Dark clouds veiled the night sky, draping the world in a suffocating shroud of darkness.
Rain came down like judgment, cold and relentless, dragging the heat from the streets and pressing it into the mud. In the farthest rot of the slums, where even lanterns refused to burn long, a boy stood unmoving beneath the storm.
Dusk was small for his age. Not weak—starved. The difference mattered, even if the world pretended it didn't.
Water ran through his hair, down his collar, soaked into cloth that had long forgotten warmth. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven pulls, as if the air itself hurt to take in. Amethyst eyes, too sharp for a child who had nothing left, fixed on the mound at his feet.
A grave.
Calling it that felt generous.
It was a crooked heap of stones and churned earth, dug by bare hands that no longer shook from effort, only from cold. Mud clung beneath his nails. Blood too. The rain tried to wash it away and failed.
Dusk traced the edge of the mound with stiff fingers, memorizing its shape like it might vanish if he looked away.
'Should've used a shovel.'
The thought arrived without emotion. Practical. Useless.
His knees finally buckled. They sank into the sludge with a wet sound, and for a single, suspended heartbeat, the world went quiet. The rain dulled. The slums receded. All that remained was his breathing—ragged, fragile, too loud.
"She's… really dead."
The words barely survived the rain. Even spoken, they felt unreal, as if naming it might make it true for the first time.
When it was done, something inside him went still.
No screaming grief. No collapse. Just a hollow opening where fear used to live.
It terrified him.
Life or death no longer weighed anything. There was no one left to protect. No one left to lose. The world could take him tomorrow and it would change nothing.
And yet—
Warmth gathered at the corners of his eyes.
"T-Tears?" he murmured, surprised, almost offended.
They didn't last. The rain erased them before they could fall, stealing even that small weakness from him.
A laugh slipped out. Short. Broken. Empty.
So this was freedom.
Dusk pushed himself upright. His body protested. He ignored it. He had already decided.
He would not end like her.
Either he would die reaching for something higher—or he would awaken, even if the price was his life.
He took one final look at the grave.
Then he turned away.
The rain intensified, scouring the dirt from his skin as if trying to strip him down to whatever remained underneath.
Dusk walked forward.
And he would never be the same again.
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OmniumX here.
This is my first novel.
I'm starting with one chapter a week to make sure every release hits the standard I'm aiming for.
Once things are rolling, expect 4–7 chapters weekly.
No copy-paste plots.
No lazy tropes.
Just a story built to be memorable.
If that's what you're here for, you're in the right place.