A tremor rippled through the frozen valley on a bitter night, black clouds swallowing the sky.
*Boom*
*Boom*
It was as if a colossal battering ram struck the earth itself. The frozen rocks and soil began to crack apart, yet no living soul was in sight. Neither man nor beast could have caused such a sound.
Though its source could not be seen, it was undeniably there—echoing from a higher dimension. That realm was nothing but a boundless white void. No horizon, no sky. The ground was paved with pale marble, and at its center stood a magnificent palace of jet-black bricks, swallowing every glimmer of light.
The palace had neither doors nor windows. Within, its halls and corridors were forged from a thousand stones, black and white in endless variation. In the largest chamber, a white-haired, white-bearded old man in flowing black robes sat upon a grand throne. His hand stretched outward, his index finger moving up and down with deliberate rhythm.
With every motion, a vast hammer of red flame crashed down upon a massive boulder nearly eleven meters across.
*Boom*
Each strike shook the entire palace, its echo bleeding through into the outer world. For days, the hammer had pounded this stone, which had once been one hundred and forty meters wide. At last, the old man ceased. With a flick of his wrist, the blazing hammer shrank into the size of an ordinary smith's tool and clattered aside.
The old man rose and approached the stone. Though dwarfed by its size, he stretched out his hand as if seizing a toy ball. In an instant, the massive boulder collapsed into his palm.
The once-monstrous rock was now no larger than a marble. He lifted it toward the radiant orb on the ceiling—a false sun burning in the void—and inspected it with narrowed eyes. A shadow of satisfaction crossed his face. A deep, brief laugh rumbled from his chest.
"I've labored for so many years," he murmured. "A pity I am too old to witness the end of it."
His voice carried both pride and sorrow.
He looked upward. At once, the palace began to tremble. The ceiling's bricks shifted like the pieces of a vast puzzle, opening to reveal the boundless white sky. No cloud, no sun—only emptiness.
Drawing back his arm, he hurled the marble into that sky like a man casting a stone into the sea. It vanished with impossible speed. Small though it appeared, its weight was unchanged: a stone once eleven meters across, forged of matter two hundred times denser than water. Nearly one hundred and forty million tons, flung without effort.
One by one, he drew the other marbles from his robe and cast them into the void, each as casually as if tossing pebbles into a pond.
<----------->
In Another Universe, the Solar Empire
"3484"
"3485"
"3486"
In a room of nearly a hundred square meters, various training devices were scattered about. In one corner, a boy with weights strapped to his back was doing push-ups. He wore only short, matte black shorts that gave off a metallic sheen; his torso was bare. His muscles were defined for his age, and he was so heated that even in the summer air a thin vapor rose from his skin. After his final repetition, he collapsed, gasping, and rolled to one side, shoving the four weights off his back. Each weighed fifty kilograms — two hundred in total. Red welts, pressed deep into his shoulders, marked the burden, and at their center a fresh, round wound was swelling.
Moments later, the door opened soundlessly. A man stepped in — dressed in a black suit, about one meter eighty, with black hair. The wave of hot air from the room made him pause; his brown eyes swept the space slowly until they settled on the boy in the corner. He approached with heavy steps, examined the weights on the floor, and sighed deeply. Then, without warning, he swung his right leg and drove a sharp kick into the boy's stomach.
Thud!
The boy didn't react. His eyes remained shut, and after a few seconds of silence, a faint snore escaped. He was nine years old, with snow-white hair and lashes. At that moment, oblivious to the world, he slept deeply despite the pain burning on his back. The man noticed the sweat beading on his forehead, sighed again, and silently left the room.
An hour later, the boy's eyes snapped open. One was pitch black; the other pure white with only a small, gleaming pupil at its center. He stretched languidly on the floor like a cat before leaping upright. In the full-length mirror he examined his back, the wound still unhealed. From the rack, he grabbed a random white shirt, draped it over his shoulders, and stepped out.
Beyond the door lay a wide, silent garden. He spotted the suited man — now inspecting the worn training tools. Surprised, the boy called out:
"Uncle Wite! What are you doing here?"
The man raised his head, eyes narrowing on the boy. With the white shirt thrown carelessly over his black shorts, his appearance was disheveled yet somehow neat. His build was slender but toned. Wite's gaze lingered briefly, then drifted away toward the meadows.
"Lord X," he said. "You have been here for nearly two months. The King sent me to see if there was any problem. If you needed food or books, I would have brought them. But it seems you've abandoned your studies for… other pursuits."
X's eyes widened. He hurried closer.
"Please, Uncle Wite — don't tell Father! Look, I've read at least half the books already."
At the edge of the garden stood two piles of books. One, stacked neatly, was filled with untouched volumes gathering a thin film of dust. The other was a chaotic heap — dog-eared, battered, pages yellowed from being read and tossed aside again and again. Whenever X finished a book, he flung it to the ground, and the pile grew into his makeshift bed.
Wite, who had known him since infancy, was used to such habits. His eyes lingered on the boy's face. Were it not for his stark white hair and mismatched eyes, he might have seemed an ordinary, even charming child.
