tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. The agony of his nightmare mingled with the deep sorrow that had settled within him since that fateful day. Grief, like an unwelcome companion, clung to his soul, whispering reminders of his solitary existence.

In the midst of his anguish, Tristan clung to the fragments of hope that fueled his adventurous spirit. He vowed to uncover the truth behind the mysterious void that swallowed his family and left him alone in a foreign lands. It was a quest for answers, a desperate attempt to restore what was lost.

With a shuddering breath, Tristan pushed himself upright, wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks. The nightmare had left him shaken, but it also ignited a fire within him, a determination to embrace life's uncertainties and seek solace in the unknown.

"It's just a dream, they can't hurt me anymore," he whispered to himself, his voice laced with determination. "Unlike the creatures that must not be mentioned."

As the remnants of the nightmare dissolved into the recesses of his mind, Tristan rose from his bed shirtless, his steps guided by the lingering echoes of his parents' love. He moved through the dimly lit space of his shack, cobbled together from the wreckage of the airplane. It was a modest shelter, just big enough for him and a few meager belongings salvaged from the crash.

Tristan approached a makeshift stove, carefully kindling a small fire beneath it. The crackling flames danced to life, casting flickering shadows across the walls adorned with faded photographs of happier times. He retrieved a battered kettle and filled it with water, setting it atop the stove with a sigh.

As he waited for the water to boil, Tristan continued his ritual, talking to himself as if the empty shack held company

in the absence of others. "One day," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of longing, "I'll find the answers I seek. I'll uncover the truth and bring justice to those who took everything from me."

The kettle whistled, its piercing sound slicing through the quietude of the shack. Tristan moved with practiced grace, pouring the steaming water into a chipped mug, its worn surface a testament to countless mornings like this one. He reached for a weathered tin filled with tea leaves, their aroma comforting and familiar.

As he steeped the tea, Tristan's thoughts drifted to the outside world. Beyond the walls of his makeshift home lay a land of enchantment and peril, where mythical creatures and hidden realms coexisted. It was a world he had only glimpsed in his dreams, a realm filled with both hope and despair.

But before his thoughts could wander further, an abrupt knock echoed through the shack, shattering the fragile tranquility that had settled over Tristan. His heart skipped a beat, his grip on the mug tightening as a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins.

Who could be seeking him out at this early hour? The visitors to his humble abode were few and far between, and most of them were better left forgotten. Suspicion intertwined with curiosity as he cautiously made his way to the makeshift door, its wooden planks creaking under his weight.

"Hello," Tristan spoke, his voice quivering with a blend of fear and determination. "Are you a monster, creature, or apparition? If so, I must insist that you leave this establishment immediately. You are not welcome here." His words, though laced with trepidation, carried a firmness that belied his trembling form.

Silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of heavy panting emanating from the other side of the door. Tristan's heart raced, adrenaline coursing through his veins, as he summoned the last shreds of his courage. With a hand that trembled ever so slightly, he extended it towards the door, inching closer to the unknown.

In his grasp, he clutched a crude club, a humble makeshift weapon fashioned from the remnants of the wreckage that surrounded him. It offered little comfort, but it was all he had—a symbol of his determination to protect himself and his sanctuary from whatever lay on the other side.

Without warning, the door exploded into a splintered mess, shattered by a mighty kick. A shadowy figure emerged, its presence filling the room with an eerie dread. The figure's eyes blazed with an otherworldly light, resembling stars scattered across the night sky.

Tristan's fear skyrocketed, his body frozen in terror. His voice, strained and trembling, erupted in a desperate plea. "I'm sorry please don't eat me! I don't taste very good!" His words, choked with vulnerability, echoed through the air.

As the adrenaline coursed through his veins, Tristan slowly opened his eyes, cautiously peering at the figure before him. To his astonishment, he beheld not a fearsome creature, but a young girl—a rabbit girl. Her tired and disheveled appearance tugged at his heartstrings, evoking both compassion and curiosity.

Before Tristan could fully comprehend the situation or discern the mysteries that enshrouded her, the rabbit girl's strength waned, and her fragile form crumpled to the ground. The weight of exhaustion claimed her, leaving her sprawled upon the floor, her presence a juxtaposition of vulnerability and hidden strength.

In that moment, Tristan's fear transformed into concern, and his instinct to protect took over. He hurried to the girl's side, his heart softening with empathy. The dirt and grime that marred her features only served to highlight the weariness etched into her face.

Gently, he lifted her in his arms, her slight frame feeling fragile against his chest. With tenderness, he carried her to a makeshift bed of rags, a place where he had sought solace amidst the wreckage of his existence. He laid her down, his touch gentle yet tinged with a newfound purpose.

The sight of the exhausted rabbit girl ignited a surge of compassion within Tristan. In her vulnerability, he recognized a reflection of his own struggles and the loneliness that had haunted him for far too long. Despite the unanswered questions and the unknown dangers that surrounded them both, he knew that he couldn't turn his back on her.

"You're safe now," he whispered, his voice filled with a newfound warmth. "Rest and recover. You're not alone anymore." 

End of Chapter