Shadows danced in his mind. Worlds twisting in upon themselves, devouring their own light. Universes snuffing out like embers in a winter wind. Nameless voices murmured ancient secrets that pierced through sanity like burning needles.
Giotto floated, trapped in forms that defied all reason: living architectures spanning galaxies, deserts of red ash where dying suns vanished in silence. Infernal dimensions woven from the suffering of mortals.
Spells written in blood disfigured hanging gardens, turning them into swamps of festering flesh. Paradise worlds of planetary green sank into wastelands of pus and disease, where flayed trees wept black sap and skinless creatures howled into the void.
And in his delirium, beings of shapeless, ravenous form tore constellations apart like cruel children smashing insects, without reason or mercy.
Thousands of images tore through his mind. For a moment, he thought he was lost—until a breeze, a mere invisible brush, pulled him away.
"Ahh!"
The scream escaped him, hoarse and cracked, as a harsh white light cut into his eyes like a blade. He gasped, bolting upright. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, and a sharp ringing drilled into his left ear.
He looked around, unrecognizing the place.
For an instant, Giotto thought he saw a shadow move behind the translucent curtain. He blinked. Nothing.
"Sir!" A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Are you alright?"
Giotto barely registered her as real. He searched her face for some flaw, a flicker out of place. He found none. His trembling hands began to steady, and color slowly returned to his face.
"Sir?" the nurse asked again, hesitant. "Are you okay?"
He flinched at the woman's face, then drew a deep breath before meeting her gaze.
"Yes… yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
Something on his wrist caught his eye. A dark mark, like a bruise, shaped itself into a symbol: three lines crossed by an incomplete circle.
He didn't remember doing that to himself.
His stomach churned. He tried rubbing it away, to no avail.
Outside, a cold breeze stirred the curtains. He could've sworn he heard his name whispered from some far-off corner where the light didn't reach.
"What… what happened?"
The nurse hesitated, glancing at his wrist.
"An electrical accident… it was pretty bad. But you made it. Someone called an ambulance before it got worse. You're very lucky."
"What?" he muttered, disbelieving. "And the man… there was someone with me when—when I blacked out. What happened to him?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but you arrived alone."
"And what about the street cameras? They had to catch something!" Giotto demanded, unable to believe something like this could go unnoticed.
"I… I don't know of any cameras nearby…"
A jagged beep sounded from the heart monitor before settling again.
Giotto slumped back against the gurney, panting. The stale air clung to his throat.
"I'd better call the doctor. Maybe he can answer your questions."
"Ah… yeah, thanks," he replied, disheartened, watching the woman leave the room. He stared at his wrist again.
Was any of what I saw real? Giotto murmured just as he felt a strange pulse beneath the skin where the mark was.
"Giotto! Dio mio… thank God. You're alive."
A man a few years older than Giotto entered the room. At first glance, he was almost his reflection: blond hair a shade darker, thick brows, and sharp electric-blue eyes that clashed with Giotto's green ones. Athletic build, like a professional swimmer. He wore a suit and tie.
«Oh, great. Mister Perfect's here.»
"Estéfano, what are you doing here?" Giotto grumbled, not bothering to mask his irritation.
Estéfano strode over with steady, deliberate steps. Concern showed on his face, but the tension in his brow betrayed a simmering anger.
"What am I doing here? Ma per favore, Giotto…" he said, clenching his jaw "Mom calls me at three in the goddamn morning, crying, saying my brother's unconscious in a hospital after some accident in the middle of the street. You think she'd forgive me if I didn't show up?"
"I'm fine. You can leave now," Giotto shot back.
"Sure you are," Estéfano scoffed, motioning toward the heart monitor and the mark on his wrist. "And what about that? Is that normal too? Or are you planning to play dumb until it kills you?"
Giotto lowered his gaze, uncomfortable. He knew his brother too well. Estéfano wasn't usually this direct. Sarcasm was more Giotto's weapon than his.
Estéfano moved closer to the monitor, gave a quick glance at the vital signs, then at the doctor who had just entered.
"You're lucky I happened to be in Naples. If not, who knows how long you'd have been lying here before anyone even noticed."
Giotto looked away, hating how his brother always managed to take over every situation. Even his accident.
