The boy floats above the boundless, blistering desert—like a shred of memory torn from a shattered mind.
Below him, the sand breathes—slow, heavy—like some ancient creature long abandoned by gods and time.
The air quivers with heat.
The sky is scorched to parchment—rewritten with fire.
Everything around him feels like a scream deeper than silence.
"Where am I?.. Why don't I remember?.. How do I get out of here?.."
The boy has no name.
No past.
Only a hollow ache inside—throbbing like an old burn.
And the moment he thinks—about himself, about before—
the world cracks.
The desert splits open, as if reality were just fabric pulled too tight over fate's raw howl.
He doesn't fall—he slips through the edge.
Now he stands on a stone plain.
The sky spins, blood-red and endless.
The ground beneath him splits with every breath, glowing with a dull, dying light.
And before him—three figures.
The first is Cairus.
Eyes like black stars, burning with fury and triumph.
His body shrouded in smoke, as though born of wrath and torment.
In his hand—a sword, aflame with coal-dark fire.
Wherever he steps, the earth fractures like rotting ice.
The second—Hanaris.
Tall as a mountain. Silent as time itself.
His hammer is like the torn-out heart of a star—massive, immovable.
Even his silence speaks louder than a thousand voices.
The third—Gorgoroth, the Maker.
Ancient. His face is a map of history, carved in wrinkles.
Unarmed—yet more fearsome than them all.
In his eyes—an age-old sorrow, and the knowledge of the entire universe.
His shadow outweighs time.
The boy takes a step forward.
"What is this? Why am I here?!"
But no one hears him. He's a ghost.
A shadow among gods.
"Look at me! I'm here! I'm alive!"
But no one turns.
The gods are preparing for war.
Gorgoroth's voice falls like a star from heaven:
"You've broken the Balance, Cairus. The souls can no longer reach Hanaris!"
Cairus laughs—and fire bursts from his mouth, as if he's devouring the universe itself.
"All minds in creation are mine! I won't give them back to anyone!"
"You've betrayed the Design!" roars Hanaris.
His hammer crashes to the ground—splitting it like a corpse's skin.
Cairus snarls, like a storm ripped straight out of hell:
"The Design? It was exile. It was betrayal!"
(He steps forward—the ground moans beneath him.)
"I'm no longer an exile. I am the Law."
And with every step—bursts of black fire tear the horizon.
"He's burning the fabric of reality itself..."
"Choose, Gorgoroth. Now."
A long silence.
Then Gorgoroth—slowly, like a man centuries old—removes the amulet from his neck.
It looks ancient, worn by millennia.
He hands it to Hanaris.
The boy holds his breath.
Something in the world is about to crack.
Something inside him too.
Cairus screams.
So loud the sky itself ignites with pain:
"I WARNED YOU!!!"
The sword pierces Gorgoroth's chest.
A flash.
Everything disappears.
Everything collapses.
It isn't just death.
It's the death of meaning.
Of origin.
The boy drops to his knees.
He can't even scream.
Everything presses down on him.
But he's still here.
The world shifts.
Now they stand on a stone plateau, covered in glowing symbols—
a star map, tattooed across the skin of the universe.
At the center—a well, pouring out a pale blue light.
Gorgoroth stands at its edge.
His breath—shattered, rasping.
"The Altar of Rebirth…"
He leaps in.
A moment passes.
Then another.
A third…
And he returns.
The same.
The same wound.
The same death written on his face.
"What... what's happening?!" he cries out.
"He's trapped. In a loop. An endless, eternal loop..."
Cairus steps closer.
His eyes—pure storm.
"You lost your faith.
Only the faithful return.
Only with the amulet.
Only with belief."
Gorgoroth struggles, screams…
But can't break free.
Cairus drives the blade into him again.
Death. Rebirth.
Death. Rebirth.
Death. Rebirth.
Over and over.
"This isn't punishment anymore. It's eternal damnation."
The void tightens.
The sky groans.
Hanaris lifts his hammer.
"ENOUGH!"
Cairus whirls—his eyes dancing with wild fire.
"You dare command me?!"
"Because you are no longer a god," Hanaris thunders.
"You're a usurper. A spark without a star.
You created a loop without meaning.
You're no god.
You're a mistake."
"NO!!!"
Cairus' scream whips the desert into tornados of sand.
And in that instant—he vanishes, dissolved in a blinding white flash.
The world unravels.
The sky.
The stone.
The gods.
All swallowed in infinite, searing light.
And in the heart of that light, the boy hears a voice:
"Find your path.
Find your name.
Find your will…"
He falls.
Where to—he doesn't yet know.