Kealix's senses scrambled as he tried to find the voice's source—an impossible task now. No body, no eyes, no hands. Just… him, drifting in an endless paradox. Panic surged, sharp and cold. How could he even exist like this? No mouth to scream, no lungs to draw breath, no voice to call out.
He tried anyway. Opened his nonexistent mouth, but nothing came—only silence tightening around him like a noose.
What the hell is happening? Where am I? The questions clawed inside him, bouncing wildly in the empty cavern of his mind. Am I dead? Is this the end?
Then the voice returned—soft, calm, vast. It wasn't just heard; it reverberated deep inside him, searing into the core of his being. The pain flared where his ears should have been—if he still had any.
''Father, are you perhaps here because you sensed the fracture too?''
Fracture? Father? The words struck him like lightning, incomprehensible but heavy with meaning. Who's Father? Me? That can't be. None of this makes sense.
His thoughts spun out, panic rising like a tide, threatening to drown him.
This had to be the Spiritual Realm, right? The stories—the myths—spoke of peace, of ancestors' whispers, not this churning chaos of color and silence, this place that felt like both everything and nothing.
And that voice. Not just powerful—it was primordial. It spoke through him, reshaping something deep inside, twisting his very essence with each word.
What fracture? Am I connected to it? Why am I here?
Questions slammed against each other inside his mind, fierce and relentless. Each answer only birthed more confusion.
He teetered on the edge—between clarity and madness.
Minutes stretched in unbearable silence.
He drifted—weightless, unmoored—in this strange paradox, clutching at the edges of his sanity, trying to hold onto what little understanding he had left.
The voice had gone silent, but its echo throbbed inside him, leaving a raw ache that pulsed in time with his scattered thoughts.
He forced himself to focus, repeating the mantra over and over like a lifeline.
Calm down. Focus.
He imagined taking deep breaths—an instinct from a body no longer his. No lungs to fill, no chest to rise, but the thought steadied him. A small anchor that calmed him.
Maybe… maybe this place works differently.
His trembling mind grasped at that fragile hope.
Maybe I have to will my words into existence. Think them so fiercely they can't be ignored.
Doubt gnawed at him, but silence was worse. He had to try something. Anything.
The voice—that voice—was terrifying in its calm power. Not hostile, not yet. But even its gentleness scorched where his ears should have been, leaving a raw ache that screamed caution. He wasn't ready to see what it could do if angered.
If I speak… will she know I'm not who she thinks I am? Will that make her turn on me? The fear tightened his chest, but he couldn't stay frozen forever.
He had to understand. Why here? Why now? What was this "fracture" — and why was it tied to him?
Slowly, he gathered what little control he had left, shutting out the swirling colors and suffocating silence. He honed in on the single burning need—to be heard.
Tell me, he willed, carefully shaping the thought. Are you always in this place?
To his shock, it worked.
The thought rippled out—not as sound, but as raw, trembling force. It echoed through the strange fabric of this realm, carving a space for itself. But the cost hit him like a blow—a searing, unbearable pain that radiated through his very core, the same burn as when the voice had first spoken.
He clenched his fading strength and endured it. He had to.
The silence stretched again, thick and expectant. Then the voice returned—smooth and endless, like velvet sliding across galaxies.
"I am not always here, Father," it said, gentle yet immense. "I usually watch from the top of my tower, overseeing countless universes and multiverses within it. I was bestowing blessings upon mortals on the highest floor as the fracture appeared suddenly. After finishing, I sensed your presence and came immediately. Forgive my delay."
He blinked—or would have, if he still had eyes. The words slammed into him, heavy and vast. Universes in a tower? Mortals receiving blessings? It was overwhelming, like drowning in divine water of sorts.
But one phrase cut through the chaos:
The fracture.
That jagged tear in the sky—the moment everything shattered. Had that been the fracture? Had it killed him? Or transformed him? Revealed something hidden?
No answers, only questions spiraling faster.
But one thing was clear: this being believed he was someone important. Someone close.
He had to tread carefully.
Focusing every ounce of willpower, he forced another thought into being, fragile but deliberate.
