The night was still breathing when Aron sat before the fire.
A faint orange glow flickered across his face, painting sharp lines over the quiet exhaustion in his eyes. The scent of charred wood and faint spice filled the air, mixing with the iron tang that still clung to his clothes. The forest around him was silent now — too silent, as though even the wind feared to disturb the aftermath of his hunt.
"Num... num... num... it's really delicious," Aron murmured, words muffled by the chunk of meat he was chewing. His tone carried a calm, lazy amusement that didn't quite match the battlefield he had left behind. "The game didn't have this... haha... what a life this is…"
He grinned faintly, tilting his head back as he chewed. The leg bone in his hand was massive — blackened from the fire, the flesh crisp and golden at the edges. It had once belonged to an Akrolen. Now, it was dinner.
The fire cracked and hissed. Emberlight danced across the clearing, glinting off the bloodstains on his armor, the faint silver etchings on his daggers.
He took another bite. The meat tore easily.
Savory. Juicy. A little smoky from the flames.
Aron exhaled slowly through his nose, savoring it. "Not bad... for a monster that tried to claw my head off."
He wasn't disgusted. Not even a little. Survival wasn't about preference — it was about adaptation. The Akrolen's flesh, when cooked, wasn't unlike tough game meat. And after carefully washing it and boiling away the impurities, it became… edible.
Still, he'd taken no shortcuts. That wasn't his way.
He had washed the cuts in a small pool nearby until the water ran clear, then boiled them in a round, metallic pot he'd purchased from the System store. It had appeared in his hands in a shimmer of blue light — simple, functional, and cost him nothing.
The spices had been free too — a basic bundle that the System seemed to offer out of irony. Salt. Dried herbs. A faintly glowing powder that smelled like pepper mixed with ozone.
Aron had cooked quietly, his movements practiced. He had lined up the ingredients neatly, trimmed the meat with precision, stirred slowly as the pot began to bubble. His expression hadn't changed once. There was something oddly meditative about it — the way the fire crackled, the way the broth's scent thickened, the way steam ghosted around him like a thin veil.
Cooking reminded him of peace — a peace that once belonged to his lonely little apartment before the Tower, before the madness.
He flipped the meat over the fire once more, letting the skin turn crisp.
The aroma deepened. He smiled faintly.
"Better than anything the cafeteria served," he muttered.
He had always been self-reliant. Orphanage life hadn't left much room for luxury, but it had taught him one thing — he could rely only on himself. When no one cooked for him, he learned to cook. When no one comforted him, he learned to stay silent. He'd never stolen, never begged. Just learned, worked, survived.
The habit had stayed with him, even in this warped world.
Now, miles away from the slaughter site, he was simply a young man eating by a fire — the scent of roasted meat filling the night air, the flames reflecting in his violet eyes like fading stars.
He took a bigger bite, perhaps too big.
His throat tightened instantly.
"Cough—Cough! Water! Where's—ah, there it is—!"
He reached for the metal flask lying beside him, fumbling slightly before gulping it down. The cool liquid burned down his throat like relief.
"Huff... huff..." He exhaled sharply, leaning back against a tree trunk. "I should really eat slowly... or I'll have to say hello to the afterlife sooner than expected."
He chuckled softly at his own comment. A weary, human sound that cut through the stillness. The kind of laughter that reminded the world he wasn't just a weapon. Not yet.
For a while, he just sat there — watching the flames sway, hearing the crackle of the wood, feeling the faint pulse of the System's interface still lingering in the air. Every now and then, his gaze drifted upward, toward the fragmented sky. It looked like cracked glass — fractured by invisible lines of power, faintly glowing with alien constellations.
This wasn't Earth anymore. It hadn't been for a long time.
But he didn't mind. He never did.
"Guess I've gotten used to the silence," he murmured.
The forest creaked faintly, branches whispering in the distance. The red mist that had once choked this land was gone now, cleared away by his slaughter. The earth beneath him was dark and still damp from spilled blood, but even that felt distant.
Aron leaned forward and poked the fire with a branch. Sparks drifted upward, catching in his hair before fading.
He stared into the embers, lost in quiet thought.
Then he spoke — softly, almost like he was talking to himself.
"You know, Karlath..." he whispered, eyes narrowing. "If you could see me now, you'd probably laugh. Me, eating your underlings like roasted chicken legs."
The flames danced, as if amused.
Aron's expression hardened.
"But soon..." His voice dropped, low and steady. "You'll see this same fire from a lot closer."
The violet in his eyes flared faintly — not with anger, but with purpose.
Far above the burning forest — beyond the Gate of Sagastan — another space stirred.
A different kind of silence reigned there.
It wasn't the silence of nature, or of rest.
It was the silence of authority.
The void shimmered faintly, folding upon itself like rippling fabric. And within that endless dark sat a figure — cloaked in flowing black that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The stars around him bent, drawn into invisible gravity wells.
He tapped his right index finger lightly against the empty air — and space itself clicked, like glass being touched.
