Johannes is a 25-year-old who has always been rather stoic. One could say he has been hardened by the many trials he had to endure during his excuse of a life, or at least that's what he liked to think. In reality, he regularly pitied himself but was too proud to let anyone know.
The young adult had many interests, but one was the most dominant. Ever since the dungeons popped out of nowhere, his interest in them became an obsession. The first dungeon appeared only a year ago, which sparked his curiosity.
His interest in dungeons stood in stark contrast to what his daily life looked like.
Due to several issues with his heart, all of his life took place in the more or less comfortable beds of the many hospitals he had to stay in. So there was no way for him to ever experience what it feels like to be a "Diver".
A Diver was one of the lucky people who had the power to dive through dungeons. The power came from skills that enhanced one's innate abilities and talents. People online initially brought up the term as a joke. When the first Diver went into a dungeon, he had to wear a black skin-tight diving suit as his skill was tied to the element of water.
"If only I could leave this bed and do what those Divers do," he told his father in an excited voice that betrayed the state of his body. His father, who had grown old and reached the age of 58 without any significant signs of ageing, looked at him sorrowfully. The mood was sad, and the cold hospital room didn't help.
The depressing grey walls confined father and son inside a room full of machines paired with dazzling lights that beamed from the top. At some point, Johannes made it his mission to count the different divisions of the rectangular lamp, but he was too afraid to risk his sight for something needless like this.
The machines helped Johannes breathe, as his heart and lungs were not working as intended. He could at least tell me that I would be able to become a Diver one day, Johannes thought as snippily as he could. Yet he could not let his father notice his disgruntled thoughts and added, "Just kidding" to lighten the mood.
It's not like his father could have read his thoughts anyway. Johannes had the habit of narrating situations in his own mind to explain his clumsy attempt at a conversation.
His father was by no means a fool. He understood that his addition of those two words merely aimed to overplay the awkward tone of the situation. If there was one thing he was good at, it was to catch his son's cues. This was rooted in his deep love for his family.
Even if Johannes' circumstances had not been easy, he had always visited him as often has he could. Though he often came alone.
His father knew of his son's fragility and carefully approached him. His arms embraced his son with a fatherly love that he had rarely shown. If Johannes had known that this was their last hug, he would have acted differently.
What a rare sight, Johannes snarkily thought. They rarely hugged. Or at least not as much as Johannes would haved liked in hindsight.
After what felt like an eternity, his father went to the narrow doorframe and weakly spoke some words Johannes could not fully understand.
Johannes assumed his father said, "Sorry," in hindsight. The old man has never been one of many words. It is not that he did not talk; it was more like he could not express his heartfelt thoughts. Johannes noticed that his mother and his sister were better at this.
That was the last time Johannes saw his father.
Later that evening, as the sun had vanished from the sights of his side of the earth, he received a call from his mother.
"He is dead." Johannes did not understand the severity of the situation. "Who? Who died?"
"Your father."
She lacked the strength to tell him in person. If you ignored the few breaks they had, they had been married for over twenty years. His mother was broken.
A stream of helpless tears rolled down his cheeks as she continued.
"He suffered from a sudden heart attack."
His old man died at the age of 58 - from something that nobody could have predicted.
He could barely remember the details, but according to the newly made widow, it was not a quick death. Apparently, he struggled. But his son was unable to further inquire. It was too much for him. He could not ask anything else.
Like his father, Johannes was not a man of words. He could not even dare to utter a single word after the words had penetrated his mind. Due to his body's state, he could not even attend the funeral.
A hole. A hole deep enough for Johannes to fall in had opened. Why did it have to be him? Why wasn't it me who died? I am not even able to moveproperly. These were his most prevalent thoughts, day after day.
The days passed in the blink of an eye, and Johannes' thoughts grew more grim. When he didn't cry, he blamed himself for not being a more loving son.
I should have hugged him even more tightly - embraced his love.
Exhaustion had rendered Johannes's mind useless. It was as if his brain was in a regressed state, and he could barely contain his memories.
In the middle of the night, 4 days after his father's death, a dazzling light shone into his face. Johannes immediately woke up.
[To my Son...] is what the floating message showed to the confused, barely awake man. The clock told Johannes it was 2 AM, which was too late for anyone to prank him. Or way too early, depending on how he looked at it.
To my son? What is happening? Is this a sick prank?