Johannes is a young man who never flinched when fate pulled on its silken strings. He used to say he was 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 had just not experienced the very essence of pain yet - pain that could torment his heart, searching for the deepest depths of it and slowly poking around in the delicate wounds that had formed. Today, he was going to find out.
Casually, Johannes was lying in the cold bed the hospital had provided him with and swiped through his phone. A small glimpse of a smile escaped his lips, and he almost forgot he was not alone in the room.
"Are you looking at those Divers again, Johannes?", his kind soul of a father asked with an awkward gentleness.
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.
Johannes could say nothing in return. His sole response was a quick nod that might as well have remained unseen.
There he was laying, his eyes still glued onto the screen. His father's eyes seemed to look at him in pity, as his dear son's mouth was connected to a mask that covered half of Johannes' face. This mask was the very thing that allowed him to stay alive. It had been connected to a breathing machine via a tube.
His frail body was not made to breathe on his own, stand on his own or eventually walk on his own. So there was no way for him to ever experience what it feels like to be a "Diver". He knew that.
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 glanced up from his phone and 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.
"I'm sure you will be able to, bud", a careful voice left his father's mouth in order to not hurt his son.
His father was by no means a fool. He understood that his son had a good grasp of his situation. If there was one thing he was good at, it was to read his son's mind. 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 as 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 he had rarely shown. If Johannes had known 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 have 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 had 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...]
This 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?