Chapter 1: Wonder

                There are worlds beyond the skin of our own, if you're willing to believe it. Of course, the self-centeredness of the human spirit tends to blind us to all realities except our own. But, if you look beyond yourself, you can find an infinite cascade of stories unfolding in an infinite multi-verse of worlds.

                Some of these worlds are like our own, others completely alien. Some are born in an instant, and wink out of existence before their infant breath. Others are like ancient scrolls, doomed to unravel again and again for eons. Some take shape in the minds of artists and writers, others are imagined by idealists and dreamers. Maybe all these worlds share a Maker. Or maybe they are just a piece an endless existential conundrum.

                Our story takes place in one of those worlds. Or maybe it takes place in our own. Where the world falls on the map of the multi-verse is irrelevant in comparison to the story that must be told. What's important is that in the beginning there was a boy.

                That is to say, in the beginning of the story, there was a boy. Obviously, quite a lot happened in the world before and after the boy. But the boy's story is the first story. Before the rise of the Fallen Throne, before the Wanderer and the Wonderer would have their final duel, before Peace would be caught between Tragedy and Calamity, and a Beginning would deal the final blow to an End, there was this young boy at the start of it all.

***

                Tristan Byron (or Tris, for short), sat alone on a cold mountain under a pale, Autumn moon. His dark jeans and grey, fleece hoodie were ragged in places, but not because he lacked means for new ones, only because he thought it made him look cool and anti-social. The top rock of the mountain was his favorite thinking spot. He looked down at the orange hearth of lights of the little, mountain-nestled village of Bridgetown, and these were his thoughts:

                I wonder if I was meant for a different world. Or a different time...a different something, anything! There is no hell worse than the modern, small town life.

                The world inside Tris' head was always more exciting than the real world. The real world had such horrors as high school, family, and boredom. He was forced to find solace in video games and petty thrill-seeking. He always believed he was meant for a world with something more, but he never felt that he deserved it.

                Everything fell short of his dreams. He had resigned himself to a boring life.       

                Every time I think something is going to change, it doesn't. At the end of the day, my life is just boring. And, I hate it.

                Seventeen year-old Tris had fallen victim to the doldrums of late adolescence. His life had been a steady diet of action movies and fantasy novels, his sheltered world had never been breached by the true darkness lurking just outside the borders of his safe little home. Something in his heart was stirring, but there was nowhere for it to be poured out.

                After all, Tris was not the kind of boy that you would describe as particularly talented. He was a too small and unmotivated for football, too uncoordinated for basketball, and he hated running, so soccer was out of the question. Despite his mother's early attempts at pushing him towards some kind of musical instrument, he just didn't have the ear for it. Neither were academics his strong suit. Tris was generally a B- student; he was by no means dumb, again, just unmotivated.

                His father had once suggested that he try drama, but Tris laughed in his face at the suggestion. Of all students, the theatre kids were insufferable, pretentious, and just plain loud.

                No, Tris disliked his peers. There was so much about them to dislike: the whining, the bullying, the self-obsession, the vanity, the peacocking, the one-up-man-ship. Tris would rather keep to himself.

                He did, however, manage to make one friend: a nerdy, genius named Dexter Magnus. Dex, as Tris called him, had an endearing charm. He was insanely smart, and his inquisitive mind drove him to an interest in fantasy and science fiction, much like Tris. The two got along famously when they weren't bickering about something. They were supposed to be hanging out tonight, but Tris had bailed (as he was wont do to when he was feeling moody).

                Tris stood as he felt a shift in the wind. He checked his phone: 12:30 pm. He shouldn't be out this late on a school night. He would likely get an earful from his father. Tris didn't care, or at least, he believed he didn't. He would wake up tomorrow, go to school, not fit in, not belong, not care. Every day was the same. Adults always told him, "It get's better." So what? He would go through the same boring routine in college, get a boring job, and live boringly.

                Nothing could prepare him for the world that was waiting for him just beyond the edge of his fingertips; lurking for him on the edge of the tree line.

