Chapter One – "The Transition"
After school ended, Doom stood in the narrow corridor between the rows, trying to slip through quietly. But his classmates noticed him.
Then a smirk split their faces. "Look who it is… weak little faggot!" one of them shouted, slapping him hard on the back. "Be a man!"
He tried to ignore them, but a girl suddenly shoved his backpack. He fell to the floor. Books scattered everywhere, and laughter filled the corridor.
He lifted his head. Their eyes were full of arrogance and dominance… their laughter dripping with superiority. His heart pounded—anger and helplessness mixing together.
He wanted to say something, but his tongue felt heavy.
Then he turned and left the corridor. Tears burned his eyes, but he kept walking with steady steps despite everything.
The words kept echoing in his head:
"Useless… failure… faggot… die… we hate you."
He remembered the beatings at school… lying on the floor, clothes wet and stained.
Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the street, gasping for air, trying to release all the anger that had built up over the years. Every day, the same pain.
"My mom left me when I was a kid… and my dad… that junkie… not a single day went by without a beating."
"And if I didn't feel safe at home, school was even worse," he said through gritted teeth.
"A popular girl? Rugby captain? Just idiots in disguise…"
He started running aimlessly, as if the air could erase all those words, all the beatings, all the humiliation. His heart throbbed with suppressed rage, screaming inside:
"If only… if only I could make them kneel at my feet… see the shame and humiliation in their eyes."
A short, hollow laugh escaped him.
"Just a few more days… then I'll be free of all this… when I finish high school…"
Suddenly, a heavy book fell on his head, snapping all his thoughts.
He bent down and picked it up.
His hand trembled. Old memories cut through his wrist. The cover was cold… too clean to have been thrown in the street. The smell of old ink, but the pages were new.
On the cover was a towering stone kingdom.
One name written in bold letters: Valimar.
"Strange… why would something like this be thrown away?"
He arrived home and climbed the stairs cautiously. The smell of alcohol and mold filled the air; his father was asleep on the couch in front of the TV. His room was the only refuge: stacked books, silence almost softening the day's chaos.
He sat on the floor and opened the book carefully. The pages told the story of a king, Eilan, arrogant and cruel, who ignored his people and waged wars without mercy. In the background, Ylenor, a brave young man, planned revenge for his village and family, growing close to the king with intelligence until the right moment.
"I thought the book would be more philosophical… but it's strange… magical," he muttered, flipping pages.
--In the ancient kingdom of Valimar, King Eilan lived in lavish palaces, adorned with expensive jewels, while his people starved. He underestimated them, waging wars without mercy, showing strength while hiding any weakness.--
"I wonder… how it feels when no one can touch you?"
He muttered to himself as he read deeper.
--In a small village lived Ylenor, a brave and noble young man. His family suffered under the king's tyranny. After seeing his village destroyed, he vowed revenge. He approached the king with intelligence, hiding his true intentions, showing the face the king wanted to see: obedient, cooperative, submissive…--
He sat for hours, absorbed in the story.
"To be the one who decides who can touch… and who can be broken."
He pressed his fingers on the king's name, bending the page slightly.
A strange feeling ran through his body… but he was afraid. He didn't know if it was real power… or just an illusion.
He flipped pages faster; the night grew late…
--Over the years, Ylenor became the king's closest ally, taking advantage of his position to watch every move until the day of revenge. In the midst of wars and battles, he led an army from within the kingdom itself, standing against Eilan, defying tyranny in a clever and skilled way.--
"Ylenor… admired… handsome… brave… a hero… this type of person… always chosen."
Every word pulled him further, every page stealing him away from his painful reality. Hours passed, and sleep began to take over, but something strange happened at the last page.
Sleep weighed him down… his eyelids heavy.
He reached the final page.
"Just a little… until the end…"
But the last words weren't still… they flickered as his eyes closed, and sleep took over.
A faint light emerged from the book, wrapping around him… a strange sensation pulling his consciousness… a soft breeze brushing his face, sunlight hitting his skin.
"My lord, Eilan?"
A soft… close… gentle voice filled the room.
It wasn't in his head.
It came from behind him.
He opened his eyes… slowly.
He turned.
The room was no longer his bedroom.
The ceiling higher. Stone walls. The air cold.
"My lord?"
In front of him stood a young man with long, black hair shining, slightly tanned smooth skin… piercing black eyes… very strong build… calm features, yet demanding respect and mystery.
"These are the same descriptions… from the book… am I dreaming?" he whispered, looking at his hands. His clothes weren't his… luxurious silk instead.
"Am I… dreaming…?"
Ylenor lifted his gaze at him again and bowed slightly.
"My lord."
This time, the voice was real, clear, close. His heart… no longer that of a high school student… but he didn't yet know if it could bear this role.
"My lord… shall we continue what we started?"
"What we started?" he asked carefully, fear creeping in slowly.