The moment I stepped out of the world of mist, the weight of its silence still clung to me like a second skin. The memory of that realm lingered—shifting shadows, voices that spoke in echoes, the endless horizon that bent and folded upon itself. Yet as my feet touched solid ground again, I knew something fundamental had changed within me. My body was still young, my heart still beating fast, but a part of me no longer belonged solely to the world of men.
I drew in a long breath. The air felt sharper, heavier, as though every particle carried whispers of unseen eyes. I could sense the faint thread of connection tugging at me, leading me toward the path I had to walk. My return was no accident. My survival was not mere fortune. There was a sequence, a design, and if I wished to gain the strength to defy the apocalypse to come, I had to accept it fully.
The preparation for Sequence 7 was not something to be taken lightly. It was not simply consuming a formula or reciting words. It was a ritual—a binding of self with something beyond the veil. Failure meant corruption, madness, or a fate worse than death. Success, however, meant stepping onto the ladder of power, a step closer to wielding forces that bent reality itself.
I gathered what I needed slowly, deliberately. A circle drawn in chalk and salt upon the floorboards of the empty room. At each of the four points, I placed symbols tied to the path I had chosen: a shard of iron rusted by age, a feather blackened by smoke, a vial of water taken from stagnant rain, and a candle of tallow molded by my own hand. Ordinary to the uninitiated, yet each item resonated faintly with that alien rhythm I had begun to hear since my rebirth.
In the center of the circle, I placed the two objects that had haunted me since the night I returned: the **pocket watch** and the **black book**. They did not merely belong to me—they had chosen me. The watch ticked in a tempo unlike the flow of time outside, while the book seemed to throb faintly, as though alive beneath its cover.
I sat cross-legged before them, my breathing steady, though my hands trembled. The ritual required focus, clarity, and above all, acceptance. My mind had to walk the thin edge between sanity and the abyss, allowing the power to take root without losing myself.
Slowly, I began the incantation. Words not learned, but remembered—as though etched into my soul during my time in the world of mist. They were not human words. Each syllable cut through the silence, resonating with the ticking of the watch. The candlelight flickered violently, stretching shadows across the walls. The air thickened, pressing down on me, and the smell of iron filled my nose.
The first stage was acknowledgment. I had to surrender my arrogance, admit that mankind was not master of this world, but a fragment of something vaster. The second stage was alignment—tuning my will to the rhythm of the symbols, letting my thoughts spiral in tandem with the unseen order. And then came the final stage: the offering.
I bit my finger, letting drops of blood fall upon the book's cover. The leather absorbed them greedily, and the red words reappeared across its surface: *All will die.* But this time, beneath those words, new ones formed, curling like smoke: *All may begin again.*
The pocket watch snapped open of its own accord. Its face no longer showed hands, but endless concentric circles spinning inward, drawing my gaze. The ticking became a thunder in my ears. My vision blurred, and suddenly I was both here and elsewhere—standing again in the mist, but now it swirled with patterns, pulling me deeper.
Pain lanced through my skull, a sharp splitting sensation, as though my mind were being peeled open. Voices layered over one another, too many to count, speaking in harmony and dissonance: warnings, laughter, prayers, screams. Yet beneath it all, one single tone rang clear, steady, and undeniable.
That was the voice of the Sequence.
I felt it pressing into me, a presence vast and alien, offering not kindness but truth. If I took it in, I would change forever. My body would remain mine, but my essence would be altered, aligned to a path not meant for ordinary men. My survival would depend on my will, my ability to balance what was human with what was not.
Sweat poured down my face, my breath ragged. My vision darkened at the edges. But I did not flinch. I remembered the fire, the screams, the end of the world. I remembered the promise I made—to protect what was left of my family, to stand against the coming chaos. If I had to sacrifice a piece of my humanity to gain the strength needed, then so be it.
I whispered the final words. My blood dripped into the circle. The candle extinguished, plunging the room into darkness—save for the watch, glowing faintly with an inner light, and the book, its pages fluttering as though turned by invisible hands.
