let's begin — not at the end.
But at the fall.
---
** On The day of the Collapse**
Layla didn't scream when the ground gave way.
She *reached* — for Arthur's hand.
Missed by inches.
She fell — into the chasm —
and the world *closed* above her.
Dark.
Silent.
Broken.
But not dead.
She woke in the ruins —
Aether storm raging.
No signal.
No rescue.
Just one name in her mind:
*Arthur.*
And a voice — not human —
whispering from the walls:
**"You're not lost.
You're chosen."**
She didn't believe it.
Not then.
But she survived.
And that was the first step.
The rift doesn't just tear her body —
it *unmakes* her.
Bones crack.
Skin splits.
Aether floods in — black and silver.
She screams —
but the sound is swallowed.
Then —
a voice.
Not from the dark.
From *within*.
**"You do not break.
You become."**
It's calm.
Ancient.
Familiar.
Like a lullaby her mother once sang.
**"The rift does not kill you.
It remembers you."**
Her blood begins to glow —
veins tracing constellations.
She doesn't understand.
Not yet.
But she *listens*.
And in the pain —
she *accepts*.
The pain isn't just in her body —
it's in her *mind*.
Memories tear apart — Arthur's face.
Her mother's voice. Her name — slipping.
The voice whispers:
**"Let go."**
"No!" she screams. "I won't forget him!"
But the rift pulls harder —
flooding her thoughts with visions:
*Arthur dying.
Arthur hating her.
Arthur never existing.*
She claws at her skull — tears in her eyes.
"I am **Layla**!"
"I love **Arthur**!"
"I *remember*!"
And in that moment —
the voice *pauses*.
Because she didn't break.
She *fought*.
The rift shows her —
herself.
Cloaked in shadow.
Holding a blade — black as void, pulsing with veins of red.
Arthur walks ahead — unaware.
She steps forward.
Her hand moves — *not by her will.*
The blade sinks into his back.
He gasps.
Turns — eyes wide.
"Layla…?"
She tries to scream —
but her body laughs.
The vision burns —
not just in her eyes.
In her *soul.*
She collapses — sobbing.
"No… I'd never… I'd *die* first…"
The voice returns — softer now:
**"That is the future.
But not the only one."**
She clutches her chest —
still feeling the phantom stab.
"I won't become that," she whispers.
"I *won't.*"
"Won't I?"Layla trembles — eyes wide in the dark.
"Was that… *fate*?"
"Am I… meant to kill him?"
She stares at her hands.
"They said I'm chosen.
But… *for what?*"
A whisper in her chest:
*If he becomes the weapon they fear…
will you be the one to stop him?*
She closes her eyes.
"I'd rather die first."
"But… if there's no other way?"
Silence.
No answer.
Only the weight —
of a choice not yet made. For days, Layla walks — in silence.
The vision won't leave.
Arthur's eyes.
The blade.
Her own hands, covered in his blood.
She stops eating.
Sleeps fitfully.
Wakes crying.
"Is my love… a lie?" she whispers.
"Am I just… waiting to break him?"
She pulls out the locket —
his smile feels like a ghost.
"I don't know who I am anymore,"
"I don't know if I'm saving him…
or *hunting* him."
And in the quiet —
she begins to believe
she doesn't deserve to find him.
Layla collapses at the edge of **Voidspire** —
the capital of the **Hollow Expanse**.
Rain falls.
The city looms — towers of bone-black stone, bridges of frozen mist.
She's hollow.
Starved.
But alive.
The rift fed her — just enough.
Strange fruit. Black water.
Not to save her.
To *finish* shaping her.
And now —
she steps forward.
Not to hide.
To begin. Layla stumbles through the streets —
her thoughts… *fractured*.
She can't tell what's real.
Was that voice kind? Or cruel?
Was the blade *hers* — or just a warning?
Her hands shake.
She sees blood on them — but there's none.
She tries to remember Arthur's laugh —
but it slips away.
