The darkness was not a hand, but a hole in reality.
Before Renzoku could draw his blade, the shadows from the corner of the throne room exploded outward, wrapping around him like cold silk. He didn't fall; he was pulled. Reality dissolved around him, the dark, aged wood of the clan hall replaced by a suffocating, infinite black.
He opened his eyes; there was nothing.
Darkness stretched infinitely in all directions, swallowing sound, light, and time. He was weightless, suspended in a void colder than death itself. But the void wasn't empty. It pulsed. A rhythmic, titanic throb echoed through the abyss, sounding less like a heart and more like the grinding of tectonic plates.
A voice rumbled, not from the air, but from inside his own marrow.
"I've been waiting."
The words struck him like a force against his soul. The voice was deep, ancient, and boundless. Renzoku turned, his hand reaching for a sword that wasn't there.
"Who are you?" His own voice sounded small, a tiny spark against an endless night.
The darkness coiled, shifting into a shape that was both a mountain and a shadow. Two pinpricks of cold, stellar light flared where eyes should be.
"I am the God of Shadows," the voice declared, the weight of the words nearly crushing Renzoku's spirit. "And what you see before you is but a fragment of my will."
Renzoku's pulse spiked. A god. An actual god. But why was he here? Why was the throne room empty of everything but death?
"What happened to my people?" Renzoku demanded, his voice cracking with a century's worth of grief. "Why did they die like that? Without a fight?"
The God of Shadows leaned forward, and the void seemed to tremble.
"They fought the only way they could," the God answered, his voice a low, somber hum. "A war has been raging, Renzoku. A war between the Gods and the Void beings—entities from beyond the veil that seek to consume all existence. We were losing. In their final act of devotion, your entire clan chose to sacrifice themselves. They gave their very lives, their very souls, to empower me for one final stand."
Renzoku's breath hitched. A mass sacrifice. They hadn't been murdered; they had offered themselves up.
"And yet," the God continued, the cold light of his eyes dimming, "the Gods lost. They are dead, Renzoku—extinguished by the very Void they sought to contain. The heavens have fallen, and the world is soon to follow. Time is running out, and you, along with the few Divines who remain, are the last hope this reality has."
Renzoku's hands clenched into fists. "Then it's over. If the Gods are dead, what hope is there for a mortal like me?"
"You were already hollow, Renzoku. A vessel that could not be filled by the light of your clan. That is why you were spared—and why you are the only hope remaining. But power without knowledge is a blunt instrument. Before you leave this place, go to your clan's library. Find everything there is to know about the Gods, the Void, and the true history of this world. You will need every scrap of ancient wisdom to survive what is coming."
The God's will surged, the darkness around them swirling into a violent vortex.
"I will awaken your Aspect, the true essence of your power that has been dormant for a hundred years. With it, you will become a weapon against the Void. But you cannot fight this war alone. You must find other Divines—survivors like yourself, chosen by the fallen—to fend off the coming tide. A war like this has never been seen in the history of mortals."
As the God finished speaking, the shadows gathered above Renzoku, condensing into a perfect black sphere pulsing with a violet-black radiance.
"Prepare yourself, last of the shadows. The library holds your past, but the Void holds your future."
Pain ignited in his chest.
Renzoku gasped as an unbearable pressure crushed his ribs. It felt as if a star were being forced into his lungs. Searing heat, colder than ice, tore through his veins as his Aspect finally clawed its way to the surface. The darkness within his own soul—the isolation, the grief, the anger—was being refined, turned into a core of pure shadow.
Through the agony, he felt it. His power. His soul was no longer empty.
—
After what felt like an Eternity, Renzoku opened his eyes.
He was back in the throne room, kneeling before his father. His chest felt heavy, a new, dark rhythm beating alongside his heart. The pain was gone, replaced by a cold, sharpened clarity.
He looked down at his hands, then at the bodies of his family.
Then, he saw it.
The shadows of the fallen elders weren't flat on the wooden floor. They were twitching. As Renzoku stood up, the shadows of his mother and father began to rise slightly, their edges fraying like smoke, leaning toward him as if drawn by a magnetic force.
His Aspect was active. He could feel their lingering wills, their strength, reaching out to him. He wasn't alone anymore. He had the shadows of the dead, and he had a mission.
He picked up his father's sheathed sword and walked toward the gates. The God's warning echoed in his mind. The Void was coming, and he had to find the others.
He didn't look back.