                Tris turned once more and looked upon the blazing moon high in the sky. The stirring deep in his heart nudged him, he felt as if his whole life was about to change and something amazing and terrifying was about to happen...

                But not tonight.

                 He pulled out his phone to check the time. One new message from Dad. Yeah, he was going to get it. He turned toward the familiar mountain road, and headed down the slopes.

***

                "Tristan," the dusty voice of his history teacher, Mr. Caldell, had found its target. "Why do you think this development was so important for the Europeans?"

                Tris had been zoning out all morning. He had easily missed half of this history lecture. History was a waste of time. It was by no means his least favorite subject, but as a subject it was seriously flawed. History was a great big story, but it was the worst possible way to tell a story. No, Tris had been spending the last 45 minutes drawing swords in the margins of his notebook and thinking about Kate.

                Kate was Tris' biggest crush. Tris had maintained a not-so-subtle pining towards her since sophmore year. Nevertheless, Tris was terribly awkward when it came to girls, and had talked to her as many times as he had fought a bear. That is to say, only in his dreams. Dex had described his admiration as "the worst sniper in the world."

                "You stare at her all day," Dex had advised. "But you never take the shot."

                Like he was one to talk.

                "Well..." Mr. Caldell prodded, bringing Tris back into his current predicament.

                Well, it was a good thing Kate did not share this class with him, because he was about to make a fool out of himself in front of the class. He was not paying attention; he would have to guess.

                Let's see, Tris thought quickly while the class began to turn their heads in his direction, expecting him to answer. Europeans...Middle Ages...

                One quick word association later, and he blurted out his guess, "Uhh...the Plague?"

                A pause. Tris cringed.

                "Good answer, Tristan," Mr. Caldell nodded.

                Whew, Tris sighed. Close one.

                Dex, who had been sitting in front of him, whipped around and shot him a glare. Tris grinned and shrugged. Dex rolled his eyes and continued studiously taking notes.

                Caldell droned on for a few more minutes until the bell rang. As Tris began packing up his things, Dex turned to him accusingly, "You guessed didn't you?"

                "Yeah," Tris chuckled. "Lucky me."

                "Ugh!" Dex groaned. "Your luck is uncanny. I knew you were zoning out again. And you got away with it too because of your statistically improbable ability to guess things."

                "But look," Tris held up his notebook. "I had a productive morning drawing cool looking swords."

                "Great. When you flunk out of school, you can be a cartoonist."

                Tris laughed. "I'll just guess my way through exams, and I'll be fine. I'm so lucky, after all!"

                Dex rolled his eyes. "Come on let's go get some 'brain food', today they have tater tots."

                "Yummy," Tris said sarcastically.

                "It's better than what they usually feed us," Dex conceded. "You know how I feel about school lunches and how they promote lethargy and outbursts of hormonal--"

                A blur of motion enveloped Dex and pinned him to the floor. Holding him down was a muss of brown hair and a worn football jacket.

                "Hey there, Magnus!"

                Danny Ferrall.

                Dex sputtered out words as he gasped to regain his wind, "What...the...hell, Danny!"

                "Magnus," Danny said mockingly. "You know what that rhymes with right?"

                "You've made that joke before," Dex said venomously as he struggled against his attacker's superior strength. "Clearly your wit is incomparable."

                "'Incomparable,'" Danny scoffed. "Big words for such a little fella."

                Actually, Danny wasn't much bigger than his victim. He was only 20-25 pounds bigger than Dex's already scrawny frame. Dex might have even had an inch or two on him in height. He did, however, possess the uncanny ability to throw his weight around to devastating effect. It was a talent that suited him perfectly for a defensive position in the school's football team. In fact, he had become something of a local hero when he threw his entire body into a wide receiver nearly twice his size during last year's homecoming game. A fact that had gone to his head, making him even more of a psychopath, if such a thing were possible.

                Tris' heart beat with anger and he wanted so badly to help his friend, but knew that when it came to Danny, the best thing to do was to walk away. The one time he did try to stand up to Danny, resulted in Tris sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose. Principal Ferrall was, in most cases, a fair man, but when it came to his football star son, he turned a blind eye.

