Ataraxia was once a sanctuary.
A great kingdom of gardens and marble halls, where rivers shone like silver and its people lived under the illusion of peace. To the world, Ataraxia was unshakable—prosperous, secure, eternal. Yet behind that façade lay hidden rot: corruption festering in courts, greed gnawing at its rulers, and silence masking countless wounds. Peace, in Ataraxia, was never purity. It was only a mask stretched too thin.
Then came the night when the mask was torn away.
The sky split open, bleeding fire, and seven demons stepped forth. They did not march, they devoured. Villages were swallowed whole. Rivers boiled dry. Forests blackened to ash. In a single night, the kingdom that had stood for centuries was erased—its towers crumbling like sand, its people silenced before they could even scream. Ataraxia did not fall over time. It was annihilated.
But in the ashes of that one night, something impossible happened.
A figure rose—a man whose name has since been forgotten, erased by fear, by hatred, or perhaps by the cruelty of history itself. To some, he was salvation. To others, a curse. What endured was not his name, but the blinding memory of his sword: light carving through endless dark.
He fought, and against reason, he prevailed.
The seven demons perished, their curses screaming into silence. Yet his victory came with ruin. The clash shattered the earth, leveled the palaces, and burned the last remnants of Ataraxia.
Paradise was gone.
From its grave, something far worse began to crawl.
The silence that followed was not peace—it was the breathless pause before another collapse. The world no longer sang; it only shuddered, trembling from time to time as though afraid of what it had become.
Humans and demons—once divided by nature itself—were now bound together in a single fate: ruin.
---
The seven cursed demons had been slain, but their children multiplied endlessly. Thousands upon thousands rose again and again, laughing as they tore through what remained of civilization. They consumed.
They did not simply destroy; they mocked, turning every human struggle into a cruel spectacle.
It was no longer war—it was drowning. The swarm moved like water, crashing against walls, breaking through gates, sweeping away homes. Entire villages vanished overnight, not only crushed by claws and fangs but swallowed whole, as if the earth itself had joined in the devouring.
People stopped calling it an invasion. They gave it a single name: Flood.
Because it came like waves, one after another, never ending.
Because it left nothing to rebuild, only mud, corpses, and death.
And in that world where survival was thinner than breath, two children ran through the dark.
---
Tessa pulled Aurora closer. His breath came in ragged gasps, yet his voice carried the calm of someone telling a bedtime story—one meant to keep his little sister awake and unafraid.
"Aurora… do you see it? The Flood. It isn't just demons. It eats everything. The streets, the stones, the homes we knew. Nothing is left behind."
Aurora's grip on his hand tightened. She said nothing, only pressed closer into his side.
Tessa forced a smile she could not see in the darkness.
"Don't be afraid. As long as we keep moving… we won't be swallowed. We're faster than the Flood. You and I."
Aurora pressed closer to him, her breath shaky against his arm.
The words weren't true. He knew it. But he said them anyway, because in a world that had already drowned, even lies could be a form of hope.
---
The stories still whispered of a man who once set the darkness on fire with a sword of light.
A man who rose against seven demons—and slew them all. To the world, he was the origin of hope.
But Tessa knew better.
Hope hadn't saved Ataraxia. Hope had burned it down. The man's sword might have killed the demons, but it also shattered the land, scorched the mountains, and erased the kingdom itself. His victory was a graveyard.
What kind of hope destroys the very thing it seeks to protect?
Maybe that was why his name was forgotten. Not buried by time, but rejected by memory itself. He wasn't a savior. He was a warning—that salvation could be worse than ruin.
And yet, in the darkness, Tessa clung to that nameless shadow. Because if such a man could rise from nothing and face demons… then maybe a boy like him could at least protect his sister.
---
Aurora's small voice trembled through the night.
"Big brother… is it true? That there was once a man who killed all the demons? Mama said… he was a hero."
Tessa didn't answer at once. The word hero cut sharper than any blade. Finally, he let the truth slip between his teeth.
"He wasn't a hero, Aurora. He was just… someone who fought when no one else could."
Aurora's eyes glistened in the dark. "But he saved people, didn't he?"
Tessa tightened his grip on her hand. "…Yes. He saved them. But he destroyed everything too. That's why no one remembers his name."
