Chapter 1:
The sun was a dying ember, casting a dull, orange light across the streets of Solis. The city, once a shining beacon of hope, was now a place where the echo of forgotten greatness lingered in the cracks of broken stone. Above, the sky seemed to tremble, a pall of ash drifting lazily through the air, like the ghosts of a war long past.
A thin gust of wind swept through a narrow alley, stirring the remnants of refuse and dust. Beneath a shattered awning, a figure lay motionless on the ground, a tangle of dark hair and ragged cloak. He could have been mistaken for any other homeless wanderer, a broken soul in a broken city. But there was something different about him—something that called to the world itself.
Ashen awoke with a gasp.
His body was stiff, as though it had not moved in centuries. The cool ground beneath him was rough and unforgiving, yet the sensation of touch felt foreign, distant. His senses were dulled, his mind clouded. He blinked, trying to clear the fog from his thoughts, but all that remained was a weight—heavy, suffocating. His memories seemed like shattered glass, scattered and lost in the depths of his being. There was only one thing that remained clearly in his mind: he had fallen.
He pushed himself up from the ground, groaning as his arms protested the effort. His once-glorious armor, now tarnished and worn, hung loosely on his frame, as though it had been designed for a different man altogether. His fingers traced the edges of the shattered sword at his side. It was a relic—one that hummed faintly with energy, though it felt far less than it should. A faint light flickered around the blade's broken edge, a remnant of his former self, a god's power stripped and faded.
"Who am I?" His voice cracked as he whispered the question, as if asking the very air for answers.
The alley was silent save for the distant sounds of the city—grumbling carts, the faint murmur of life carrying on, unaware of the fallen god amidst them. His gaze lifted to the sky. The sun was barely a sliver above the horizon, casting long shadows over the city. The landscape before him was unfamiliar—his senses told him he had once known this place, but now it was only a blur.
As his mind struggled to recall the past, a soft step behind him broke the silence.
"You're awake," came a voice, low and cautious.
Ashen turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the figure that had approached. A woman, dressed in simple, worn robes, her eyes sharp and alert, stood at the edge of the alley. Her long, black hair fell in tangled waves around her shoulders, and her gaze was one of quiet curiosity, mixed with something else—recognition, perhaps? No. He was sure he had never seen her before.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice rough, yet commanding. "Why do you watch me?"
The woman didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped forward, her boots soft on the ground. "You're not from here," she said simply. Her eyes glinted with an odd mixture of suspicion and understanding, as if she knew something about him that he could not yet comprehend. "No one survives the streets of Solis like you."
Ashen stared at her, feeling the weight of her words settle into his chest. There was truth in them, something that stirred faint memories of a world beyond the crumbling walls of this city. But that was all they were—faint echoes. His mind reached for something—anything—but it slipped away like water through his fingers.
"Who am I?" he asked again, this time louder, as if the question could summon the answer from the depths of his forgotten soul.
The woman's eyes softened, and for a moment, she seemed to hesitate. Then she stepped closer, offering her hand, her expression a mix of caution and compassion. "You're someone who's lost," she said quietly. "And I'm someone who's learned how to survive that."
Ashen stared at the hand before him, unsure of the meaning of her words. His eyes flicked from her face to the sword by his side, to the world that surrounded him. His body was not the same as it once had been—he felt weak, fragile. His power was gone, like sand slipping through the cracks of his fingers.
"I don't know who I am," he whispered. "But I know I was once... something more."
The woman nodded, her eyes softening with a trace of empathy. "I can help you find out. But first, you need to understand where you are—and what this city has become."
Ashen looked at her, sensing that there was more to this place than he could see, more to the woman than met the eye. She had a knowledge, a sharpness to her that spoke of hardship and survival. And something about her—her unspoken promise of guidance—stirred the faintest flicker of recognition within him.
"I'm Lira," she said, her voice firm yet kind. "And I think we both have a lot to learn about this world."
Ashen hesitated. He didn't know why, but there was something about her that made him feel... something akin to hope. And yet, that hope was fragile, like a dying ember in the wind.
"Lira," he repeated slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. The sound of it brought no recognition, but it felt like the first step in a journey—a journey that would reveal not just who he was, but what the world had become.
He took a slow, deliberate breath, pushing aside the nagging emptiness that threatened to consume him.
"Then I'll follow you," he said, his voice gaining strength. "Lead me to the answers."
Lira nodded, the corners of her lips lifting in something that might have been a smile. She turned and began walking down the alley, Ashen following her every step of the way.
As he walked, he couldn't shake the feeling that the world was shifting around him. And for the first time since he had awoken, he felt a spark of purpose.
Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for him to find out who he had been—and what he could become.