                "Danny has some emotional issues," Principal Ferrall had explained as Tris' tissues became saturated with his blood. "But don't worry, we are working through them. In the mean time, I hope you can treat him with some patience, and maybe the two of you will actually get along some day."

                That was three years ago. Danny was still as bonkers as ever.

                Tris knew there was nothing he could do, so he started to turn from the injustice.

                Tris felt something hook his ankle. He turned and saw Danny's foot wrapped around his own.

                "Hold on a second, Byron," Danny snarled. "Your little 'bff' made a new discovery on the ground, he wants to show it to you."

                Danny swept Tris' leg out from under him and Tris toppled right to the floor. Fury blew through Tris like a tornado as Danny laughed. That insufferable laugh is what Danny should have been famous for.

                Before Tris could think of something, anything, to say, Danny rose to his feet and proclaimed, "Well, I have completed my obligatory bullying duties for the day. Please take our online survey and rate your harassment experience. See you guys in line for tots!" With that he ran off howling down the halls.

                With no help from the apathetic bystanders, Tris rose to his feet, and helped the still-gasping Dex up as well. "You okay?" Tris asked his slightly-blue-looking friend.

                "Asshole just knocked the wind out of me."

                "Wanna paintball his bike again tonight?"

                Dex laughed. "Last time he undermined our revenge-plot by proudly riding his rainbow colored bike down Main Street like a Skittles commercial."

                "He does seem uniquely immune to any kind of retaliation," Tris observed. "But that shouldn't stop us from trying, eh?" Tris patted him on the back as the pair walked down the hall towards the cafeteria.

                "Wanna come over tonight and draw up some plans for said retribution?" Dex offered.

                Tris groaned, "Sure, if I don't end up grounded after tonight."

                "Why what happened?"

                "I didn't come home last night 'til after midnight," Tris explained, slightly rolling his eyes.

                "Oh...I bet your dad wasn't too happy about that."

                "You're the king of understatement, Dex."

                "Proud of it."

                "Basically, I walked through the door, and Dad said, 'Go to bed, we'll talk about this tomorrow.'" Tris over-exaggerated his father's voice, giving it deep and menacing resonance.

                "You make your dad sound like Vader."

                Tris chuckled, "I wish! Then I'd have sweet Force powers!" Tris splayed his fingers forward and made crackling sounds as if lightning were shooting from his fingertips at Dex.

                Dex countered, holding an imaginary weapon and making the iconic whirring sound of a Lightsaber. The pair feigned sparring like this for a few minutes. Other kids started shooting them funny looks.

                The friends entered the cafeteria and got in line for food: Salisbury "steak", Tater tots, applesauce, and chocolate milk.

                "So," Dex began as he grabbed a tray. "I bet you're not looking forward to going home and confronting 'Darth Byron' are you?"

                Tris shook his head as a lunch lady slathered a hunk of freshly microwaved meat with watery gravy.

                "Braaaaaaiiiins fooood," Tris laughed. "I swear this stuff is going to make zombies out of us all one day."

                Dex laughed, but then his face got serious, "You know, you could always hide out at my place."

                "That wouldn't make anything better, trust me," Tris said, dismayed.

                "Well maybe--"

                "Dex, can we just stop talking about it, please?" Tris said impatiently.

                An awkward silence followed as the pair grabbed their chocolate milks and sat down at their familiar table. When Tris got situated, he adjusted the angle of his chair to the left noticeably.

                Dex broke the silence, "I know why you shift your chair like that."

                "I don't shift my chair," Tris chuckled.

                "Your chair is approximately 80 degrees to the left right now."

                Tris swung his chair perpendicular again and shot Dex a sarcastic look.

                "You do that," Dex continued with a slight lilt. "Because you are trying to catch a better glimpse of Kate."

                Dex was 100 per cent right, but Tris would not admit it. "Shut up," he said.

                "Tris, come on," Dex urged. "Why don't you just go talk to her?"