Aurora went quiet, her fingers curling tighter around his. Then she whispered, "Then… will you remember him for me?"
Tessa looked down at her fragile face—the only light left in his crumbling world. His voice fell into a hush.
"…No. I won't remember him. I'll remember you."
Aurora's lips curved into a faint smile. She pressed her head against his arm.
"Then I'll remember you too, big brother."
---
Tessa grew up in a house that looked peaceful from the outside—straight walls, a tidy garden, the kind of picture that made neighbors believe in stability. But inside, the cracks grew wider each year.
His father, once gentle and full of laughter, gradually grew cold. His words were sharp, every sentence like an invisible knife. He rarely smiled, and when he did, the smile resembled a shadow more than light. His mother, once patient, sank into silence. Nights were filled with muffled sobs, her cheeks wet but never letting her children see too clearly. Sometimes she sat for hours, staring at the wall as if she were trapped behind glass no one else could see.
For weeks, the silence had been thick enough to choke on. Then came the night his father brought home a knife—not for cooking, but for "protection." That was the first lie Tessa stopped believing.
Tessa learned early that happiness was only a mask. A plate breaking wasn't an accident. A smile too long wasn't joy—it was fear.
He also learned why his father smoked. "Smoke calms the heart," his father once said. "It burns away the anxiety faster than prayer."
On certain nights, when his father slept with an empty bottle at his side, Tessa would sneak into the living room. His hands shook as he opened the drawer and found the cigarettes inside. He lit one, mimicking his father. The first puff scorched his lungs, sending him into a fit of coughing. Tears streamed down his face, his head spinning. But he bit his lip and forced another drag. If smoke could calm his father's heart, maybe it could calm his too.
He exhaled the cigarette smoke with a mocking smile.
"I still don't get it… what part of this is calming? Even lies shouldn't taste this bitter."
But it didn't calm him. It only choked him, leaving behind a bitter taste he couldn't wash away.
He sat alone in the dark, smoke curling into the air like the house itself was breathing with him. And for the first time, he wondered if the smoke wasn't healing his father—but killing him slowly.
That bitter taste still clung to his throat on the night everything broke.
---
The silence inside the house had become unbearable. His father smoked more. His mother cried more. Their voices rose only to blame, to wound. Until, one night, under a faint, flickering light, the mask of family shattered.
Tessa woke to the crash of glass. Aurora stirred beside him, frightened. He pressed her ears, but the sounds bled through: a chair overturning, screams, and laughter—laughter that no human throat could make.
Dragging Aurora with him, he peered through the crack in the door.
His father, eyes red and wild, gripped a kitchen knife. His mother screamed, voice sharp with rage, not fear. And in the corners of the room, two shadows swayed—demons, not fully real, not fully false. Their smiles stretched too wide, as if the violence was their favorite play.
Then blood spilled. His father stabbed. His mother clawed. They tore into each other until both bodies collapsed, lifeless.
The demons clapped, their laughter echoing through the walls.
Aurora whimpered, her face buried in Tessa's shoulder. Tessa couldn't move. His legs felt nailed to the ground. Only when one demon's ember eyes locked onto him did instinct scream: Run, or you'll be next.
He seized Aurora's hand and bolted. Out of the house that had become hell, into the forest waiting like a giant mouth.
---
The trees were black silhouettes. The mist crawled low, brushing their skin with an unnatural warmth. Its stench was suffocating, like rotting fish left too long in the sun. It clung to their clothes, their lungs, their fear.
Tessa shuddered. This was no longer just a forest. This was proof: the human world and the demons' world had already fused. There was no safe place left.
Each step they took left no trace, as though even the earth wished to erase them. Silence pressed in, heavy with loss—parents gone, home gone, childhood gone.
Aurora's small hand squeezed his tighter. Her whisper was almost soundless:
"I believe in you, brother."
That was enough. Enough to plant a seed inside him.
Though his body shook, though no tears came, Tessa understood one thing: to survive, he would have to fight.
Hand in hand, they no longer looked like children running away.
They looked like the beginning of hunters—two souls born in a world that adored chaos.