The ticking slowed. One beat. Two beats. Silence.
Then—impact. A rush of energy tore through me, searing and cold all at once. My mind stretched outward, brushing against something vast, endless, terrifying. And yet, it did not devour me. It marked me. It carved me into shape, aligning me with a pattern I could not yet comprehend.
When I opened my eyes again, the room was quiet. The circle was gone. The objects lay still. But I knew.
I had crossed the threshold.
I had stepped into Sequence 7.
And from the depths of my being, I could feel it: the gaze of something greater still lingered, watching, waiting for what I would do next.
That night, after the ritual was over, the world continued to walk with the same face. The lights of the city blink, thin rain wet the streets, the sound of vehicles passing by filled the air. Nobody turned his head, no one realized that I had changed. They remain busy with each other's lives, as if there is nothing special.
But I know - I am no longer the full part of their world.
There is another layer, a thin curtain that I can now see. The shadow that should not be there sometimes settled longer on the wall, the reflection of rain water occasionally form a faint face, and the clock feels as if it is in harmony with my heartbeat. All of these things have never been considered by anyone. Only I saw it.
And only * he * aware of it.
Not in the form of body, nor a clear sound. Its existence is more like a faint pressure in the air, like a gaze that comes from a direction that I cannot determine. There are no guidance words, there is no direction-only an awareness that * he * exists, watching, as if he was a witness of my every step.
On quiet nights, I felt it stronger. When the entire city is asleep and the world sinks in silence, there is a subtle vibration in the air. Not a whisper, not echo, but a feeling that pierces the soul: I have never really been alone. As if every movement, every decision, every breath - all becomes part of the record that he * observed.
I once tried to speak, ask who he was. But the answer is always in the form of silence. That is precisely what makes it more mysterious. His silence is not empty, but full of meaning, like a secret that is too big to explain in words.
The longer, I realize one thing: * he * is not a mentor, not a helper. * He* is a witness. An entity that only observes from behind the curtain, does not interfere, does not reach out. And for some reason, it actually made its existence press.
Because if anyone observes, it means there is a reason why I was chosen to be considered.
And if there is a reason, it means that in the end there will be a test.
I closed the window, letting the curtain fall to cover the gaze out. Behind the darkness of the room, I could feel that the gaze was still there - quiet, invisible, but attached tightly like a shadow that could not be released.
I took a deep breath, calming my heartbeat.
Sequence 7 is not the end, but the beginning.
And since that night, every step I will always be under the supervision of *he *—Troms that are never seen, never heard, but always there.
After the ritual, I sat for a long time in a dark room, only accompanied by the clock and moist from the rain attached to the air. The * he * that is not visible looks still feels vague, but I chose not to think about his existence further. I know, if I keep drowning in that mystery, I will only lose direction. What I need to do now is the most important thing: planning the future.
Time is not a generous allies. The next three years, the world will turn into a field of destruction - I have experienced it once, and I know how it all ended. This time, I will not let the event come without preparation. I have to be smarter, faster, and stronger.
The first thing I thought was ** money **.
Tidak ada rencana besar yang bisa dijalankan tanpa fondasi materi. I remember faintly a few things from the future: a small company that will grow into a giant, shares that will skyrocket, even foreign currencies whose value will double after certain political chaos. The memory piece is not entirely clear, but enough to become a road map. If I move quietly, invest enough, and not greedy, I can secure the wealth that will support the big plans going forward.
Next is ** mystical items **.
In previous lives, I could only get a small part of them - an old chick, a cursed talisman, a strange weapon that throbbed with invisible energy. Many of them fell into the hands of others, even to the dark sects that eventually raised disasters. But now, with this vague memory, I know several locations before they were found. Small forests on the edge of the city that are considered haunted, old warehouses that have never been demolished, even ancient tombs hidden by time. If I move faster, the items can be mine before the world is aware of its value.
But I can't move rashly. Mastering too many mystical items in a short time will attract attention-both humans and other things that I don't want to mention. I have to choose carefully: which one is really useful, which one can I keep for the future, and which I should let it be closed.
