Prologue

Location: Canada, Prince Edward Island, North Rustico.

Date: 01/02/2016. Time (local): 11:00 p.m.

It’s a dark and stormy night in the Canadian province, and the weather is so severe that the country has declared a state of emergency. The island isn’t the only place being hit; the continent itself is at the center of what seems to be a divine punishment. The wind is relentless, and many families have nailed boards over their windows to keep them from shattering under the force of the gusts.

Only one man seems foolish enough to remain outside. Apparently a beggar, he sits on a wooden barrel, awaiting his now inevitable end.

“What… took you so long? Did you have to wait until I failed another interview? I’ve been begging you to put an end to my life… for years now!”

The man isn’t lucid. He has been drowning his sorrows in alcohol for hours, and after a life with no prospects, he finally seems ready to put an end to his suffering, or at least…

“I’m waiting!” he shouts even louder. “What the…?” A full-blown tornado has formed right in front of him. As much as he “wants” to end it, he begins to fear making such an exit, as anyone would.

“No… wait. I get it… I won’t give up! Please don’t take me, Lord!” he says, shouting louder and louder.

He clings to a shutter with all his might, but how could anyone expect to withstand a cyclone forever?

Not even five seconds. He lets go, and the twister is sucking him in. In tears, he is about to cover his eyes when, suddenly, he sees a glowing object moving toward the tornado. It releases a flashing trail of colors—first red, then green, yellow, purple, red again, purple again, white. There’s no apparent pattern, and then it goes out.

The object enters the eye of the cyclone, but nothing happens that would seem to offer the man any hope as he is irreversibly sucked inside.

Engulfed by the wind monster, the man realizes there’s no oxygen. The low pressure has cleared it out. As if fighting the dizziness weren’t already difficult enough. Resigned, he’s about to close his tear-filled eyes when he sees the object light up again and zoom straight down toward the ground.

The impact is so powerful that it sends out a shockwave that clears the sky and dissipates the storm. The man is hurled against a house, where he lands unconscious on the edge of a balcony.

The sky is finally calm. There are no clouds left as evidence of the earlier disaster. Only the damage to buildings and wildlife remains.

The storm’s co-star, still unconscious, teeters on the balcony railing, about to plummet down, when a pale hand grabs him by the sleeve and pulls him back just enough to send him tumbling inside.

His unflappable and unexpected savior sits cross-legged on the ledge. He’s a young man, around twenty years old, with an athletic build and pale skin and, for some unknown reason, he is completely naked. Disheartened by the scene, he smacks his forehead and slowly runs his hand down his face to his chin.

“For all the moons… I got here too late.”