A sound impossible to exist.
A gesture impossible to perform.
Yet, here it was.
Morilis.
His head tilted slightly, eyes half-hidden beneath his hood. A faint gleam — silver and cold — flickered from the shadows.
"Hmm..." His voice was smooth, layered with restrained amusement. "It seems... the higher-ups still haven't noticed, huh?"
He stopped tapping. His gaze drifted upward, where countless light threads twisted through the void — each one a connection to some other realm, some higher existence.
"Or maybe they noticed and simply chose not to act," he mused aloud, tone darkening. "Strange. This incident is too big to ignore... yet they remain quiet. What are they thinking?"
For a moment, his words hung in the air like vapor. Then a faint ripple spread across the void in front of him — subtle, like the tremor of disturbed water.
He didn't react. Not immediately. He just rested his chin on his hand and stared at the distortion.
A voice came from within it — low, steady, respectful.
"Denus, I assume?"
The distortion expanded, forming into a tall figure cloaked in obsidian shadow. His movements were precise, deliberate, almost mechanical in their discipline.
"Yes, sir Morilis." Denus bowed slightly, his hood lowering. "I've returned from the lower floors."
Morilis leaned back, folding one leg over the other. "And?"
Denus hesitated. Then he shook his head.
"No traces, sir. No residual energy. No fragments. My Black Team and I scoured the Tower — every layer, every channel. We found nothing."
Morilis's eyes sharpened, though his expression stayed calm.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing, sir. Even the faint energy the Cube usually emits — gone. It's as if it never existed."
Silence followed.
A long, cold silence.
Morilis slowly exhaled through his nose, the air shimmering faintly as if the void itself feared to touch him.
"So it vanished entirely... interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to Denus. "Almost as if it was never part of this plane."
He looked down at his right hand. His fingers flexed slowly, the faint light of energy lines pulsing beneath the glove. For a moment, his vision unfocused — caught in memory.
The memory wasn't gentle.
He saw it again — the Cube.
A perfect, pulsing object of absolute black, hovering above an obsidian dais deep within the Tower's first floor. Its edges glowed faintly with crimson lines, like veins of living magma.
The Black Team had stood back then, uncertain, cautious. Denus had been among them, his hand hovering over his weapon.
"Sir Morilis," he had said, voice taut, "it repels everything we send near it. Energy, matter, even light bends around it."
Morilis had simply watched — unmoving, unreadable. Then, slowly, he had stepped forward.
He had known the risk. He had felt the danger thrumming in the air, like an unspoken challenge. But he'd also felt something else — curiosity.
The moment his gloved fingers touched the Cube, the world had exploded in light.
His vision had gone white.
His nerves had screamed.
And when the pain stopped, his right arm was simply gone.
No wound. No blood.
Just nothing.
Erased — as if it had never existed.
He had tried to regenerate it, to rebuild it from pure essence. But every attempt had failed. The Cube had done more than destroy matter; it had deleted his existence from that limb.
Even now, that same arm — though it appeared whole — wasn't his.
It had been taken from a higher-floor being. A gift, or perhaps a theft, purchased with a heavy price he still hadn't fully repaid.
Back in the present, Morilis's lips curved slightly beneath his hood.
"Do not stop searching," he said quietly.
Denus straightened immediately. "Sir?"
Morilis extended his right hand. A faint ripple of silver light spun from his palm, coalescing into a black ring. Its surface shimmered faintly, engraved with runes that looked alive — shifting, crawling, whispering in a language not meant for mortal ears.
"Take this," Morilis said. His voice held no warmth. "Use it. It will allow you to bypass the next layer's interference. But find it, Denus. The Cube isn't gone. It's... hidden. And the one who took it..." His tone dropped into a near whisper. "...is someone neither you nor I can afford to ignore."
Denus bowed his head deeply, extending both hands as the ring floated toward him. "Yes, Sir Morilis. I will not fail you again. I'll find it — no matter the cost."
Morilis's gaze sharpened. "See that you do. Next time you report, don't come empty-handed."
Denus's body shimmered, then dissolved into the air like smoke pulled into a vacuum.
Morilis was alone again.
He leaned back in the invisible throne, the faint hum of space bending beneath his weight. Around him, stars flickered — distant, dying things that pulsed like heartbeats.
He stared at his right hand again — the hand that wasn't his. Slowly, he flexed the fingers, watching how the energy pulsed differently through them.
"You're still there, aren't you... Cube?" he whispered. "And whoever touched you..."
His eyes narrowed, a faint glint of interest slicing through the calm.
"I'll find you too."
The void didn't respond. It never did. But something in it shifted, as though reality itself had heard and chosen to listen.
_ _ _
To be continued....
_ _ _
Author: I am really sorry guys, I couldn't upload any chapters as I was really busy the past week with my Exams....I will try to maintain the consistency from now on....
One more thing please tell me in the comments where my novel needs improvements from your perspectives....I will try to add your suggestions as well...
Thanks for reading btw..!