Elias Valtor convulsed as reality forced him back into existence. His lungs seized, his body spasmed, and raw, primal agony consumed him from the inside out.
He twisted onto his side and vomited, retching until his stomach was empty. His arms trembled violently, fingers clawing at the cracked stone beneath him. His veins burned, his skull pounded, and his breath came in ragged, choking gasps.
His thoughts were fractured, spiraling. His mind screamed only one thing.
I was dead.
He had felt it—the unraveling, the nothingness, the Calamity consuming him like he had never existed at all.
And then… the white figure.
A voice. A question.
"What is your goal?"
Elias clenched his teeth. The same voice echoed now, not from the world, but from within his own skull.
"You will return."
His heart slammed against his ribs.
That thing. The one in the void. The one that wasn't human.
It was still with him.
His breathing quickened as panic clawed at his chest. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the white-hot agony lancing through his body. He had to focus—had to understand where he was, what had happened.
Then he looked around.
And what he saw made his blood run cold.
The city of Veydris lay in ruins around him.
Not just destroyed—erased.
Buildings stood in fragments, whole sections simply missing, as if a careless hand had wiped them away. Streets twisted into yawning black voids that swallowed light itself. Everything felt wrong—like reality had begun to rot.
Elias sucked in a shaky breath.
"This… this isn't real," he whispered.
But it was.
This had once been the city of heroes. The home of the Seven Saviors, the strongest warriors who had protected the world for centuries.
Where were they now? Where were the legends?
Dead.
Fallen. Erased. Forgotten.
They had fought the Calamities. They had faced the abyss.
And they had lost.
Even the mightiest had fallen before the Eclipse Event. Even the gods had remained silent.
What hope did he have?
Elias clenched his fists, shaking. He was no warrior. He had spent his life as a scribe, writing the histories of heroes, never daring to become one.
But there was no one else now.
He was alone.
Then he heard it.
A soft, inhuman clicking.
His body went rigid.
His pulse pounded in his ears as he slowly turned toward the sound.
At the far end of the street, something crawled into view.
The creature was humanoid, but only barely. Its body was gray and unfinished, its limbs elongated and twitching. It had no face—only a smooth, featureless head, as if someone had forgotten to finish sculpting it.
Elias' throat went dry.
"A Nullborn…" he whispered.
One of the weakest Calamities. But weakness was relative.
The creature snapped toward him, though it had no eyes.
And then it moved.
It was fast.
Elias barely threw himself to the side before a clawed hand slashed through the space where his throat had been. The air itself hissed at the force of the swing.
Panic surged through him.
"I need a weapon," he gasped.
His eyes darted frantically around the street. His fingers closed around a rusted metal pipe, half-buried in rubble. He grabbed it and swung with everything he had.
The pipe cracked against the Nullborn's torso. The impact shuddered through Elias' arms—
But the creature barely flinched.
Elias' stomach dropped.
"Shit."
The Nullborn twisted unnaturally, its arm extending far beyond human limits. It struck before he could react—
Pain. Blinding, soul-shattering pain.
Elias screamed as his left arm was ripped away.
Blood gushed from the severed limb, pooling around him. His vision blurred, his body shook.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping, choking.
His mind screamed.
I'm going to die.
The Nullborn loomed over him, its claws dripping red.
No.
No, no, no.
Think.
Elias forced himself to focus past the agony. His blood was still flowing, still spilling onto the ground.
A distraction.
With the last of his strength, he grabbed a handful of rubble and hurled it at the Nullborn's head.
The creature flinched. Only for a second.
But a second was all he needed.
Elias lunged forward, twisting past its next swipe. And with every last ounce of strength left in his body, he drove the metal pipe straight through the Nullborn's throat.
The creature convulsed. Its body spasmed violently, its limbs flailing.
Then it collapsed inward, its form peeling apart like ink dissolving in water.
And just like that—it was gone.
The street fell silent.
Elias staggered back, clutching his bleeding stump. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. His vision swam.
He had won.
But he was dying.
Elias stumbled through the ruins, clutching his wound. He needed to stop the bleeding.
His mind was clouded, his body weak, but he forced himself forward. Every step sent fresh agony through his nerves.
Then he saw it.
A gaping chasm stretched before him, carved into the earth like a wound in reality itself.
It was not just darkness. It was absence.
A void of pure nothingness.
His breath caught in his throat. He knew—**instinctively, deep in his bones—**that this was not natural.
Then, inside his skull—
The voice.
"Do you want to heal?"
Elias' knees nearly buckled.
His eyes locked onto the abyss.
He didn't know what it was. Didn't know what would happen.
But he did know one thing.
If he did nothing—
He would die.
The void pulsed. The voice whispered again.
"Jump."