The Legend of Alexandria

Chapter 1 - The Empty Chair

The applause felt louder than it should have.
Or maybe it only felt that way because of the silence inside Kevin.
Rows of folding chairs filled the school hall, packed with proud parents, restless students, camera flashes, and the heavy warmth of late May. Above the stage hung a faded banner congratulating the graduating class of 2026. The school had reused the same banner design for years. Only the date changed.
Kevin stood among dozens of students wearing identical dark uniforms and graduation sashes, yet somehow he felt separated from all of them.
One by one, names were called.
Cheers erupted.
Laughter echoed.
Teachers smiled for photographs they would never look at again.
"Kevin Schneidherhood."
He walked toward the stage automatically.
The diploma felt strangely light in his hand.
Three years of high school.
Finished.

The principal shook his hand.
Someone clapped near the front row.
A camera flashed from the right side of the hall.
Kevin's eyes drifted toward the audience.
And there it was again.
That empty chair.
Not literally empty. A middle-aged couple sat there clapping enthusiastically for someone else's child. But in Kevin's mind, one seat had remained vacant for five years.
His father should have been there.
The thought arrived naturally now.
Not sharp anymore.
Not painful enough to hurt.
Just heavy.

From the third row, his mother waved enthusiastically with both hands.
Andriana smiled brightly enough to compensate for two people.
Kevin forced a smile back.
She looked exhausted.
Even from this distance, he could tell.
The past few years had not been kind to either of them.
After the COVID-19 pandemic devastated tourism and research funding worldwide, archaeological projects across multiple countries had collapsed. Universities cut budgets. Sponsors disappeared. International expeditions slowed to a crawl.
That was around the same time Alex disappeared.
A final excavation in Egypt.
A sandstorm.
Lost communication.
Missing.
No body was ever found.
At first, the research team promised they were still searching.
Then they promised they would continue the investigation.
Eventually, they stopped promising anything at all.
Five years later, the world had already moved on.
But not Kevin's mother.
Never his mother.

The ceremony continued around him in a blur until eventually the graduates were dismissed into the evening sunlight.
Outside the school gates, students gathered in noisy circles for photographs and celebrations.
Some cried.
Some shouted.
Some talked excitedly about universities, jobs, apartments, futures.
Kevin stood awkwardly near the parking area while his mother adjusted the collar of his uniform like he was still a child.
"You grew taller again," she murmured.
"I'm nineteen, Mom."
"That doesn't stop you from growing."
Her smile was gentle, but Kevin noticed the faint dark circles beneath her eyes. She had probably stayed awake writing again.
Fantasy novels.
That was how they survived now.
Not comfortably.
But enough.
Andriana used to joke that fiction paid for reality.
Lately, she didn't joke about it anymore.
"You hungry?" she asked.
"A little."
"Good. I made curry."
"You burned it?"
"I only burned it a little."
Kevin laughed quietly for the first time that day.

For a brief moment, things felt normal.
Then his phone vibrated.
A graduation group chat exploded with messages, photos, memes, and invitations for after-parties he had no interest attending.
One message appeared separately.
'You disappeared immediately after graduation lol.'
Kevin stared at the screen for a moment before replying.
'Still alive.'
Three dots appeared instantly.
'Barely.'
He smirked faintly.
His mother noticed.
"That girl again?"
"She's just a friend."
"Mhm."
Kevin sighed.
"You say that every time."
"Because every time you give the exact same answer."
Before he could respond, Andriana suddenly looked toward the sky.
The sunlight had dimmed strangely.
Clouds gathered unnaturally fast above the city.
Kevin frowned.
"Was rain forecast today?"
"I don't think so."
For a split second, a strange pressure crawled across the back of his neck.
Then it disappeared.

The apartment was quiet when they returned home.
Small.
Old.
Comfortable enough.
The dining table stood near the kitchen, and above it hung the same framed photograph that had remained there for years.
Alex.
Wind blew through his hair while desert sunlight illuminated the dust on his jacket. He was smiling confidently at the camera, one hand raised casually as if promising he would return soon.
The photograph had been taken during his last expedition.
Andriana carefully placed Kevin's diploma beside the frame.
"I'm proud of you," she said softly.
Kevin looked away first.
"Thanks."
She immediately moved toward the kitchen.
Too quickly.
Like standing still hurt.
Kevin understood that feeling.

For the first year after Alex disappeared, his mother still prepared three plates during dinner.
She eventually stopped.
But Kevin still noticed the hesitation whenever she set the table.
Tonight only two plates were prepared.
Progress, maybe.
Or surrender.
While eating, the television quietly played evening news in the background.
Economic recovery.
Political debates.
International conflicts.
Another heatwave warning.
Normal world problems.
Yet Kevin felt strangely disconnected from all of it tonight.
As if something invisible stood just beyond reality.

"So..." Andriana said carefully, "have you thought about what you want to do now?"
Kevin poked at his rice silently.
"Not really."
"That's okay."
"Is it?"
"Of course."
Easy for her to say.
Everyone else seemed to have plans.
University.
Careers.
Relationships.
Dreams.
Kevin only had questions.
His eyes drifted toward the photograph again.
"When was the last time the research team contacted you?"
Andriana froze slightly.
The movement was tiny.
But Kevin noticed.
"...Almost two years ago."
"That long?"
"They said there was no new evidence."
Silence settled between them.
Finally, she forced a smile.
"I still think he's alive."
Kevin stared at her quietly.
He couldn't tell anymore whether she truly believed it.
Or simply needed to.

Later that night, Kevin passed by his mother's study room.
Typing sounds echoed softly from inside.
She was writing again.
Fantasy stories.
Magic.
Heroes.
Impossible worlds.
When Kevin was younger, he once asked why all her stories involved people returning from impossible places.
Andriana answered without looking away from her keyboard.
"Because fantasy stories are kinder than reality."
Tonight, her shoulders looked smaller somehow.
Tired.
Lonely.
Kevin leaned silently against the doorway.
If his father truly had a choice...
Would he have chosen another world over them?
The thought immediately filled him with guilt.
That wasn't fair.
Right?

He returned to his room before she noticed him.
The graduation cap rested on his desk beside scattered notebooks and an old laptop that overheated constantly.
Outside, distant thunder rumbled.
Kevin collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.
His future felt blank.
For years, surviving had been enough.
Now people expected him to live.
He closed his eyes.
And remembered the last thing his father said before leaving for Egypt.
'I'll be back before you know it.'
Five years.

The tremor began moments later.
Soft.
Almost unnoticeable.
Kevin opened his eyes slowly.
Another vibration followed.
Not the floor.
The air itself.
His desk lamp flickered.
Then distorted.
His phone screen glitched violently across the table.
The graduation photo beside his bed warped unnaturally, bending like liquid beneath invisible pressure.
Kevin immediately sat upright.
"What the hell..."
Downstairs, glass shattered.
"Kevin?!" his mother shouted.
He stood quickly, but dizziness struck him instantly.

The room suddenly felt heavier.
Harder to breathe.
Then light appeared across the floor.
Thin glowing lines spread outward beneath his feet like veins.
Symbols emerged one after another.
Circular.
Ancient.
Impossible.
Kevin's heartbeat thundered inside his chest.
This wasn't random.
It felt intentional.
The light intensified violently.
"Kevin!!"
His mother's voice echoed from downstairs.
He ran toward the door—
—but the symbols exploded into blinding white light.
The last thing Kevin heard before darkness consumed everything was his mother screaming his name.