"Signore Giotto, Signore Estéfano," came a calm, measured voice from an older man in a white coat. "Per favore, remember this is a hospital. Keep your voices down."
Estéfano raised a hand in apology but didn't take his eyes off Giotto.
"Sorry… I got carried away. But what happened to him?" he asked, his tone softening.
The doctor checked a few papers on his clipboard.
"Due to a fault in the electrical installation, one of the cables came loose and struck your brother directly. He was found unconscious in the street until the ambulance arrived."
"And if that's true, why's he still alive?"
"Thank you, Estéfano, thank you," Giotto snapped with heavy sarcasm.
"Hey, I'm just asking."
The doctor frowned, studying the mark on Giotto's wrist with clinical interest.
"Frankly, it's a rare case. From the mark alone, he should've suffered internal damage, or at least serious burns… but there's nothing. It's… strange."
"Though people have survived lightning strikes before, and the electrical discharge wasn't even that strong. Apart from the scar—which, as you can see, has already healed—Mr. Giotto shows no lasting effects from the accident. Quite impressive," the doctor added. "If everything remains stable, he can go home in a couple of hours. Believe me, someone up there must be looking out for him."
At the doctor's words, Estéfano seemed to deflate slightly, returning to the usual composed demeanor Giotto had always known.
"Grazie mille, doctor. That's a relief."
"Of course, don't worry. I'll leave you alone for a while—I've still got other rounds."
Giotto watched his brother as the doctor left, closing the door behind him. For a moment, the silence hung in the room like a tombstone.
"So… Mom called you?" he asked, not quite sure why.
Estéfano gave a half-smile—the kind Giotto had always taken for smugness, though it probably wasn't.
"Of course she did. She was worried sick," he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed without asking.
"She knows you tend to get yourself mixed up in… weird stuff."
"Weird stuff? Me?" Giotto exclaimed, almost insulted. "Since when? Last I checked, you're the one who disappeared for two days in Sicily without a word, and I had to cover for you…"
"Hey! We agreed never to talk about that."
An awkward silence settled before Giotto spoke again.
"And… what are you doing in Naples?"
"Business. We're trying to open a new branch here and—"
But before he could finish, a phone went off, blaring the Star Wars theme. Embarrassed, Estéfano stepped aside, fishing the phone from his pocket with a sigh.
"Well, would you look at that. Mister Suited-and-Perfect is still mortal. Incredible."
Estéfano shot him a wry look while checking the caller ID.
"Listen, Giotto, sorry—but this is important. Here," he said, leaving a twenty on the table, enough for a cab. "I wanted to take you home, but I've gotta go. Do me a favor and call Mom more often."
A couple of hours later, the doctor returned to Giotto's room, finding him staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, almost hypnotized.
"Oh, Signore Giotto—where's your brother?"
"Had to leave. Work stuff."
"I see. Well, let me tell you, you've got a good brother; first thing he did when he arrived was ask for you," the doctor said as Giotto slowly sat up in bed.
"Thanks…"
"Well, the final tests are in. You're completely fine, so you're cleared to go home. Need me to call someone for you?"
"No, no. I'm good. Already called a Kuber, so no need to worry."
"Alright then—the exit's to your right. If you need any help, just let the nurse know."
Once the doctor left the room, Giotto quickly changed clothes. Ready to leave, he spared one last glance at the mark on his wrist. It no longer hurt; it looked more like a tattoo than a scar now. Even something as simple as walking or breathing felt different… better somehow
As he stepped out of the hospital, he couldn't help but smile faintly. It felt like something incredible was waiting for him out there, like one of those calls to adventure he'd read about so many times before—a faint itch deep in his gut. And as he climbed into the Kuber, he couldn't shake the memory of those visions, now distant, but clinging to his mind.
«¿What if it was all real?»
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Alright, chapter 1 was a lot of fun to write. We've now seen a glimpse of Giotto's family life, a hint of what lies ahead as the story progresses, and a taste of the dangers lurking in the multiverse. I have to say, it was quite entertaining to write the interaction between Estéfano and Giotto.
But tell me — what do you think so far? Remember, while there will be familiar fictional universes, I'll also be creating original ones, like a high fantasy realm or a grimdark sci-fi universe. What kinds of worlds would you like to see in this story?