Tales of the Linchpin

Stranger

Moonlight filtered through the towering forest canopy, casting long, skeletal shadows across; the damp earth.

Still, he kept running. His lungs burned like hot coals, and his muscles screamed in agony, but he didn't dare look back at the horror he had left behind.

Eventually, his battered body simply gave out. Stumbling blindly, David dragged himself into a narrow, concealed crevice between two massive boulders and collapsed face-first onto the dirt. For several minutes, he lay completely frozen, gasping desperately for air as his heart hammered violently against his ribs.

Slowly, painfully, he rolled over to rest his back against the cold stone.

But sleep refused to come. In the quiet of the dark, intrusive questions circled his mind like starving vultures. Am I even human? What happened to me on that execution stake? Who were those monstrous beings in my visions... and what am I becoming?

The biting night wind drifted softly through the trees, carrying the faint scent of ash. As the hours bled away, his eyelids grew heavy. The terrifying questions remained entirely unanswered, but sheer physical exhaustion finally won. David's eyes closed, and he drifted into the dark.

The nightmare returned with a vengeance.

The visions swallowed his consciousness, pulling him back to that desolate realm of endless ruins. Towering monoliths of shadow and ruin loomed over the dead landscape, their colossal bodies looking like ancient nightmares carved from jagged, primordial stone. They stood completely silent, unmoving, watching him from the fog.

But this time, one of them was closer. Much closer. It stood directly before him, casting a shadow that seemed to blot out existence.

Its eyes—or the hollow pits where eyes should have been—were absolute voids that actively swallowed the surrounding light. Its decayed flesh hung loosely from its monumental frame, stretched taut over massive bone and torn in jagged places, as though the entity had been stitched together and ripped apart countless times across eternity.

Driven by an inexplicable, instinctual pull, David found himself taking a slow step toward the titan.

Yet the moment his boot moved forward, the creature didn't recede; rather, reality itself distorted. The space between them stretched, pulling the distance wider as if some universal law refused to let him ever reach it.

"Wait..." David whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

He didn't even know why he was calling out to a monster. The monolithic being slowly tilted its head, the sound of its neck movement crackling through the void like snapping, frozen branches. There was no mouth on its scarred face, yet David felt it speak. It wasn't a sound. It was a violent vibration, a crushing psychological pressure that scraped against the deepest, most fragile parts of his soul.

His chest tightened. His legs trembled. He could no longer tell whether he was willingly walking toward the entity... or being violently dragged by its gravity.

David desperately reached his hand out. Instantly, the distance widened again, and the creature mirrored the gesture, raising its own colossal hand.

Suddenly, the ground beneath David's feet vanished. He wasn't falling—he was being pulled down into the earth. Pitch-black darkness surged upward, swallowing his legs, then his waist, then his chest.

From the crushing abyss below, hundreds of cold, rotten hands burst through the dark. Their decayed fingers clawed at his clothes, gripping his flesh with unnatural strength, dragging him downward into whatever burning hell waited beneath the ruins.

David looked up through the closing void one last time. The hollow-eyed titan leaned closer, its hand still extended toward him through the fog. Its frozen face never moved, yet the agonizing pressure inside David's skull grew unbearable as the entity tried to convey a message. It was so close, yet entirely impossible to understand.

"Wait!" David screamed.

The darkness snapped shut.

He woke with a violent gasp, throwing his torso upright.

Sweat drenched his face, and his lungs thrashed for air as though he had just been dragged from the depths of an ocean. David pressed both hands tightly against his temples, trying to calm the volatile storm raging inside his head. The morning air was crisp, but the deep, unnatural cold buried within his bones wasn't from the weather. It was the residual stain of the dream.

What was that thing? he thought, his hands shaking. Why did it feel so terrifyingly real? Why did it feel like it knew me?

Confusion and fear twisted through his mind. Realizing the sun was already rising through the trees and scattering golden light across the forest floor, David knew he couldn't stay hidden between the rocks any longer. He needed answers, and he needed a destination.

Pushing himself to his aching feet, he stepped out from the crevice and began walking aimlessly, deeper into the vast, unknown wilderness.

By the time the sun had climbed high into the midday sky, the heat was burning through the dense canopy, pressing heavily against his bruised skin. David had been walking for hours—maybe days. Time had completely lost its meaning, blurring with every agonizing step.

Eventually, the limits of his human endurance were reached. His legs trembled violently, sparks of an unstable, dark gray energy flickered faintly beneath his skin, and his vision went black. He remembered the forest spinning around him in a chaotic blur of green, gold, and shadow. Then, nothingness.

When David opened his eyes again, the chaotic forest was gone.

He was staring directly up at a clean, wooden ceiling made of rough-hewn planks. The faint, comforting scent of burning hearth-smoke and dried medicinal herbs lingered in the warm air. He was lying on a makeshift cot, wrapped in blankets soft enough to feel entirely unreal beneath his battered, blistered body.

Where am I?

