Prologue
"The Last Embrace"
The world around them was silent—so silent that even the endless void seemed to hold its breath.
Two figures stood in the darkness, illuminated only by a faint silver glow that shimmered across their robes. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man whose presence radiated an authority so deep it seemed to bend the air around him. Beside him stood a woman with hair that fell like strands of midnight silk, her eyes glistening as they fixed on the small bundle in her arms.
The child, barely old enough to comprehend the world, looked up at them with round, black eyes—eyes that sparkled like untouched night skies. A tiny hand reached upward, fingers curling in the air as if trying to grasp the warmth of his parents forever. His lips curved in a pure, unknowing smile, utterly unaware of the tears streaming down his mother's cheeks and falling silently onto his small feet.
The woman's breath trembled. She clutched the child closer, her embrace fierce yet fragile, as though the act of letting go would shatter her entirely. A warm, steady hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned her head slightly to meet the man's gaze—calm, resolute, but heavy with unspoken sorrow. His lips moved, though no sound reached the vast emptiness around them, and with a small motion, he raised his arm, pointing toward a distant sphere in the endless expanse. It gleamed faintly blue beneath wisps of white—a living world. A world that looked, though the child would not yet know, the Earth.
Her tears deepened. She pressed her lips to the child's forehead one last time, inhaling the scent of him as though it might keep her heart from breaking. Slowly, her arms loosened, and the man stepped forward. In his palm, a shimmer of golden light formed, twisting and spiraling into an intricate ring of runes. Space itself seemed to ripple, and a swirling portal of light and shadow opened before them, humming softly like the heartbeat of the cosmos.
The man's eyes lingered on the child for the briefest of moments—one final look—and then, with a motion as gentle as setting a feather afloat, he let the child drift toward the portal. The air shimmered around the boy, cradling him as though unseen hands guided him through. The portal's light swelled, then folded in upon itself, vanishing from the silent void.
---
A cool wind whispered through the streets of a small town, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth. It was deep into the night when a soft ripple tore open the air above a quiet corner—directly in front of a modest orphanage. The portal appeared for only an instant, but in that instant, a tiny figure emerged, cradled briefly by an unseen warmth before landing gently on the ground.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a cry broke through the night.
The infant's small body trembled as his voice rose—a wail of hunger, fear, and loneliness. His hands grasped at the empty air, but there was no familiar warmth, no steady heartbeat, no soft voice to answer. Just the cold, the dark, and his own helpless sobs.
A door creaked open.
From within the orphanage, a tired-looking man stepped into the night, rubbing at his eyes. The sound of crying had dragged him from the edge of sleep, and he squinted into the shadows. His gaze fell on the bundle before him—a tiny, black-haired boy with tear-streaked cheeks and trembling hands. Something in the man's expression softened.
"Now, where did you come from?" he murmured.
He knelt, gathering the child into his arms. The boy's cries quieted just slightly, though the sorrow clung to him like a second skin. Without further words, the man carried him inside, closing the door against the wind.
---
Years passed.
Life in the orphanage was far from kind. The boy—now known simply as He—grew in the midst of scarcity, learning early the taste of hunger and the sting of loneliness. Yet, he endured. Every challenge, every cold night, every moment of feeling unseen shaped him quietly, like the slow grinding of stone against stone.
When the day finally came that he stepped beyond the orphanage gates for the last time, He carried nothing but his own determination. He found a small apartment in a worn-down part of the city, working part-time jobs between his college classes. There were no friends to speak of, no one waiting for him at home—just the steady rhythm of days he built for himself.
---
On one such afternoon, the lecture hall had long since emptied, but He remained. Outside the tall windows, the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in fading amber light. He sat alone on a weathered bench, a book open in his hands. The voices of other students drifted faintly from the distance, but he didn't look up. His gaze stayed on the words before him, his posture relaxed yet solitary.
Somewhere far beyond his awareness, threads of fate began to stir.
The storm had yet to break.
---
To be continued....