Chapter One Contest - September 2025

Write the first chapter of a book, inspired by the prompt.

          Ethan dragged his left crutch forward, the rubber tip hissing faintly on the polished floor of the university library. His right crutch followed, then his broken left leg, suspended in its plaster cast, swung through. The rhythm was familiar, a clumsy waltz he'd perfected over the last three weeks, but it still grated. An average student, he told himself, hobbling toward the deserted philosophy section, even if his GPA stubbornly insisted otherwise. His current state, however, made him feel decidedly below average, conspicuous in a way he detested.

          He found the quiet nook he preferred, near a window overlooking the campus's sprawling oak trees, their leaves just beginning to blush with autumn. Settling into a worn armchair, he reached for a book on existentialism, but his mind, as it often did these days, drifted. It drifted to the dream. The recurring dream.

          It wasn't a nightmare, not precisely, but it hummed with an urgency that always left him breathless upon waking. Two wild mares, their coats the color of polished mahogany and obsidian, thundered across landscapes that defied earthly logic. He saw them clearly: muscles rippling under taut skin, manes and tails, a wild, dark storm. They pursued something unseen, a phantom whisper of movement just beyond sight. He knew, with an instinct deeper than memory, that it was close. So close, he could almost feel the heat of its vanishing, only for it to accelerate again, teasing, toying.

          The mares never gave up. Across vast, sunbaked plains, through ancient, echoing forests, over treacherous mountain peaks, and into their lowest, shadowed troughs. And then, the ocean. Vast, deep, dangerous. But they plunged in, unhesitating. The denizens of the deep--leviathans, schools of glimmering fish, ancient, silent things--parted for them, their passage a sacred right, a sacrilege to Nature Herself to impede.

          Sometimes, an adversary rose to challenge their relentless chase--a colossal griffon with eyes like molten gold, a serpentine creature whose scales shimmered with poisonous light. The mares, then, transformed. No longer mere pursuers, they became warriors, strategists. They would circle, feint, strike in unison, their hooves precise, their teeth sharp. They wouldn't kill, but they would defeat, utterly, leaving their antagonist broken and bewildered, before resuming their tireless pursuit of the unseen.

          When he dreamt of the mares, Ethan knew his life was about to pivot. Not always good, not always bad. Just... different. Changed. He had learned to brace himself, a silent tightening in his gut, for the inevitable shift.

          His broken femur, the reason for his current awkward mobility, had been foreshadowed by one such dream. Just a few weeks ago, he'd woken up with the familiar thrumming in his veins, the scent of wild horses and damp earth lingering in his subconscious. Later that day, helping his mom hang holiday lights - a tradition that now felt ironically seasonal - he'd slipped off the roof. The pain had been instant, a white-hot explosion in his left hip. At the hospital, the X-rays had revealed not just the clean break of his femur, but something more insidious: a stress fracture. "Do you run?" the doctor asked, his brow furrowed. "Play basketball?" Ethan had nodded, a phantom ache blooming in his hip. He did it three times a week. The doctor had explained that the pre-existing stress fracture had exacerbated the fall, turning a potential bruise into a devastating break. A change. And undoubtedly, a bad one, at least in a superficial sense.

          But the mares had preceded other changes, too. More profound, more life-altering.

          He remembered the first time, back in his early teens. The dream had been raw, vivid. He'd woken to the scent of pine and gunpowder. Three days later, his father, a man whose presence had been a storm cloud over their home, an endless source of physical and emotional abuse, was killed in a hunting accident. The initial devastation--the crushing weight of bills, his mother's grief, the responsibility for his three younger siblings--had felt insurmountable. It wasn't good. But then, six years later, his mother had remarried. A kind, gentle man named Ricardo, who had filled the void with quiet strength and unwavering love. Ethan still considered Ricardo more of a father than the man who had sired him--a change, profound and transformative good.

          Another visit from the mares had come just before he was slated to leave for university. He'd been packed, his bags bursting with the promise of a new life, the weight of his family's sacrifices heavy on his shoulders. The day before he was due to leave, his mother had sat him down, her eyes glistening. "Miho," she'd whispered, her voice cracking, "we... we don't have the funds. Not for this semester. I'm so sorry." Heartbreak had been a physical ache in his chest. He'd imagined himself resigning to a local job, putting his dreams on hold, his family's burdens once again, his own. But then the mail arrived. Tucked amidst the usual bills and junk mail was an official university envelope. A full-ride scholarship, covering tuition, books, room, and board. A miracle. He still found a job on campus, sending his earnings home, determined to help, but the path had been cleared--another change, from despair to unexpected salvation.

          Now, with his broken femur, he felt the familiar hum of impending transformation. But what kind? And what was the stress fracture hinting at? It felt... different this time. More personal. The doctor's questions, the quiet concern in his eyes, had sparked an underlying unease that went beyond the physical pain.

          He closed the philosophy book, the words on the page blurring. His eyes scanned the library, the hushed reverence of knowledge. He was a Senior now, a year from graduation. He should focus on his thesis and graduate school applications. Instead, he was fixated on the mysteries of his own life, a life that seemed to bend at the will of two spectral mares.

          The next morning, the campus felt colder, the autumnal wind biting at Ethan's exposed skin as he made his way to his Modern History seminar. The crutches were a constant reminder of his physical vulnerability, but his mind buzzed with an unusual clarity.

          Professor Armitage, a stoic man with a tweed jacket and a penchant for obscure historical anecdotes, was already lecturing. Ethan, maneuvering himself into a back-row seat, felt a strange lightness as Armitage spoke of ancient trade routes and forgotten empires. Then, as Armitage gestured emphatically, a small, polished stone rolled from his sleeve, bouncing twice on the podium before coming to rest at the edge. It was obsidian, a dark, gleaming shard, strikingly similar to the color of one of the mares' coats in his dream.

          Professor Armitage paused, his eyes, usually sharp, momentarily unfocused. He looked at the stone, then at Ethan, a flicker of something unreadable - recognition? Confusion? - crossing his face. "Ah," Armitage cleared his throat, picking up the stone with a delicate hand. "An ancient artifact. From... a recent excavation. Fascinating." He dropped it into his pocket, resuming his lecture without further explanation.

          Ethan frowned. Professor Armitage was meticulous. He never carried anything in his sleeves. And the way his gaze had snagged on Ethan... it was unsettling.


Contest: Chapter One
Word Count: 1,203