                "Because," Tris leaned in smugly. "I don't like Kate Lockheart."

                "Then why are you adjusting your chair to get a better look at her?"

                "Can't I just enjoy the view?"

                Dex whipped his head around. "She's not even in the cafeteria, yet."

                "Look," Tris said. "Kate has had a tightly wound string of relationships with preppy, rich boys since seventh grade. There's no room for me in that pattern."

                "So break the pattern," Dex said. "Besides, I hear she broke up with Brad on Saturday night."

                "Well, she doesn't look too broken up about it," Tris said as Kate strolled in laughing with her friends.

                There she was. Beautiful. When Tris stared at her, it was rarely anything like the movies. Time didn't actually slow down, Tris just spent an exorbitant amount of it staring. He wanted to take in every detail: her olive skin, her raven locks, her brown eyes. She was always impeccably well-dressed with lightly applied make-up that was hardly essential for her exquisite beauty.

                She had the body of a cheerleader without actually lowering herself enough to be involved with those elitist fembots. Her laugh was melodious enough to almost make Tris break down and listen to country music. Just to be clear, in any other circumstance, Tris despised country music, but Kate's smile made him want to lay out in the summer sun under a blanket all day and--

                "Tris, you're staring," Dex said with a wicked grin on his face. "You're so not over her."

                "Shut up."

***

                Hours later, Tris sat awkwardly through an entirely different meal: dinner with his family. Tris had avoided the impending scolding up to this point. His father, John Byron, was a postal worker, whose shift didn't end until about 5:30 p.m. Just enough time to shower before dinner at 6, therefore not enough time to lecture his son.

                Tris' sister, Leah, had spent most of the meal chatting with their mother, Kathy. Leah was finishing up her final year at Bridgetown College, rambling about some blah blah in one of her classes. Kathy (counselor by trade, listener by profession) was cued into every detail.

                Suddenly, John let out a deep sigh and said, "Where were you last night, son?"

                The table got quiet. Tris didn't look up from his plate as he replied with a lie, "Dex's."

                "You know your curfew is 11, right?"

                "That's what it has always been."

                "No," John corrected. "We gave you that curfew because we trust you to obey it. But when you don't come home until after midnight, we have a hard time trusting you."

                "I got distracted," Tris said, angrily. "I lost track of time, sorry!"

                Kathy intervened, "John we don't need to do this at the table."

                Tris' father sighed, "Tristan, just call us if you are going to be late, so we don't worry."

                "Whatever," Tris said with finality.

                John shuffled, starting to speak, but Kathy placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Tris," she said. "You understand that it was a school night, right? We just don't want your grades to suffer."

                "My grades are fine."

                "Really?" John blurted. "Your last report card says otherwise."

                "I got all B's!" Tris said in his defense.

                "You got a C in chemistry," John said, disappointment etched deep into his wrinkling face.

                "News flash, Dad!" Tris shouted. "C's are AVERAGE!"

                "Don't shout at the table," John said sternly.

                "Um," Leah said uncomfortably. "Can I be excused from the table?" Kathy nodded, dismissing her.

                "Look," Kathy said, gently. "What your father is trying to say, is that we know you can do better if you applied your--"

                "Look," Tris said, mockingly. "Just because I'm not a perfect-little-angel like Leah--"

                "Hey," Leah said, not making it away from the table quickly enough, despite her efforts. "Leave me out of this."

                "Yes," Kathy added. "This has nothing to do with your sister."

                "THIS HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH HER!" Tris roared. He let that sink in for a moment as he continued. "Leah was a straight-A student, she never got into trouble, she always kept curfew, and she was everything you ever wanted out of a child. Me, on the other hand, I'm just your disappointing black sheep."

                "Tristan," Leah prodded. "No one is disappointed in you."

                "Are you kidding?" Tris insisted. "It is practically dripping from your faces right now."

                John's volume rose to match Tris', "That's because you don't respect us, Tristan. You disobey our rules, your grades are slipping, you barely come to church with us anymore, you haven't applied to any colleges--"

                "Maybe I don't want to go to college," Tris interjected. "Maybe I don't want to conform to your unreasonable expectations."