"Tell me… who are you, my child?"
And again—the searing agony tore through him, raw and unrelenting.
Kealix dared to hope—foolishly—that this time the pain might ease. That this simple question might slip through whatever brutal laws ruled this place. But as soon as the thought formed, the fire returned. Sharp. Relentless. Molten blades searing straight through the core of his being.
''I am your first child Father….. I am Amyleigh, first child of he''
As Kealix heard those words he wanted to scream, to fall, to break. But he had no body here. No mouth to cry out. No knees to buckle. Only his fractured consciousness, drowning in agony that swallowed every scrap of awareness.
It wasn't just pain. It was the unraveling of everything he was.
The words echoed inside him—First Child of He. They should have meant nothing. But instead, they shattered him utterly. Not with force, but with a truth so old, so vast, so impossible to grasp, it consumed him whole.the pain felt as if It burned like the sun, froze him like the void, ripped him apart and reassembled him again and again without mercy. There was no rest. No escape. No breath.
Only searing, relentless torment.
He couldn't even cry out—thought was his only voice, but thought demanded focus, and focus had fled. He was trapped, a prisoner caught in a revelation too immense to bear, the door flung wide open and pain flooding through.
Then, through the storm of fire inside him, her voice returned. Calm. Gentle. As if nothing was wrong.
"Do not worry, Father," Amyleigh's words brushed against the chaos. "I shall handle the fracture. Even if I cannot seal it myself, now that my people have received my blessing, they will be strong enough to stand their ground. You may rest assured."
He couldn't hear her properly. The pain drowned everything out. Her final words dissolved into silence, lost in the inferno raging in his mind.
"Now, I hope you will excuse me," she said softly. "I must return to the top of my tower to oversee the balance these new events have disrupted. However, it was truly a pleasure speaking with you, Father."
And then she was gone.
No farewell. No change in the space around him. Only the endless storm of agony left behind, his very essence torn open by a name—Amyleigh, First Child of He.
He didn't understand why those words hurt so deeply.
But something inside him did.
Something ancient.
Something buried deep beneath the layers of agony.
Then—darkness swallowed everything.
No color. No light. No sound. Only a crushing void that squeezed the last fragments of thought from his mind.
Something had shifted.
The torment—the relentless, shattering pain that had consumed him moments before—was gone. But in its place came something new. Softer, quieter. Yet just as heavy. Just as unyielding.
His mind scrambled, desperate for answers.
What just happened?
Was the voice gone? Had he escaped that unbearable nightmare? Or had something inside him snapped so completely that even pain had given up?
Panic bubbled up again, raw and urgent.
He tried to move.
And to his shock, he could.
His limbs stirred—arms, legs—like they were waking from a short but heavy, drugged sleep. Clumsy, slow, unfamiliar. As if his spirit had been poured back into a shell that no longer fit right.
But his eyes… no matter how hard he willed it, they stayed shut behind an unbreakable darkness.
The world refused to show itself. Sight—a locked door with no key.
The agony was gone, but its echo lingered—a dull, relentless weight pressing deep into his bones. Not just physical pain, but something heavier. A mourning buried in every cell, for something lost beyond remembering.
He tried to push himself up, but his body resisted.
Kealix, who had tested his limits again and again, who had honed his strength through discipline, found himself utterly still. Not frozen by paralysis, but drained—like gravity had doubled.
Still, one truth shone clear through the haze:
He was back.
Not in that impossible paradox of voices and cosmic truths. This was different—solid. Real.
The air hung thick around him. The world felt familiar, though distant, like a half-forgotten room glimpsed through the fog of a dream.
This had to be his world.
It had to be.
Was he in his dorm? The hospital wing? Somewhere between waking and sleeping?
He couldn't tell. The details were locked away behind the blind curtain and the crushing exhaustion.
But this much was certain:
He wasn't dead.
'did I just leave that place?… no calling it a place isn't right it was something else.'
Something had dragged him back—maybe not all the way, but close enough.
He felt it—the heavy tug of gravity settling over his limbs, the dull ache threading through every muscle, the slow, stubborn thud of a heart trying to find its rhythm again.
He was alive.