Rian Voss always swore that fear was the most honest emotion humans possessed. It couldn't be faked, and it couldn't be reasoned with. He'd made a career out of bottling terror—lines of code, pixels, and sound designed to shake the human core. And on that evening, as the world watched the launch of *Project Eidolon*, Rian whispered to his reflection, "Tonight, the world learns to be afraid again."
When the crash came, it wasn't digital—it was real. The lights faltered as countless screens screamed static. In that instant of brilliant whiteness, something slipped inside the signal… and into him.
He remembered falling, not through space but through the fragments of his own data. Dreams merged with code. Endless corridors of binary stretched into infinity, whispering back his own voice distorted into screams. Then silence. Cold, heavy silence that felt like drowning in mirrors.
He awoke gasping on a bed of wet ash.
The sky above was colorless—a roiling expanse of cloud pressed down like the lid of a tomb. All around him, ruins smoldered beneath a lightless haze. The air smelled like burnt metal and salt. When he moved, his breath came in plumes of grey. He was clothed in unfamiliar garb: coarse linen stained with dust and streaks of black soot. No device, no interface, no light except for the faint phosphorescent gleam that shimmered beneath the cracks of the ground.
Then came the whispers. Faint at first—like static bleeding through weak speakers—then clearer: fractured voices that echoed names, regrets, cries for help. They flitted at the edge of his hearing, just beyond reality. *"I never meant to hurt them…" "It's still in the walls…"* Each one tugged at his nerves until he felt their weight pulling him down.
This was not a nightmare.
Rian stumbled into motion. Every step disturbed the fog that clung to the surface like breath frozen in time. He reached what looked like a city gate—twisted iron threaded with barbed vines that seemed to pulse faintly, as though feeding off his heartbeat. His instincts screamed to leave, but curiosity dragged him on. It always did. That same curiosity had killed him once.
Inside the gate lay streets lined with hollow-eyed people clad in scraps of metal and threadbare armor. They moved like ghosts, tending to fires that burned blue instead of red, flames that gave no warmth. Children laughed hollowly near an empty fountain, tossing shards of crystal that sang when they hit the stone—notes in minor keys that made Rian's chest tighten.
"Where... am I?" he gasped.
A passerby turned a face toward him—pale, translucent, marked with veins that shimmered violet. Her eyes were like starless pits, blood vessels threading into her skin. "You reek of life," she said, her voice low but trembling. "Hide it. Before they come."
"Who—"
A scream tore through the smog ahead, high and beautiful and wrong. Rian's heart hammered. Figures materialized from the shadows—thin, boneless things, their bodies writhing like smoke coiling around bone. Their mouths gaped wider than they should, whispering the language of grief. Every syllable gnawed at his mind.
He fell back, clutching his temples as the air thickened with emotion—thousands of voices pouring sorrow into him like molten lead. It wasn't imagination; it was *sensation.* He could feel it collecting around him, pressing against his skin. For a heartbeat, his vision fractured—lines of code fluttering across his sight as if reality itself was running on a corrupted engine.
And then, amidst the chaos, a figure descended into view.
A woman clad in black armor that rippled like liquid shadow. Her blade emitted not light but whispers—the same whispers from the air, condensed into weapon form. With a motion that blurred between strike and silence, she severed three spirits mid-scream. The air calmed instantly, but the sorrow remained heavy.
When her gaze found Rian, she said through her helm, "Another stray? You must control your fear, or the haunts will drink you dry."
Her voice was sharp but human—tired, like someone who had seen too many dawns that never came. The runes on her armor dimmed.
"I…" Rian started, but his words wavered as pain lanced his skull. For a moment, his vision doubled—and within it, lines of glowing text unfurled in space before him:
> **SYSTEM ERROR:** Unknown Cognitive Source Detected.
> **Restoration Protocol:** Integrating emotional residue.
> **Result:** Power synthesis initiated…
He looked at his hands. They glowed faintly, each pulse matching the thrum of despair around them. Fear didn't drain him—it invigorated him. He felt energy draw inward, memories twisting alive like threads of light in his veins. On instinct, he spoke the words that appeared before his eyes.
> **Access: Mirror Engine.**
The world quaked. A ripple spread outward as if reality folded on itself, showing a reflection of himself—terrified, trembling—and then devouring it. The surrounding entities shrieked and shattered into motes of shadow.
When silence fell again, the armored woman stood hidden partly behind her visor, studying him. "You're not one of us," she said softly. "Your fear feeds you. You're something else."
Rian looked down at his trembling hands, adrenaline singing in every nerve. The old thrill from designing a perfect mechanic in his games surged through him again.
"I think," he murmured, half in dread, half in awe, "I just coded myself into this world."
Above the ruin-choked horizon, a dark bell tolled—low, endless, and heavy—heralding the birth of something new.
Something wrong.