The first sign of something different was when he noticed the fly.
It had come out of nowhere, buzzing wildly around the small, sterile room he found himself in. For a second, he thought it was just part of the world—a nuisance, a random detail in the background of his life. But something in the way it moved caught his attention. The erratic, rapid movements that seemed to defy logic. It was as if the fly knew something he didn't.
He was still trying to process his surroundings, still reeling from the heavy, dreamlike weight of waking up in this new world. The air smelled faintly of chemicals, the kind you get from cleaning supplies and plastic-wrapped furniture. His hands were trembling, and his mind was racing memories from his old life felt like a distant echo, and the strange newness of everything made him dizzy. What had happened? Where was he? How had he ended up here, in a world that wasn't his own?
The fly zigzagged across the room again, and his gaze followed it almost mechanically.
Buzz.
A flicker.
His body jolted, his thoughts scrambling to make sense of the unfamiliar sensation. It was a pulse—strange, almost imperceptible at first, like a tiny spark of electricity running down his spine. He blinked. The fly veered to the left, and he—without thinking—focused on it.
His mind stretched toward the tiny creature like an instinct he couldn't understand, reaching, pulling... controlling.
The fly's trajectory shifted.
He froze, staring, as if someone had yanked the world out from under his feet. His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt a cold sweat break out across his palms. Had he... done that? His focus sharpened. He dared not move, afraid that if he shifted even an inch, the strange force would slip away.
The fly drifted in mid-air, caught in an invisible current. He held his breath, concentrating harder now, his thoughts narrowing to the small insect.
It moved again, but not of its own accord. It hovered and then darted towards the ceiling, forced by an invisible string of his own will. He gasped. There was a pull—a weight in the air that was all his.
The fly flickered, buzzing louder, trying to escape, but it couldn't. He wasn't sure how he knew it, but he could feel it now. His mind was wrapped around the fly. It was his—he was controlling it.
For a moment, everything went still. Time held its breath.
Then, in a flash of clarity, he let go.
The fly broke free from the invisible tether, its erratic flight returning to its wild, independent nature. It buzzed frantically around the room, and for a heartbeat, he was left staring at it, wondering if what he'd just done had been some kind of fluke.
But the feeling lingered.
The power, whatever it was, wasn't a fluke.
His heart still pounded in his chest, and he could feel the pulse of energy in his fingertips. It had been like tapping into something hidden deep inside, like touching the edge of a vast, untapped well of possibility. There was more to this—more to him—than he'd realized.
But the fly... he had controlled it. And now, that was the only thing that mattered.
His hands flexed in the air, instinctively reaching out again, as if testing the edges of this strange power. He focused, narrowing his vision on the fly, and again, it faltered mid-flight, but this time, it spun, flitting toward the window, only to be jerked back like a puppet on a string. It was no longer flying; it was being pulled.
This wasn't just control. This was manipulation.
And for the first time since he'd woken up in this new world, he felt something real. Something tangible. Like the faintest whisper of power, a crack in the wall between himself and whatever future was waiting for him.
He took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell with an anxious rhythm, but there was something else there now, too. A quiet thrill. A hunger.
The fly buzzed one last time, then dropped from the air, its tiny body landing in the corner of the room, motionless.
He blinked. The room was silent again.
But he wasn't.
What else could I do with this?
There was a weight to the question, but no answer. Not yet. He wasn't ready to test it further—not in this empty room. Not without knowing more. His mind churned, imagining the possibilities. He had just manipulated a tiny creature. What if he could do more? Could he control objects? Could he influence people? Could he move entire things with a thought?
The room around him felt too small now, too confining for whatever force was stirring inside him.
Maybe it wasn't just the fly, he thought.
There was a noise outside the door—a knock. A sudden intrusion, jarring him out of his thoughts. His pulse quickened. The power was still there, a soft hum under his skin. And now, he had no idea what it was capable of.
The knock came again. Louder this time.
He swallowed hard, his mind scrambling. He wasn't sure who was on the other side of the door. He wasn't even sure where he was.
But the power, that strange flicker inside him, was his.
And now, more than ever, he could feel it, begging to be tested again.