The fog was like the city's breath.
Almagh birthed even the morning in grey.
Even when the sun appeared on the horizon, it melted and disappeared between stone buildings; shadows stretched across the city like a skin that had learned to live on top of it.
When Lian stepped through the northern gate of the city with heavy footsteps, silence greeted him.
No children's voices, no market crowds.
Only a distant metallic echo—the empty noise of wind striking rusted signs.
He had once heard that Almagh used to be a crowded, vibrant city.
A place illuminated with prayers, intertwined with spirits…
Now, it was as if both the people and the spirits had given up on breathing.
He slowed his steps.
When he stopped in front of a wall, he saw a nearly imperceptible, grey shimmer between the stones.
He reached out—there was a cold energy in the air.
A spiritual echo.
The mark of the Void.
The corruption isn't on the surface, he thought. It's seeped beneath the stones…
This was the clearest sign of how much Zeharra's nature had changed in recent years.
Now, spirits were withdrawing not just from bodies, but from cities too.
Anything—structure, creature, or thought—that couldn't maintain its own essence was slowly fading into colorlessness.
Lian left the grey wall and turned into a narrow street.
The heart of Almagh was there — the old temple district.
The temples had once been built to preserve the balance between body and spirit.
Each one had echoed with different hues.
But the temples of Almagh had been sealed off years ago.
When the Void first entered, the priests' prayers had been broken, and the colors had bled into one another.
Lian's spirit immediately recognized that old echo.
A faint purple light trembled deep within his heart.
That color had once been his pride.
Mind, thought, perception… all had once bowed to his will.
But that power was now only a warning:
If you use it, it will take you too.
He stepped into the shadow of a building and leaned his back against the wall.
He raised his left hand into the air; a dim ring of purple appeared at his fingertips.
For a moment, all sounds around him ceased.
The vibration in the air changed—the Void had sensed the presence of the purple.
Lian closed his eyes.
Let his mind drift into silence.
Thoughts turned into images.
He saw a grey form slithering beneath the stone walls—not a body, but a shape of emotion.
The remnants of a corrupted spirit.
Fear… no. Guilt.
An echo of a very old mistake.
When he opened his eyes, he was soaked in sweat.
Touching the spirit realm still weighed heavily on him.
What they called spiritual evolution was the most dangerous truth of Zeharra:
Every contact takes a piece of you, and gives something else in return.
And in the end, you no longer remember which pieces truly belong to you.
A child's voice rang out.
Lian looked up.
At the far end of the street, by an old water well, a child knelt—talking into the emptiness.
No one else was there, but the child's eyes were focused—locked onto something invisible.
Lian's instincts kicked in.
The purple light sparked again at his fingertips.
He tried to sense the unseen.
And then—he saw it.
Leaning over the edge of the well was a grey silhouette.
Not fully human, not fully spirit.
A sightless being, touching the child's heart.
A fragment of the Void.
Feeding.
Lian immediately lowered his hand.
If he intervened, he'd draw the Void's attention.
But the child's spirit was dimming fast.
Cracks of grey were forming in his heart.
A brief moment of decision.
One voice told him to stay silent: You could gather data in exchange for a life.
But another—
If a soul is caught just before death, the Void's behavior could be observed.
He took a step forward.
The air turned cold.
Purple light flared in the grey mist.
The child's eyes turned to him.
"Help me," was all he said.
Lian's face was expressionless.
He knew this would expose him.
But the chance was high.
Enough to measure the Void's reaction.
"Stay quiet," he whispered.
"Just think… I'm here."
He placed his hands on the child's head.
Merged the echoes of their minds.
The grey hum turned into a scream of purple.
For a moment, the Void recoiled.
The darkness slipped back into the well and vanished.
But a voice echoed in Lian's head, left behind:
"You know me, don't you?"
Right before the purple light faded, Lian felt something in that voice's depth:
An echo of his own spirit.
When the child started to breathe again, Lian pulled back.
He was saved—for now.
But the grey mist around them had thickened.
The Void had noticed him.
Lian quietly stood, lifting his head to the sky.
The sky was as still as stone.
"I came to understand you," he whispered.
"And you… you already know me."
His purple spirit responded within.
The first contact with the darkness had begun.