The Last Existence of The Forgotten
Selarion is an ordinary man living an ordinary life — waking up, working until his body gives out, going home, repeating. He asks nothing extraordinary from the world, and the world, for the most part, returns the favor.
That changes on one unremarkable night when exhaustion carries him through a stretch of road the rest of the city has learned to avoid. Three bodies were found there last month. Three murders so grotesque, so deliberate, that even seasoned investigators turned away from the crime scene photographs. Heads removed. Limbs taken. Organs extracted with surgical precision. The city whispered the words black magic in hushed, embarrassed tones — the kind of whisper that meant people were more frightened than they wanted to admit.
Selarion didn't believe in magic. He believed in tired feet and a bed waiting at home.
He should have kept walking.
Instead, a strange glow pulls him toward a magic circle split between two forces — one half consumed by an ancient, hungry darkness, the other half written in what could only be fresh blood. Before he can process what he is looking at, shadow tentacles drag him into a black hole that tears reality open and swallows him completely.
What waits on the other side is nothing.
Not darkness. Not death. Not sleep.
Nothing. The void that existed before the universe decided to exist. No hunger, no pain, no sensation of any kind — a prison with no walls, no warden, and no end in sight. Days blur into months. Months blur into years. The only weapon Selarion has against total mental dissolution is the one thing that has always defined him — sheer, stubborn refusal to give up.
He starts counting seconds.
He counts all the way to 3,153,600,000.
One hundred years later, a pinprick of light appears in the void — and Selarion claws his way toward it.
He washes ashore in a world that has moved on entirely without him. The era is wrong. The technology is wrong. The people, the streets, the language, the rules — all of it shifted a century forward while he was suspended in nothingness. He has no money, no identity, no proof that he ever existed at all. The world he belonged to is buried under a hundred years of history.
But Selarion is still here.
And the magic circle that took him — the murders that preceded it, the blood that wrote those symbols, the darkness that reached out and chose him specifically — none of it was random. Something pulled him into that void deliberately. Something kept him alive inside it. And something decided, after one hundred years, to finally let him out.
The question is why.
As Selarion navigates a strange new world with nothing but the clothes on his back and a century of isolation carved into his mind, he will slowly uncover a truth that stretches far beyond one cursed patch of earth — a conspiracy older than cities, a power older than history, and a role that was written for him long before he was ever born.
He survived the void.
Now he has to survive the world that created it.