Replaced by the sound of the blade piercing his chest.
She whispers:
"I'm not that person."
But the doubt stays.
Every step feels like walking through tar —
mind split between love, fear, and the horror of what she might become. For the first time Layla is on the verge of giving up , something she has never done . The thought of seeing Arthur cry while having the blade piercing his heart from the back really traumatised her .
Layla stumbles into a narrow alley —
her legs give out.
She collapses against the wall —
breathing hard.
Her old coat? Gone.
Replaced by a sleek black tracksuit — form-fitting, strange fabric.
White sneakers — clean, untouched by the grime.
Even her lips — painted red.
Not by her hand.
She touches them —
trembling.
"The rift… dressed me?"
"Like I'm… ready for something."
But she's starving.
Exhausted.
Mind fraying.
Darkness creeps in.
And for the first time —
she doesn't fight it.
She lets go.
And the city watches — silent.
Layla's eyes flutter shut —
just as a shadow falls over her.
A woman.
Red dress.
Red heels — clicking softly on wet stone.
She doesn't speak.
Just lifts Layla like she weighs nothing —
carries her to a sleek black car.
The door opens.
Warmth.
Music — soft, old-fashioned.
Layla tries to speak —
but the woman whispers:
"Shhh…
you're safe now."
Then — darkness.
And the hum of an engine.
Carrying her deeper into the Hollow Expanse.
**Voidspire** — city of glass and shadow.
Tallest spires in the **Hollow Expanse**,
built on Aether-tech no one else can replicate.
Hover-lanes.
AI gatekeepers.
Self-repairing walls.
Only the wealthy survive here —
powered by data, not blood.
But beneath the shine?
Something older.
Something *hungry*.
And Layla just got pulled into its heart.
(Two days later)
Layla wakes — light filters through tinted glass.
Outside, hover-cars zip by — a constant hum.
She's in a sleek apartment — quiet, warm.
She moves to the mirror —
still in the black tracksuit.
White socks.
Hair messy.
Her sneakers sit on a chair —
along with her **silver locket**.
She reaches for them —
just as the door opens.
The woman in red steps in —
tray in hand.
Steaming food.
"Hungry?" she asks.
Voice smooth.
Eyes sharp.
Layla tenses —
but her stomach answers first.
Layla steps back — eyes on the food.
"I don't… know you."
The woman sets the tray down.
Smiles — calm, not forced.
"My name is ** Emily Veyra**."
"I find lost things, I also am looking for a lost someone .
*Especially* the ones the rift leaves behind."
She gestures to the locket.
"And I know that belongs to someone you love."
A pause.
"I'm not your enemy, Layla.
But if you want to find him…
you'll need your strength."
She turns to leave.
"One rule:
Eat.
Then we talk."
Door clicks shut.
Silence.
And the smell of warm bread.
(30minutes later )
Veyra returns — this time without the tray.
She leans against the doorframe —
red dress like a warning.
"Now that you've eaten…
what should I call you?"
Layla hesitates.
"…Layla."
Veyra nods — slow.
"Layla."
"Good. Real names have power here."
Then — softly:
"Do you know a boy named *Sunny*?"
Layla frowns.
"No… why?"
Emily's eyes darken — just a flicker.
"Because he's lost too... He is my son , I have been looking for him ever since the collapse began but I got swallowed up by it and immediately landed her . I don't know how the collapse works but it seems to drop people at different times ."
Emily studies her —
not with pity.
With recognition.
"You're carrying something," she says.
"Not just hunger.
Not just loss."
Layla looks away.
"The rift… showed me things."
Emily waits — silent.
Layla whispers:
"It showed me… killing someone very important in my life . Like I'm meant to."
Her voice cracks.
"What if I *do*?
What if… I'm not the one who saves him?"
"What if I'm the one who ends him?"
Emily steps forward —
places a hand on her shoulder.
"That's not fate, child.
That's *fear.*
And fear lies."