                "Ya know what," John tilted his head. "I think your problem is that you don't respect yourself. You have no motivation, your hair is a mess, you choose to wear worn down clothes--"

                "Oh! So now I don't dress well enough to impress my daddy! Ya know what? I'm not gonna just sit around and listen to this!" Tris rose and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair.

                John stood up, aggressively. "Where do you think you're going!?"

                "Dex's!" Tris grunted as he shoved past Leah, who was standing there, mouth agape, still holding her plates.

                "I am not done talking to you, young man!" his father blurted.

                Kathy stood between them as Tris reached the door. The last thing Tris heard before he slammed the door was Kathy saying, "Let him go, John. He needs to blow off some steam."

***

                To Tris, the world was small and crowded. His life was stuffed with papers, exams, deadlines, peers, and family. The pressure exerted by all these forces was making him claustrophobic. Closing in on all sides.

                But the world was bigger than he could imagine. Inifintely so. Depths of mystery were waiting for him on the edge of his quiet, little town. Realities that few will ever find would soon descend on him like a waterfall. There was much more to this world. Soon he would see.

                But this world would not sit idly, waiting for the boy to arrive. It was actively seeking him, hunting him, driving him forward into its dark, wild clutches.

***

                In a hidden chamber, unbeknownst to the world above, a man was being tortured.

                Work had kept him late. He left his job in a hurry to meet his wife in kids for dinner. They would never see him again. He was trying to get into his car, when six hooded figures appeared from the edges of the parking lot. Their appearance startled him at first, but he continued trying to open his car door, nonchalantly. It wasn't until they bee-lined towards him silently, that terror began to choke him. He scanned the lot for help, but no one was in sight. For some reason his damn key wouldn't fit in the lock.

                It wasn't long until he was surrounded. From there, he never stopped being surrounded.

                Men in black robes were all around him. If men they could be called. They were more like shadows, he could never see their faces. But unlike shadows, they had form. Their hands were strong when they took him. Their voices deep as they chanted over him. They held curved daggers drenched in blood...his blood. They were cutting letters into his skin.

                It was agonizing.

                His cries of pain, his cries for mercy were overheard by one figure in a dark, red robe that towered over the others. He leaned in towards the victim, thick hood blocking his features. He spoke, "Mr. Caldell. History teacher at Bridgetown High School."

                Caldell's voice was quivering through pain, "Who...are...you people?"

                "I am called The Minister."

                "Please," begged Caldell. "What do you want?" He began weeping.

                "We want to know who the Catalyst is," The Minister said, matter-of-factly.

                "I-I don't know what that means," Caldell confessed.

                "Of course you don't. But your blood knows, and it will help us find him. So please, be a good little sacrifice, and quit your mewling."

                Caldell began screaming in protest, as knives descended from all directions. The chanting rose to an apex.

                The Minister turned away from his prisoner. The poor man's shrieks were so annoying. Sacrifices just didn't know their places these days. All this talk of "freedom" and "equality" had gotten to their heads. They spent all their time grasping for petty comforts: money, sex, happiness, fun, influence; they never reached out beyond their world to find real power.

                The Minister retrieved a red orb from a pedestal in the center of the chamber and held it in the palm of his hand. This was real freedom. The only equality these humans shared was in their deaths. Otherwise, they were equally worthless. This fool's death would serve their purposes.

                Blood gushed from the school teacher's wounds as his voice weakened from the loss. The Minister strolled over to ragged body that hung in chains before him. Like a flash, across the man's belly, a dagger ripped open a gaping wound. The Minister thrust the orb deep into the abdomen of Mr. Caldell, to learn the secrets only his blood could know.

                The school teacher breathed his last. Finally. Such a weak man.

                The Minister withdrew the orb from the man's dripping husk. His hand was soaked in blood, but the orb now glowed with an unearthly, purple light.

                "Now," The Minister whispered to the orb. "Where is the Catalyst?"