---
The trees pressed close, their branches blotting out the sky. The mist clung to their legs, warm and foul. Aurora stumbled, but Tessa pulled her forward, his grip tightening.
"Brother… where are we going?" Aurora whispered, her voice thin as thread.
Tessa didn't answer right away. His breath was harsh, his face pale in the ghost-light fog. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled—not with fear, but with something harder, sharper.
"Anywhere the Flood can't reach us."
Aurora's eyes welled with tears. "But… what if it finds us?"
Tessa stopped walking. He turned, his face hollowed by the shadows of the trees. His smile looked wrong—strained, like a mask too tight. For a moment, it scared her more than the demons.
"Then I'll kill it," he said flatly. "I'll kill all of them, if I have to."
Aurora pulled her hand back slightly, frightened by the edge in his tone.
"You're scaring me…" she whispered.
Tessa blinked, as if waking from a fever. The sharpness in his eyes dulled for a moment. He crouched, pulling her close, his voice softer now.
"Don't be scared of me, Aurora. Be scared of the monsters. I'm the one who'll keep you safe."
Aurora stared at him, her lips trembling, but then slowly nodded. She let him take her hand again, even though his palm felt colder than before.
They walked on. Tessa's steps no longer sounded like a boy's. They sounded like someone carrying a burden much heavier—steps that belonged to someone who had already chosen violence just to survive.
13.05.219 Ataraxia—Summer
Tessa and Aurora ran non-stop through the foul-smelling forest. The humid air made their breathing heavier. Tessa's pace remained steady, but the small tug on his hand grew weaker.
Aurora finally stopped. Her breathing was ragged, her face pale. She fell to her knees, then leaned against a large tree by the path, her small body trembling with exhaustion.
"B-big brother… I can't go on… can we rest for a bit?" her voice was barely a whisper.
Tessa looked around, jaw hardening. Only silence and the foul smell answered him. He nodded slowly.
"Fine. But just for a moment," he said softly, standing tall and keeping watch.
Aurora closed her eyes, still clutching his hand.
Tessa took a deep breath—and immediately regretted it. The stench pierced his senses—like dead fish mixed with strange warmth, as if the air itself were alive. He had heard whispers from the elders: a foul smell, warm mist, then the ground shaking. This wasn't just nature. It was a sign that the Flood was coming—when the human world began to crack and the demon world crept back in, waiting for the moment to fuse.
Tessa clenched his fists. They weren't safe. Not at all.
A small tremor ran from the ground to the soles of his feet. Aurora opened her eyes, looking at him with a pale face.
"Big brother… what is that?" she whispered.
Tessa didn't answer. He simply pulled her to her feet, eyes sharp, piercing through the mist.
"We have to go. Now."
Aurora swallowed hard and gripped his hand tighter. Together, they moved again, leaving the tree behind, while the earth trembled more and more—the beginning of a disaster they couldn't stop.
The tremors grew stronger. The ground pulsed. Trees began to tilt, roots lifting with ear-piercing cracks. Aurora staggered, almost falling, but Tessa caught her arm.
The mist thickened, covering the moonlight little by little, until the night became darker than usual. This darkness wasn't just night—it felt alive, swallowing every sound, every gasp of breath.
Aurora looked up, eyes wide.
"Big brother… it's so dark… I'm scared…"
Tessa pulled her closer, voice low, almost a mumble.
"Don't look up. Focus on your steps. As long as I'm here, you're safe."
Screams mixed with loud laughter echoed from every direction. Sometimes close, sometimes far, as if the forest itself mocked them.
They finally stopped running, breaths ragged. Aurora covered her ears, eyes wet, body trembling violently. Tessa embraced her tightly, trying to steady her with his own strength.
"Calm down… I'm here. You're not alone," he whispered, though he wasn't sure if the words were true.
The mist kept moving, closing in as the sounds became clearer—not just laughter, but wailing, desperate screams, tears breaking into giggles. Aurora buried her face in his chest.
"Big brother… they're so close…" she whispered, voice cracking.
Tessa looked into the darkness, eyes narrowed, jaw hard. They couldn't run forever.
"Aurora… if they come… don't let go of my hand. No matter what."