Then, there is ** network **.
I'm not a hero who can stand alone against a storm. I need people, allies, maybe even tools that can be moved from the shadows. In previous life, I remember certain faces: a small trader who would later become a dark link, a young soldier who would grow into a commander, even a researcher who was obsessed with the fog phenomenon. They are all still living an ordinary life now, unaware of the future waiting for. If I could approach them earlier, planting the seeds of relationships, maybe in the future they will stand by my side, not against me.
All that must be designed carefully.
That night I took an empty paper and a pen, wrote the pieces of memory that was still attached to the mind. Some records are clearly visible, such as the "stock market" or "black stone under the old church." But there are also those who only in the form of blurred words: "Red eyes in the forest," "The 2nd gate is opened from the north," "Don't believe people with glasses." The notes feel strange, but I know one dayLater everything will be useful.
With pocket clocks continue to be heard, sometimes slowing a little, sometimes feels faster. I glanced at him for a moment, then closed it back. I know, that thing is not just a timepiece anymore - there is something behind it, something that is connected to my path. But for now, I shouldn't be disturbed.
I leaned my body against the chair, staring at a pile of notes that began to fill the table. Feelings are monitored by * he * still exists, vague, not explained. But I let it. If indeed * he * is only an observer, then let him watch. Because this time, I will rewrite the future - with my own hand.
The next morning, sunlight penetrated thin curtains, illuminating tables full of scribbles and notes that I wrote overnight. My eyes are heavy, but my mind remains sharp. My first decision is clear: If I want to move freely, I can't continue to be bound to an old routine. I have to get out of my job.
The company where I work is just an ordinary office, mediocre salary, and its future is never promising. In previous life, I stayed there for too long, wasting the valuable time that I should have used to prepare for the apocalypse. Now, after I returned, I could not repeat the same mistake.
I looked at the cellphone on the table, a cold screen reflected my face. My fingers had doubts before I finally typed a short message:
"Sir, I want to tell you that from today I cannot continue my work at the company. Thank you for the opportunity that has been given."
I sent the message without waiting longer. Afterwards, silence ambushed. There was no reply, only notifications were sent. But my chest felt lighter, as if the invisible burden had been released. I stood up, inhaling a deep breath, staring at this simple room with new feelings: freedom.
But freedom without direction is destruction. I immediately looked down on the notes.
The first step to secure the future is capital. I still have a little savings, not much, but enough to be used as an initial footing. With my memory, I know there are opportunities that can give me big profits in a short time. Some small companies will soon be shot because of infrastructure projects, there are also foreign stocks whose value will skyrocket after a certain political crisis.
I recorded the vague important dates appearing in my head. Some feel clear, like the time line I've ever passed. Others ran away, only in the form of a hunch. But even the hunch was enough - because I knew it came from the life experience I had ever lived.
In addition to investment, there are other ways to increase capital: knowledge of mystical goods. I know the location of some objects that will be contested by the Sect and Secret Organizations. Some of them can even be sold to rich collectors who are thirsty for "strange artifacts." I don't need to use it right away - at least not all. Some I have made a commodity, exchange mystery with money.
While writing the plan, I heard the sound of a pocket clock beating from the back room. The rhythm is still not in harmony with the time of the outside world, but I have started to get used to it. As if every dentick reminded that my time is limited, that every day that I will get closer to the disaster.
I closed the notebook, then stood up. My body feels lighter than last night. I have made the decision: I left my old job, I abandoned my old life. Now I stand on a new street, the road I only know the direction.
I walked out of the house, staring at the bright blue sky after the rain last night. People pass by with a calm face, busy with their respective affairs. No one knows that the world will change, no one is aware that their future depends on my preparation.
And behind all that, I can still feel his faint existence. Do not interfere, do not give direction, just observing. As if to make sure that I would really walk my own path.
I clenched his fist, stepping forward.
I have taken the first step - out of the old bond.
The next step: Building the foundation of strength with money, knowledge, and items that I only know of its existence.
The future will come.
And this time, I will welcome him in full preparation.