I am not god, not demon, but the unseen hand that guides the unmaking of one world and the violent genesis of another. I do not choose out of mercy or love. I choose out of necessity, for this realm requires a mind that has tasted every flavor of human failure. And Zyren... he was perfect.
He was once a boy—brilliant, beautiful in his defiance. The kind of genius that blooms under pressure, that makes teachers pause mid-sentence and question their own intelligence. He was the child of algorithms and wonder, a mind molded by machines and midnight notebooks. Humanity once loved him. They gave him medals, applause, letters of recommendation... and then they threw him to the wolves.
Zyren's story began in a lecture hall, but it truly ignited in the sterile white corridors of Aerodyne Systems. He entered as a graduate among titans and immediately reshaped their foundations. His breakthrough—an adaptive machine learning core capable of reconfiguring itself based on emotional stimuli—was unlike anything seen before. It could have changed the world.
But humans don't crave change. They crave ownership.
The boardroom took his genius and wrapped it in contracts. They dressed his invention in corporate logos and then, like all predators in suits, they struck. One executive smiled as he slid Zyren's design across the table, already bearing someone else's name.
Zyren fought back, of course. He wasn't naïve. But no amount of proof can stand against coordinated silence. The company silenced him with smiles and handshakes... and then with something more permanent.
The truck hit him at dusk. A clean, calculated accident. The kind of tragedy that makes insurance adjusters sigh. Steel met flesh and memory vanished in a red scream.
Ten years. That's how long he slept. Ten years of machines beeping next to his unmoving body. Ten years of the world forgetting him. When he finally woke, the world he once knew had crumbled into ash. Aerodyne had grown fat off his legacy. His name was erased from every document. His identity was nothing but a whisper lost in code.
He tried to live. He really did. But try finding a job with a decade-long coma on your resume. Try explaining that your mind is still sharp while your limbs shake from atrophy. He had nothing. No family, no friends. Just the long echo of what could have been.
So he turned to games. Not for fun, not for glory—no, Zyren played to survive. Strategy games, sandbox simulators, black-market data-for-hire skirmishes. Each victory gave him food, each loss meant hunger. He avoided fame. He wanted no eyes upon him. All he wanted was to outlive the memory of betrayal.
But beneath every move, every calculated click, I saw the truth: Zyren had not forgotten. He had simply evolved. What they tried to kill did not die. It just grew cold.
And then came the message.
"Would you like to play?"
A flicker. A line of impossible code. It promised escape—not to another game, but to another world. A world he could shape. Rule. Freeze.
Zyren laughed for the first time in years.
Before accepting, he opened his laptop one last time. His fingers danced across the keyboard in ritual fury. Firewalls fell. Servers bled data. His kill code tore through Aerodyne like a digital avalanche. Files collapsed. Accounts vanished. The company's empire was reduced to zeros and screams.
Then he sent one final message:
"Fuck yourselves."
He clicked accept.
Now he sleeps, curled in crystal eggshell beneath the frost-bitten winds. A hatchling with the memories of a ruined man. He dreams of shattered contracts and screams muffled by snow. He is small now, but not for long.
For I, the Architect, have chosen him. He is not a hero. He is not a villain. He is the embodiment of calculated madness, the cold vengeance of a soul refined by fire and silence. In his chest beats a heart colder than any tundra.
A pathetic human being . An unlucky soul.
Let the world prepare.
Zyren has been born a new.