---
Tessa felt the change instantly. The humid, suffocating mist that had been there moments ago vanished, leaving behind a bone-chilling cold that pierced their skin like invisible needles. The cold seeped into their joints, making every movement stiff and painful. Tessa's fingers began to numb, but he forced them to keep gripping Aurora's hand. The screams and laughter from seconds ago… gone. A thick silence fell, pressing down on their chests, making every breath heavy and difficult.
Through the thinning mist, the pale light of the moon broke through the trees, casting sharp beams on the ground. The sky above reflected it strangely, like shattered glass, each shard of moonlight glinting as if the world itself were cracking. The fractured light only deepened the unease, highlighting the forest in eerie, distorted patterns, making the cold silence feel even more suffocating.
Aurora shivered, pressing closer to Tessa.
"B-big brother… the moon… it… it looks broken," she whispered, voice trembling.
Tessa glanced up, his eyes narrowing at the fractured light. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I… I don't know…" he admitted, his voice low, uneasy. "It's… strange. Wrong somehow."
Aurora's grip on his sleeve tightened. "It's… scary. I don't like it."
Tessa swallowed hard, fumbling for words, trying to steady both her and himself. "I—I know… I feel it too. But… we have to keep moving. Just… don't look at it too long."
Her wide eyes flicked to his face. "But what if it… does something?"
He hesitated, caught between instinct and reason, unsure how to respond. "I… I don't know, Aurora. Just… stay close. Stay quiet."
The fractured moonlight danced across the ground, and for a moment, even Tessa felt like he was walking in a place that didn't belong to the world he knew. Every shadow seemed alive, every glint of glassy sky mocking his uncertainty.
Aurora murmured, voice barely audible: "I hate this… I hate it…"
Tessa pressed a hand against her back, guiding her forward. "Me too… me too," he admitted, though he had no plan, no answer. Only the pressing, suffocating cold and the unsteady shards of moonlight ahead.
They walked slowly, feet pressing the damp, cold, slippery ground. Each broken leaf, snapped twig sounded too clear, like a scream in the silence. The night wind was still, soundless.
Their hearts beat faster, rhythm unsteady, echoing each other. They navigated the darkness, every breath piercing. Time passed; the cold, silent air pressed in.
Tessa's hand tightened on Aurora's. Every second was tense, as if the silence recorded their steps. Fear crept into him, but one thing was clear: they had to keep moving.
Then, the silence shattered with a baby's cry—a shrill, bone-piercing sound. Tessa froze, heart pounding, staring toward the noise. Aurora clung tighter, trembling.
From the bushes emerged something not entirely human. Its small feet planted on the ground, a large head like a baby's looming above. Large hands supported its small body from hip to chest. No clear neck. It crawled with massive hands. Every movement wrong, unnatural, repulsive.
Its dark eyes glowed like empty holes, thirsting for fear. The baby's cry became laughter, mocking, threatening.
Tessa crouched, keeping Aurora less visible, hand gripping hers tightly. Aurora stared, lips trembling, silent. Her small fingers dug into Tessa's sleeve like claws, knuckles white with tension, a single tear escaped, tracing a cold path down her cheek, but she made no sound.
The demon crawled forward slowly, dragging its small body, snapping twigs under its hands like screams. The air grew colder, piercing, clinging to their skin.
Tessa swallowed, crouching, whispering:
"We… have to move. Don't let it touch us."
Aurora nodded, trembling, trusting him. They backed away slowly, each step loud in the terrifying silence.
The demon paused, head swaying, watching like a baby with a toy, movements wrong, small feet dragging, hands ready to crawl quickly.
Tessa held his breath. In the thick silence, realization hit him:
"So this is Flood?"
The demon tilted its head, laughter gurgling in its throat.
"No. This is only the beginning."
Tessa swallowed and immediately pulled Aurora along, running as fast as he could. The dark, cold forest pressed in on them, the damp ground and snapping twigs underfoot. Their breath hitched, chests tightening with every step on the slippery earth.
Behind them, the demon pursued. Its strange, clumsy body made it difficult to turn among the trees, often getting caught on roots or crashing into trunks. The sound of its heavy breathing and raspy laughter mixed with cracking branches, but its awkwardness made it easier to evade. Tessa knew that one wrong step… and they would have nowhere to hide.
