Nate had a very specific plan for today: wake up, grab coffee, maybe hit a few side quests in his favorite game, or find some random novels to read.
Apparently, the world didn't care about his plans.
Nate had a lot of free time. Maybe too much. His roommate, Jared, had already given up trying to convince him to take life seriously.
Nate wasn't reckless or careless, exactly—he just had a habit of poking at things and people, seeing where the cracks were. Today, it was Jared's turn.
Jared held a book in his hands, mumbling under his breath. "This story… peak," he said, eyes glinting with excitement. Nate squinted.
"You call that peak?" Nate asked, leaning over the worn couch. "Looks like another OP protagonist with a harem, sad backstory, righteous heart. Let me guess, he's going to solve the world by the end of the first arc?"
Jared snorted. "You haven't even read it."
"Then why are you calling it peak, genius?" Nate retorted.
Jared shoved the book into his hands. "Read it, and maybe you'll get why it's amazing."
Nate sighed. Fine. If he was going to call something garbage, he might as well make it fair.
He flipped through the pages, skimming, then reading more carefully. By the end, his suspicions were confirmed.
The first line practically screamed at him: "Born under the blood-red moon, the forsaken hero would rise to challenge the darkness that consumed the realms, bearing the Eternal Blade of Justice."
The protagonist was everything he expected: ridiculously overpowered, a magnet for attractive women, morally upright with a tragic past that made him sob-inducingly relatable.
There was the obligatory harem, dramatic battles, "fate of the world" speeches, and his constant brooding over the injustice of life. Nate closed the book with a loud snap.
"This," he said, waving it in the air, "is shit. Absolute shit. 'Righteous hero with a tragic past and a harem.' Wow. Never seen that before. Peak originality. Jared, your taste hurts my soul."
Jared just rolled his eyes. Nate tossed the book onto the couch, smirking like he'd won some great argument.
And then he went to the grocery store.
-
Nate stuffed the last bag of chips into his backpack, muttering about how expensive snacks had become.
The grocery store had been quiet, a pleasant change from the chaos of the streets. He waved to the cashier with a half-smile, paid, and started the short walk home.
The sun was low, casting long shadows across the sidewalk, and for a moment, Nate felt almost normal—like nothing catastrophic was about to happen.
Almost.
A sudden screech of brakes, the blinding glare of headlights, and metal slicing through the quiet.
Nate's body jerked violently, pain exploding across his limbs. He barely had time to register the impact before everything went black.
"Wait… did I just die?" he thought, his mind echoing in the void as consciousness lingered in fragments.
-
There was nothing. Absolute darkness, endless and complete. Time had no meaning, space had no meaning.
Nate's thoughts slowed, then stopped entirely.
He wasn't moving, breathing, or existing in any form he could comprehend.
And then, he felt it.
A gentle tug, like a current in an endless void. It grew stronger, drawing him forward, stretching him through a nothingness that was not quite empty.
Slowly, shapes formed around him, colors impossible and shifting, bending space in ways his mind could barely comprehend.
Mountains rose and curved impossibly, rivers flowed sideways, and stars burned in hues that shouldn't exist.
And at the center of it all floated a throne—grand, immense, impossibly elegant, carved from a substance that seemed both solid and liquid at once.
Nate stepped closer—or tried to.
His feet felt detached from anything physical. He swallowed, wiping his palms on his jeans.
A small bead of sweat ran down his temple. Not much, just a whisper of nervousness in an otherwise confident stance.
"Uh… hello?" he called out, his voice echoing strangely. "Anyone… there?"
The throne remained silent, colossal, impossible.
Nate's pulse ticked in his ears.
He tried to act natural, leaning back slightly, hands in his pockets. "I mean… nice throne. Really gives 'I might end worlds' vibes."
A voice responded, calm, deep, and resonant—not mocking, not impatient, but carrying the weight of eons.
"Do you know where you are, mortal?"
Nate straightened, chin up. "Not really. But I like it here. Feels… fancy. Seriously, whoever built this place has taste."
He smirked, though his throat was dry. "Also… uh… terrifying. Not that I'm scared. Just… impressed, I guess."
Silence followed, then the throne seemed to pulse with subtle light.
The presence atop it shifted, not moving in a way a mortal could see, but signaling awareness.
Nate felt the weight of it, the sheer impossibility of facing something beyond comprehension.
And yet, he stayed upright.
"You speak too freely," the voice said finally. Nate's eyebrows rose.
"Hey, free speech is a thing, right?" he replied, shrugging lightly. He forced a grin. "I'm Nate, by the way. Nice to meet… uh… whatever you are."
A pause. Then the voice returned, deliberate and commanding. "I am Eltharion, the Supreme Primordial. Creator of worlds, master of time, space, and fate itself."
Nate froze, a brief flush of nervousness running through him, but he quickly masked it with a half-smile.
"Supreme… uh, Primordial, nice title. Guess you're kind of a big deal."
The throne and its master remained still, the presence vast and unwavering.
Nate could feel the authority radiating from the being, the calm certainty that comes from watching civilizations rise and fall, from existing long before mortals were even a thought.
He swallowed and muttered under his breath, "And here I was thinking my day was going well."