David pushed himself upright, tightly gripping the edge of the wooden frame as a wave of intense dizziness washed over him. Every muscle in his body protested the movement, but survival instinct forced him to stand. A few feet away, a wooden door stood slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of bright sunlight to spill through the gap.

He stepped outside, guarding his eyes against the glare. Fresh, cool air greeted him first, carrying the rich scent of morning dew and fertile earth. Then came the silence—a profound, absolute peace he had never experienced in his life. Not in his old village, not working the grueling fields, not anywhere.

An isolated, beautifully maintained farm stretched before him, hidden so deeply within the ancient forest that it felt like a forgotten secret. A neat wooden fence surrounded a small yard, and just beyond it, rows of vibrant green vegetables swayed gently in the mountain breeze.

And among those quiet rows stood a man.

The stranger was bent over the field, his sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, powerful forearms. He moved with an incredible, quiet purpose, harvesting vegetables with a small, curved knife. His movements were slow, rhythmic, and entirely at peace.

David watched him from the porch, completely frozen, unsure whether to call out or retreat back into the shadows of the cabin. Was this the man who had dragged him from the brink of death? And if he was... what did he want with a monster?

As if sensing his gaze, the man finally stopped working and turned around. A warm, genuine smile rested on his weathered face—a look so gentle it felt entirely out of place in a world as cruel as the one David knew. A woven basket filled with root vegetables hung from his hand, and for a long moment, he simply looked at David as though he had been patiently expecting him to wake.

"Good afternoon," the man said, his voice remarkably calm and steady.

David stared back, his throat dry, completely uncertain how to respond. The man simply gave a polite nod, walked past David, and entered the house, humming a quiet melody as he set the heavy basket down on a wooden table.

"Come. Sit," the stranger's voice called out from inside.

David hesitated, his hand resting instinctively near his waist before he slowly followed the man into the cabin. Taking a seat on a wooden chair, David sat cautiously on the very edge, his muscles tense and primed to move at the first sign of a threat.

The man finally turned to face him fully, setting aside a washing cloth. His expression was serene—too serene. He looked like someone who could watch a catastrophic storm approach and never once flinch.

"I know you're eager to ask who I am, and how you got here," the man said softly.

A brief, heavy silence stretched between them. David nodded once, his colored eyes locked onto the stranger. "Yes."

The man rose to his full height, the soft smile completely fading from his face. The warmth didn't disappear, but it was instantly replaced by an immense, unshakeable aura of certainty and hidden power.

"My name is Lazarus," he said, his sharp eyes meeting David's.

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious, grounded tone. "And I may have a way to help you... with the volatile energy that is currently surging inside of your soul."

Those words left David entirely speechless, filling his mind with a swarm of questions about who this mysterious man truly was.

"What are you talking about?" David asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Lazarus only smiled, calmly clasping his hands together. "How are your wounds?"

David looked down at his legs. The shallow cuts and scrapes had been carefully cleaned and treated. He reached around slightly, feeling the neat layers of bandages wrapped securely across his back.

Why would a total stranger go through the trouble of helping me?

"You seem like the type who doesn't trust people easily," Lazarus said, breaking the silence. "That's a good thing in a world like this."

David frowned, refusing to be deflected. "Please answer me. What do you know about what's inside me?"

"To put it simply," Lazarus replied, his expression turning serious, "you've tapped into an energy known as spiritual energy."

Spiritual Energy?

"What are you talking about?" David asked, his confusion only deepening.

Lazarus chuckled softly. "I don't want to overload your mind all at once, boy. Why don't we eat first? Then you can get some rest before I explain everything."

"I don't need rest." David pushed himself aggressively to his feet, staring down the old man. "I need ans—"

The words died in his throat. A sudden, violent wave of dizziness slammed into him. His vision blurred instantly, and the entire room seemed to warp and twist around him. He blindly lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the wooden chair beside the bed to keep from crashing to the floor.

"What's... happening?" he muttered.

Darkness rapidly crept into the corners of his sight, swallowing the room. Before he could take another breath, everything went completely black.

David woke up gasping for air.

His chest rose and fell in rapid, erratic thuds as he struggled to calm his frantic breathing. Pressing a trembling hand against his forehead, he tried to process the lingering, chaotic images of the nightmare he had just escaped.

"Bad dream?"

The calm, steady voice cut through the quiet room. David snapped his head toward the corner. Lazarus sat relaxed in a wooden chair, quietly watching him.

"What... what did you do to me?" David asked, his voice raw. He gripped the edge of the cot, attempting to stand again.

"You should rest," Lazarus advised calmly. "Pushing yourself any further right now will only make things worse."

"You still haven't answered my question." David glared across the room, his eyes locking onto the veteran. "What did you do to me?"

Lazarus leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. "That's the wrong question, boy." He met David's eyes fully. "The real question is... what did you do to yourself?"

David’s frown deepened. "You really aren't good at giving straightforward answers."

A sudden, hearty laugh escaped Lazarus. "Haha! That never gets old."