Exhaustion and the slick ground finally took over. Tessa slipped, dragging Aurora with him. They slid down a steep slope, jolting hard with every collision against rocks and roots. Their breaths caught, hearts pounding erratically. Aurora let out a stifled scream, her body trembling in Tessa's embrace.
After the slope, both of them, now covered in wounds, kept running, gasping for air, legs barely holding them up. The sound of their own heartbeats thundered in their ears. Behind them, the demon was closing in; its threat was real. Tessa pressed Aurora closer, eyes fixed forward, searching for an escape. Every step felt heavy, but the distance between them and the demon continued to shrink.
In the middle of the chase, the demon's large hand almost touched Aurora. Tessa glanced back just as the ground in front gave way. They plunged into a hole, their bodies jolting as they hit the walls of slick earth.
Aurora let out a muffled scream, body trembling in Tessa's embrace. Her hands felt cold, legs weak, every movement making the small cuts on her skin sting. Her back ached, knees scraped by sharp roots and stones, breath ragged.
Tessa felt the tension in his own body—knees bruised, palms bleeding from clutching the ground, shoulders aching from holding Aurora to keep her from tumbling further. He pressed her closer, trying to keep her weak body stable, every jolt on the slippery ground threatening to throw them off balance.
Aurora clung to his chest, almost unable to bear the exhaustion weighing her down. Her short, broken breaths were clear in Tessa's ears. Her eyes were half-closed, body trembling, as if every step had drained her completely. Tessa knew that if they stopped, the demon could catch them—but they could barely move.
Above, the demon paused, its large hand reaching down, fingers nearly touching them. From its throat came a whimpering, crying sound—like a child who had lost its toy. The hole was too small for its large head, preventing it from reaching them.
Aurora hugged Tessa tightly, trembling. Tessa looked at the demon, heart pounding, eyes burning with anger and vengeance. His voice cracked as he shouted:
"You… I swear… I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!"
The words tore from his throat – not just anger, but fear. Fear that had been building since his father's knife, since his mother's blood, since the moment he realized he couldn't protect anyone. Now, for the first time, he could fight back.
The demon stared for a moment, red eyes glowing with sorrow. Unable to reach them, it slowly retreated, disappearing behind the trees, its crying echoing through the silent forest.
Aurora sobbed, trembling violently as she clung to Tessa. Tears ran freely, soaking his shirt, and her small shoulders shook with each gasping breath. Her cries carried a raw, unbearable weight.
"Papa… Mama…" she whispered between sobs, her voice barely audible. The names seemed to vanish into the darkness, swallowed by the cold, empty forest. Her heart ached—not just for them, but for the world she had lost. Every branch, every shadow, every gust of wind reminded her of the home and safety that were gone forever.
Tessa held her tighter, feeling the hot tears on his chest, his own chest tightening with helplessness. Cuts and bruises marred her arms, dirt smeared her face, and her trembling hands clutched at his clothing. It felt as if the chaos—the Flood—had ripped not only their parents from them, but also their innocence, their sense of safety.
Aurora's sobs grew louder, mingling with quiet gasps, as if she were trying to scream her pain into the night. "Everything… is gone…" she whispered between shuddering breaths. Her world, her family, her childhood—everything she had known—felt shattered, leaving only raw fear and aching emptiness.
Tessa pressed her closer, trying to shield her from grief and cold, even as it gnawed at him too. He didn't know how to stop the chaos around them, but one thing was clear: he would protect her, even if the world itself seemed to fall apart.
They remained there, wrapped in each other's presence, the forest silent but heavy, knowing the danger hadn't passed—and that their lives had changed forever.
The weight of their wounds, exhaustion, and the unrelenting terror eventually took its toll. Muscles aching, lungs burning, and hearts still racing, both Tessa and Aurora slowly slumped against the walls of the hole. In the oppressive silence of the forest, under the fractured light of the moon above, they drifted into a fitful sleep. The cold earth pressed against them, their breaths shallow and uneven, while the shadowed trees loomed silently overhead.
Even as the night continued, with the forest holding its quiet menace, the siblings slept—briefly protected by each other in the small hollow, the world's chaos held at bay, if only for a few stolen hours.