A castle floated in the endless void, suspended above an abyss that devoured everything. The abyss was nothingness itself, an endless depth where anything that touched it would fade into nonexistence. Yet, in defiance of such emptiness, that lone castle stood, majestic and imposing, radiating an aura that denied erasure.
At its highest chamber, a vast window lay open, revealing the dark expanse outside. A figure stood before it, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His eyes glowed with a profound light, carrying the weight of countless secrets.
It was the Djinn Lord.
Expressionless, he stared into the abyss. His gaze, sharp and boundless, seemed capable of unraveling the mysteries of all existence. Suddenly, his face twitched. His pupils narrowed ever so slightly.
That aura…
Even if it had been only for a fleeting instant, he had felt it. An aura long absent, yet unmistakable.
Slowly, his lips curved into a smile, a smile that reached his eyes, as though he had just found a long-lost amusement.
"No horn sounds the arrival of the Game-Breaker; only the silence grows heavier until the dream bends," he murmured, his voice carrying into the void.
"It seems… this story will be far more interesting than I expected."
The enormous door creaked open. From the shadows drifted a dense cloud of smoke. It swirled, shifting shape until it solidified into a humanoid figure, Aija.
He bowed deeply, but before he could speak, the Djinn Lord cut in.
"Let me guess," the Djinn Lord said sharply, his tone cutting like a blade. "The gods felt the tremor and sent you to summon me."
As he spoke, his presence expanded, filling the chamber with an aura both terrible and strange. The atmosphere warped, sometimes echoing with the wails of mourners, sometimes with the cries of warriors, then shifting into the roar of exploding worlds, before mellowing into the songs of heroes and villains alike. Each tone was heavier than the last, and its sheer weight pressed down upon Aija like chains.
Aija grimaced but forced himself to remain calm. His duty could not be ignored.
"Yes, my lord," he answered carefully. "The gods await your presence."
"Ha." The Djinn Lord's laugh was short, sharp, and disdainful. "For a momentary ripple, they disturb my rest?"
Aija's mouth twitched, but he dared not comment. He knew well the temperament of the Djinn Lord.
The silence stretched until, with a sigh, the Djinn Lord turned back toward the abyss. His voice was low but carried deep meaning.
"Most curse the Game-Breaker and cry for their death… yet it is their shadow that keeps the dream alive."
Then, without another word, he strode toward the door. "Let's go."
Aija followed silently behind.
A storm was beginning to brew.
Meanwhile, in the dim alleys of the ruined city, the sound of footsteps echoed louder and louder. James and Amara, both battered and worn, braced themselves for another battle.
But then, suddenly, the footsteps stopped.
The silence was unnerving. James and Amara exchanged wary glances, neither knowing what awaited them.
Without warning, hands of living shadow erupted from the darkness, reaching toward them. James's instincts flared, he slashed out with his dual knives. The blades cut through the shadowy limbs, but instead of resistance, the hands dispersed like smoke.
"Amara," James barked, his tone brooking no argument. "Stay with Collins. Protect him. Don't let anything near."
Amara bit her lip. She disliked his commanding tone, but she couldn't deny the truth in his words. Collins needed her protection more than anything.
James stepped forward, knives gleaming faintly. His eyes sharpened as a figure emerged from the shadows.
It was a boy.
No older than thirteen, he stood with unsettling confidence. Shadows coiled around him like living serpents, tendrils twisting and writhing as though eager to strike.
James's breath caught. This was the first time he had encountered someone with an actual ability. Neither he, Collins, nor Amara possessed abilities, they had survived solely through their stats, battling monsters with grit and steel.
"Who are you?" James asked cautiously, his grip tightening on his knives.
"I should be the one asking," the boy replied coolly. "You people appeared here out of nowhere."
"So you attacked us because of that?" James pressed, his voice edged with anger.
"Yes."
"What if we had died?" James's tone hardened. If Collins had been struck in his condition… the thought sent rage boiling through him. Collins's mysterious suffering was already tearing him apart, and now this?
"What if you were criminals?" the boy retorted without hesitation.
James clenched his knives until his knuckles whitened. If it had been a monster, he would not have hesitated to strike, but this was another human. A child. His blade froze.
Then—
"HAAAA!!"
Collins's scream tore through the alleyway, louder and more agonized than before.
James's heart dropped. He spun back toward his brother. He wanted to rush forward, to hold him, but he stopped short, remembering. Touching Collins in this state would only worsen the pain.
So he stood there, trembling, helpless. His face twisted in anguish.
This wasn't the first time.
He remembered when Collins first awakened his attribute, back then, he had screamed too. But never like this. Never this intense. And now, in a strange place, with no allies and no certainty of survival, the situation was even worse.
Black lines crawled across Collins's skin, as if his very body was fracturing. The sight made James's chest tighten. His brother was all he had left. Their parents were gone. Collins was his anchor, the last piece of sanity he clung to.
If he lost him… he wouldn't survive it.
That was why, in desperation, James whispered a plea.
Please. Please, anyone… answer me. Save him.
The prayer was instinctive, born from despair. He had long abandoned faith in gods, yet now, with nothing else left, he begged.
Then, he felt warmth.
It spread through his body, a soft, golden glow enveloping him. His vision blurred, then cleared into a boundless golden space. He hovered in midair, weightless.
A voice echoed.
James froze. He turned and there, standing before him, was a young boy dressed in ancient garments, half-suited for war, half for leisure. His skin was fair, unnaturally so, his long black hair cascading like woven silk. Though his face radiated youthful vigor, his presence was ancient, profound, and boundless.
James's breath caught. Instinct told him, this was no ordinary being. He was in the presence of a god.
James's throat tightened. His voice cracked as he asked, "Wh… who are you?"
He straightened, and in a flash, a spear appeared at his side. His aura surged, becoming vast, ancient, and awe-inspiring.