For a moment, the room fell into a heavy, unbroken silence. David lowered his gaze, staring blankly at his hands before looking back up. His voice was much quieter now, stripped of its defensive anger. "You said you know what's inside me. Please. Tell me."

Lazarus stared into the boy's eyes for several long seconds, as if weighing his resolve. Neither of them looked away. Finally, Lazarus stood up. Without saying another word, he turned and walked toward the exit. Just before stepping through the threshold, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"Eat first," he said. "After that, come find me outside."

He stepped through the doorway and disappeared, his steady footsteps slowly fading into the distance.

David looked down at the small wooden table beside the bed. A bowl of thick soup rested there, steam still lazily rising from the surface. The rich aroma immediately filled his nostrils, reminding his body that he hadn't eaten anything in days. Grabbing the wooden spoon, he took a hesitant first bite. To his absolute surprise, it tasted wonderful.

After finishing every drop of the soup, David stood up. Gathering what little strength he had left, he moved toward the exit.

Suddenly, something caught his eye on the floorboards.

A photograph lay face-down near the edge of the room. David bent down and carefully picked it up. In the faded, weathered image stood a younger Lazarus, standing proud beside a woman with gentle, kind eyes. Between them, a small girl smiled brightly at the camera. It was a family frozen in a moment long gone, their collective warmth trapped inside the frame like a ghost.

David stared at the image for a moment longer than he should have, wondering who they were—and where they were now. Silently, he placed the photograph back on the floor exactly where he had found it, then stepped outside.

The cool evening wind immediately brushed against his skin, carrying the crisp scent of damp earth and fading sunlight. Lazarus sat quietly on a wooden chair outside the cabin, his silhouette framed against the deep orange glow of the dying sun. His eyes were fixed entirely on the horizon, as if he were looking for something far beyond the trees.

Without turning his head, he spoke. "Join me."

David walked closer, the old wooden porch boards creaking softly under his footsteps.

Lazarus exhaled a slow, heavy breath. "I guess…" he said in a low voice, "it's time to talk." He finally turned his head, looking David dead in the eye. "Ask your questions."

David took a steadying breath. "Why did you help me?"

"I saw you almost dead deep inside the forest," Lazarus said bluntly. "Helping is just a part of being human. Besides, you would have been dead by now anyway—not from your physical wounds, but from the raw surge of energy tearing through your body." He leaned in a fraction closer. "Now, stop beating around the bush and tell me what you really want to know, boy."

David paused for a second, a hundred different questions flashing through his mind before he narrowed it down to the core mystery. "Tell me about spiritual energy. The energy flowing through me."

Lazarus leaned back in his chair, taking a deep, measured breath. "The energy flowing inside you is spiritual energy. To put it in simple terms, it is the fundamental source of all existence as we know it. Life, nature, human thought, and the very reason known to man are all formed from spiritual energy. Those who can successfully control and understand its flow gain superhuman abilities."

David stayed silent for a long moment, trying to process the sheer scale of what he was hearing. "So what you are telling me... is that I control an energy tied to existence itself, and it gives people superhuman abilities?"

"Exactly." Lazarus's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the boy. "But what I don't understand is how you did it. For an ordinary person to even connect to their spiritual energy takes months of grueling training and deep meditation. But the way it stands, you have never trained a day in your life, and you've never even heard of spiritual energy before." He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "So tell me about yourself. How did you end up here?"

David rubbed his hands together, taking a deep breath as the vivid horrors of the village square flashed behind his eyes.

"I am a slave," David stated flatly. "I belonged to a wealthy man in a small village. One day, a group of us were selected to go outside the massive gates to work on the perimeter fields. We worked well into the evening, and while I was out there, I stumbled upon a dying man. I tried to help him, but the guards accused me of murdering him instead. They knocked me out cold and sentenced me to death."

David’s fists tightened. "I was tied to a stake, and I was just... filled with this pure, unadulterated rage. In that exact moment, something deep inside of me sparked. Before I could even process what was happening, the entire village square was completely destroyed. So I broke free, ran as fast as I could into the forest, and never looked back."

Lazarus watched him quietly as the story unfolded. "Rough life, huh?" he whispered.

"Yeah," David replied grimly.

Lazarus stood up, turning his gaze back out toward the open fields. "I will train you on how to control your power," he said calmly, beginning his slow walk back toward the entrance of the house. "We'll start first thing tomorrow morning." He paused briefly, tapping David's shoulder as he passed. "Get some rest. You're going to need it."

With that, he turned and walked inside, his silhouette instantly swallowed by the dim, warm glow of the house.

David remained outside on the porch. Silent. Unmoving. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the vast night sky, where countless stars now hung like brilliant diamonds. He felt a faint, unfamiliar sense of peace settle over his mind. His tense muscles finally relaxed, and a rare expression of genuine hope crossed his face.

But unknown to the boy, deep within the pitch-black shadows of the surrounding treeline, a greater threat was hiding, silently watching his every movement.