Chapter 1 — Alone
Since the world began to breathe, mankind has changed. Centuries fade, science advances, and the names of the ancients continue to illuminate new roads. Every discovery rests upon the ruins of the previous one, like stones laid along the same path.
But some destinies seem written before their names are even born.
Many years before year 0, in a chamber buried beneath the earth, the darkness was so thick it seemed to breathe. Only a few trembling torches cast the slow dance of their flames upon the walls. Men dressed in long white cloaks formed a circle around a symbol carved into the stone: a broken circle crossed by a black line.
Their faces disappeared beneath their hoods, and no one spoke. Silence carried weight there, the weight of faith and waiting.
One of them stepped forward. His movements were slow. His voice, deep and clear, cut through the darkness:
"Brothers, today marks the day of the ancient feasts. As tradition demands, one among you shall be chosen. His name will endure through the ages. He will be sent into an unknown place within the END, fulfill his mission, and return to tell us what he has seen."
The others whispered, each hoping to be chosen. The tension was immense. The air itself seemed to vibrate. Then the voice rose again, solemnly:
"Let the name of the next Emissary be revealed."
Silence deepened once more, until a single syllable resonated. It was enough to make the torches tremble: Esahlt.
The chosen man slowly raised his head. Beneath the hood, two gray eyes gleamed with an unreadable light. He stepped forward without a word, placed his hand on the carved symbol. The stone pulsed with a pale, cold glow before swallowing his body in a breath of ash and wind.
When the light faded, nothing remained.
After that, the ceremony went on, and other names were spoken for various roles across the world. It was a global organization whose purpose was to position families around the planet. Each family had a specific role: some were tasked with overseeing the world's economy, others with health. There were even those chosen to rule entire nations, as well as their designated opponents within the Organization.
It was as if the world were a play, or better yet, a chess game where both sides were controlled by the same hand.
And in the shadow of the temple, two figures stood apart. They wore gray jackets; they didn't seem to belong to this era.
Years later, in a poor country swept by dust and heat, an eight-year-old boy lived with his mother, father, brother, and sister. His name was Angel Aiger.
There, it was customary for men and women to shave their heads, a symbol of purity and humility. But Angel was born with long blond hair, so light it seemed made of sunlight. From his earliest days, he had always refused to cut it. Even as an unconscious baby, his body seemed to resist it. His hair, his tanned skin, and even his brown eyes, which turned lighter under enough sunlight, made him a stranger among his own people.
The children mocked him, calling him a girl. Others feared him. His beauty inspired both unease and fascination, in children and adults alike. It was as if he were under a spell. Some whispered he brought misfortune. So Angel had learned to stay silent, to hide behind his quietness.
He spent his days dismantling old toys he found in the street, watching birds or clouds, dreaming of a somewhere he could not name.
At night, he sat on the balcony of his small apartment, arms around his knees, watching the others play below, never daring to join them.
But one day, everything changed.
It was a heavy, stifling afternoon. He was accompanying his mother to the neighborhood supermarket, one of those places lit by white neon lights that smelled of metal and soap.
As they walked between two aisles, Angel felt a strange chill run down his spine, as if someone had just spoken his name without actually saying it.
When he looked up, his eyes met those of a girl. She was staring at him, motionless, between two rows of cereal boxes.
Her eyes were a clear, crystalline blue, almost unreal. Beside her stood a boy with black hair, who also stared at Angel, not understanding why he had stopped.
For a few seconds, none of them moved. The world seemed to stop around them, the sounds, the voices, everything had vanished.
The girl was the first to break the silence.
"Hi, both of you. I'm Rhéa Ada."
She said it with such a beautiful smile. Her skin was pale; she was probably a girl from the West, a wealthy child wandering through a modest supermarket.
The boy beside her, with red eyes and an Asian face, spoke next:
"Hi, I'm Yabal Akabané."
Angel felt his heart beating too fast. He hesitated, searching for his words, then answered in a timid voice:
"Angel… Angel Aiger."
A faint smile crossed Rhéa's lips, and Yabal tilted his head, intrigued.
They stood there for a few more moments, saying nothing, not moving.
There was in the air an invisible tension, familiar somehow, like a memory none of them could yet understand.
Then, when they were called by the people they had come with, the enchantment broke.
They went their separate ways, each returning to their ordinary lives, unaware that this simple encounter had just shaken the thread of the world.
That day, three children met.
An encounter that seemed ordinary, yet it would change their destiny, and that of the entire universe.