"In two days," Wite said, "the King summons you to the eastern palace. A general examination will be conducted. Your body is still developing; you should not push it this hard. For now, focus on learning — strengthen your mind."
Realizing Wite would not report him, X exhaled in relief. He grabbed a book from the tidy pile, then flopped back onto the bed of discarded ones.
This place was no ordinary hideaway. It was a verdant hilltop, reserved solely for the son of the King of the World. At its center stood a modest white house of unknown material, sturdy despite the cracks that marred its walls — most of them caused unintentionally by X's intense training. Solar panels lined its roof, feeding silent power.
In an age where science and technology had reached unimaginable heights, where cities spanned the globe, such an isolated estate was the rarest luxury — reserved only for the richest magnates and the most powerful families.
X opened his book and dove into the words. Yet above, the sky trembled faintly.
His black-and-white gaze flicked upward instinctively, scanning the heavens. A murmur seemed to seep through the lines of text — not the whisper of wind, but something deeper, like the growl of a giant grinding its teeth beneath the earth.
Then the air shrieked, like a thousand bells shattering at once.
The book's pages quivered. X lifted his head. The shirt draped over his shoulders stirred in the rising wind, but the air on his bare skin was not cool — it burned. The grass of the garden bent in one sweeping wave, then snapped upright again.
X frowned. "Not an earthquake…" he whispered.
The hill rumbled again. Solar panels rattled, indicators on the roof flickered once and died.
A third pulse came — a breath drawn from space itself.
X stood, marking his page with a finger but leaving the book open. He walked to the garden's railing and gazed down into the valley's dark seam.
There, among the stones, a point appeared. At first no bigger than an insect burrow. Then gone. Moments later, back again — as if the world were swallowing and spitting it out, preparing to consume it whole.
His heart thumped with a strange itch of curiosity.
From the doorway came a mechanical chime: "Environmental anomaly detected — observation mode activated." A thin orange line flickered across the monitor and vanished.
At the slope's base, a translucent cabin rose. From it stepped Wite, measured as ever but with an unusual sharpness in his eyes.
"X."
Without turning from the valley, X murmured, "Something's there. It keeps appearing and vanishing. Like it's breathing."
Wite tapped at his wrist-screen. Graphs cascaded down in shifting patterns. "Seismic waves are inconsistent. This isn't a phenomenon — it's a presence. It appears from nothing."
"No arrival…" X repeated softly. The word itself felt like an omen.
"For now, you're going inside," said Wite. "I'm raising the shield."
X tilted his head, a faint smile touching his lips. "You can't lock me in. Father gave me this hill."
"Your father gave you the surface," Wite replied flatly. "Not what lies beneath."
Before X could answer, the valley roared again.
Thrum.
The ground shuddered under his heels, grass bristling like needles, a new crack spidering across the wall of the house. The sky was still blue, but the air trembled like glass.
X's fingers clutched the railing. The point below had widened, rippling in invisible rings that folded inward. No birds, no insects — as if all life had already fled.
Wite seized his shoulder. "Inside. Now."
But X's gaze stayed fixed. For there, among the stones, a light was forming — white as snow, small and round. It resembled the Sun, but it was not the Sun.
His heart struck twice. Once with wonder. The second… as though answering a call.
"All right," X whispered. "I'm going in."
Yet the moment he turned toward the door, the world fell silent. No cracks, no fire, no noise. Only silence. And then—
A hollow concussion.
The hill bucked as if chained to the heart of the sky. The valley point was no longer a shadow but a blazing, devouring pit of darkness.
The light vanished. The heavens split with a shattering crack. A formless fist plunged down.
The earth groaned like a beast with its chest crushed. Grass tore from its roots. Windows exploded. Even Wite stumbled to his knees.
The shield flared — a golden dome enveloping the house. But it fractured instantly, crimson fissures racing across its surface like screaming glass.
"X, get back!" Wite roared, his voice drowned in the storm.
The shield shattered. The hill collapsed with a deep moan.
X's eyes widened. The valley was gone — replaced by a vast, black crater. Red sparks trembled at its rim, and from within rose a sound like a voice, calling from nowhere.
Step by step, X walked forward, unthinking, unhearing. Stones crumbled beneath his feet, yet he did not stop. Fear and wonder danced in his gaze. The darkness beckoned.
"X! Don't touch it!" Wite lunged, reaching out.
Too late.
From the crater's center a tendril of shadow unfurled. Not smoke, not mist, but something denser — like oil shimmering in water. It coiled and brushed his hand.
The world fell still.
From his fingertips, black veins spread, racing up his arm, across his chest. His skin cracked with luminous fissures, seeping with dark light.
"No!" Wite shouted, but his voice could not reach.
For X was already vanishing.
The darkness swathed him in a gauze of shadow, then pulled tight. His eyes shone one last time — with awe, with fear, with longing.
Then his figure dissolved. Gone in an instant. Only the acrid scent of scorched grass lingered by the crater's rim.
Wite knelt, hands empty, before the gaping wound in the earth. From its depths still rose that unearthly hum, calling, devouring.
And X was no longer there.