ENTER-WORLD: The Dark Age

CHAPTER 1 - PREDESTINATED

The New York borough of Queens awoke to a clear sky. In their modest cottage, Logan Davis and his mother prepared breakfast as they did every morning, accompanied by the sounds of Highway 678, it was very busy early in the morning, cars sped along the decaying asphalt, either heading to Manhattan or the New York State border.

The Davis home was modest, with a front lawn that was watered by sprinklers every morning, and thick ivy growing on the outside of the house. It was a two-story house, part of a row of cottages that stretched across the street. Logan was used to getting up early and getting ready quietly, the mirror reflecting his image as a slim, clear-eyed boy. He was rather introverted, often struggling to bond with his peers, but his insecurities had never prevented him from making friends. He was also quite athletic, often taking mountain bike rides and participating in cycling competitions.

That morning he went down to the kitchen expecting to find his mother, but found only breakfast on the table, and silence all around. Unexpectedly, he heard a noise coming from the attic, worried, he quickly climbed the stairs and found his mother rummaging through dusty boxes. She was a simple and very practical woman, with the same blue eyes as Logan, freckles covering her radiant face. She took care of the house and worked part time at the Queens Center, a local department store, and in her spare time she organized charity collections at the neighborhood church.

"Mom, why did you go up to the attic?" asked Logan curiously.

"Good morning Logan, I'm looking for some old clothes to donate to charity," his mother replied, "I have to take them to the church this morning for the weekly market."

"I'm early, I'll help you find them," the boy said.

They searched through dusty boxes for a few minutes; after opening several, Logan found one that contained his father's, Jacob Davis, old things. His father had died under mysterious circumstances before his birth, so Logan had never known him. He had been the victim of an accident on his way home from the Thomas J. Watson Research Center, where he was on the night of the tragedy. He was a research scientist who studied new experimental drugs and often worked with nonprofit companies. Logan's attention was drawn to a small black notebook with strange symbols inside. It was bound in leather, and the emblems inside looked quite ancient. It was getting late, he went down to his room to get his backpack and absentmindedly threw the notebook on his desk.

Logan had two best friends; Michael Reeves Jr. was a rather stocky boy, two green eyes stood out in his square face. He had been Logan's best friend since elementary school, their mothers had known each other all their lives, his family was very wealthy, in fact they owned several houses all over the United States. Then there was Chloe Barnes, she was an athletic girl, her hair always tied back and she often wore a baseball cap, she met the two boys in middle school and they remained friends from then on. They both waited for Logan at the school baseball field, which was only two blocks from his house. Today there was a new girl with them, and he soon learned that her name was Sarah Parker. She had the appearance of a simple girl, her face was clean and bright, a white blouse and jeans gave her an air more mature than her age.

Logan joined them on his mountain bike and immediately noticed the new girl.

"Hey man, what's up?" Mike said, hugging his best friend.

"All good."

"Hey L," Chloe greeted him with an extravagant handshake, which he returned with aplomb, "this is Sarah, she's new in town, just moved in," the two exchanged an awkward nod and they all continued on to school: Franklin High School, the largest high school in Queens, covered six acres and was very close to Logan's home.

The school had a special charm, maybe because it was Logan's senior year, or maybe because of the crisp New York City air. He walked past Matt Tacker, the captain of the school's basketball team.