New Reality
Chapter 2: New Reality
As the dust settled from his initial encounter with the walkers, Harry caught his breath, leaning against a nearby graffiti-covered wall. The man with the crossbow, Daryl, approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for any immediate threats.
"You alright?" Daryl grunted, his voice raspy and thick with a southern accent.
Harry nodded, still catching his breath. "Yeah, thanks to you. I'm... I'm Harry."
"Daryl," the man replied curtly, lowering his crossbow but still on high alert.
Harry tried to get his bearings. "Where am I?"
Daryl raised an eyebrow, "You're in the middle of a world gone to hell. How'd you end up here?"
Harry hesitated, uncertain of how much to reveal. "I... I came through some sort of portal. I don't even know how to explain it."
Daryl looked him over skeptically. "A portal? Like in those sci-fi films?"
Harry shrugged. "Something like that. Look, it's complicated. Where I come from... well, it's very different from this."
Daryl looked around, the moans of distant walkers a constant reminder of the dangers they faced. "We need to get off the streets," he said finally, gesturing for Harry to follow.
As they made their way through the labyrinthine alleyways, Harry noticed that Daryl moved with a silent grace, like a predator stalking its prey. His senses were finely tuned to every sound, every movement. It was clear that Daryl was a survivor, hardened by the challenges of this world.
Harry, on the other hand, felt out of place and vulnerable without his magic. He tried to cast a simple Lumos spell to light their way through a particularly dark alley, but again, nothing happened.
Daryl noticed and frowned. "What was that?"
Harry sighed. "Trying to use my... abilities. But they're not working properly."
Daryl raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Abilities?"
Harry hesitated but figured there was no harm in sharing. "I'm a wizard. Where I come from, I can do... magic."
Daryl looked skeptical. "Magic? Like pulling rabbits out of hats?"
Harry chuckled. "Not exactly. More like casting spells, flying on broomsticks, that sort of thing."
Daryl smirked. "Right. And I'm Santa Claus."
Before Harry could retort, a sudden movement caught his eye. A group of walkers, attracted by their conversation, was closing in on them. Daryl readied his crossbow, but there were too many.
Suddenly, and without warning, Harry's wand lit up, casting a brilliant, blinding light. The walkers hissed and recoiled, giving them just enough time to escape.
They ran until they found an old warehouse. Daryl, with his uncanny knack for finding safe havens, led Harry inside, barricading the door behind them.
Inside, amidst the dust and decay, they found a moment of respite. Harry sank to the floor, exhausted and overwhelmed.
Daryl eyed him curiously. "So that was your magic?"
Harry looked at his wand, still glowing faintly. "Yeah, though I don't know why it's so unpredictable here."
Daryl grunted, sitting down across from him. "This world, it changes things. Makes you question everything you thought you knew."
Harry nodded. "Seems like it."
A silence settled between them, both lost in their own thoughts. For Harry, this new reality was a lot to process. The walkers, the desolation, and most importantly, his unpredictable magic. He needed to figure out what was happening, and more urgently, how to get back to his world.
Daryl, meanwhile, was trying to make sense of this strange young man who claimed to be a wizard. In a world where the dead walked, maybe anything was possible.
But for now, they had each other's backs, and in the face of the horrors outside, that was all that mattered.