Astis hailed from Kakching City, a place renowned for its university, Newold. He lived in an apartment provided by the university, a small comfort amid his turbulent emotions. As the clock struck three, marking the end of yet another drab history class, he made his way back home, a wireless earpiece snugly tucked into his right ear, drowning out the world around him.
In a world teeming with supernatural beings, there existed those known as Voyagers. These individuals had the power to manipulate, sense, and shape concepts using a mysterious energy called Yai, which wove through the very fabric of reality. But to become a Voyager, one required a Sigil—a complex circuit formed at birth that connected Yai from the environment to the body.
Astis Zelrez, unfortunately, was not marked at birth by a Sigil, nor did he possess any means to acquire one. This left him with a crushing sense of hopelessness: he would never be a user of Yai, never be a Voyager.
Raised in a modest apartment by a professor at the prestigious Newold University in Kakching City, Astis had spent nearly a month alone while his foster mother was away on important business. The silence of the apartment only magnified his feelings of loneliness and envy.
"Must be nice,"
He often thought, staring out the window.
"To be born special, gifted with a Sigil."
His mind twisted into darker realms as he considered the so-called gifted—those arrogant fools who flaunted their abilities with no regard for others. "How disgraceful," he would fume. "If only I had those powers, I'd show them. I'd be better than these insufferable shithead idiots."
These thoughts clung to him like shadows, reminding him of his longing—not just for acceptance but for the power that set others apart. Despite his foster mother's guidance, his attempts to implant artificial sigils into his own body had ended in failure, leaving him with complications that threatened his life multiple times.
His walk had been uneventful until he spotted a junior juggling fire made of Yai in his hand, tossing a flaming meatball from one hand to the other. That wasn't what grabbed Astis's attention, though; it was when the junior slipped, causing the fiery meatball to land squarely in a girl's brown hair.
Astis sighed at the ensuing chaos. The junior was near tears as he apologized, while the girl threatened to report him to the disciplinary committee. Such incidents were just another day in the city.
"Reckless brat," he muttered, eager to walk away from the noise when another voice interrupted him.
"Astis, how have you been these days? Not even a call to me, eh?"
It was Mr. Hans, a neighbor and a good friend of his foster mother.
Ah, how refreshing it would be to be free of these idiots, he thought but bit back the urge to say so.
"Good morning, Uncle Hans. I have been quite well, as you can surely see."
His reply was slow, almost tired and stoic which caused Mr. Hans to give him a disapproving glance.
Mr. Hans blinked, evidently regretting his attempt at conversation.
"Do inform me when your mother comes back, Mr. Astis Zelrez."
With that, he left, and Astis slipped quietly through the gate, relishing the silence he stepped into.
As he approached his apartment, he noticed an object resting on the doormat, slightly obscured from view. As he neared, he realized it was a parcel.
'I didn't order anything. Did Mom buy this?'
He took it inside, noting with curiosity the absence of a sender's address or any indication of an online purchase.
Unwrapping the parcel, he found a book nestled within. Its cover struck him as unusual; a small spider symbol loomed amid a vast expanse of darkness, the background as deep and black as an abyss. Bold, slightly distorted letters across the center read: "Book of Voyage."
"Book of Voyage, huh?" Astis said, furrowing his brow. "I didn't know Mom was into cosmic horror. If it's a novel, I'm sure I'll enjoy it."
He shrugged and opened the book, but as he read the headline of the first page, his heart raced with anticipation.
"Ritual to Acquire Sigil."
"What the…?"
Before he could think too much, he dove into the text, curiosity propelling him forward. He had tried calling his mom before, but each time he had failed to pick up. With uncertainty swirling in his mind, he was drawn deeper into the pages of this mysterious book, the possibility of changing his fate lying tantalizingly before him.
'What the heck is this, is this even possible.'
Astis was quite in a dilemma as his hand was firmed on the pages of the book but strangely there was a problem.
'I can read the first page and it is written in a language that I have never seen.'
"Let me fucking rephrase myself. I can read the first page perfectly, but on all the other pages, I can't make sense of the text, even though it seems to be written in one language."
'Is this book a real feal or a curse, hah, I will one day write a novel about this.'
*
At first he considered leaving it in her study, however his curiosity was piqued by the ritual in the book.
After racking his brains for hours Astis finally came to the conclusion , he would perform the ritual in his room. If successful he would gain a Sigil, his dream would come true, if failed, well things would be same as before. He would gain nothing from further contemplation.
Astis's room stretched out in a quiet rectangle—ten feet by twenty. Against the pale walls, a simple desk hugged the side of his bed, cluttered artfully with his laptop, a leaning stack of books, and all the other little essentials that made the place his own.
In front of his bed he stood, a knife in his right, and placed a couple of medicine boxes on the bed.
'let's see , first I have to create a circle using my own blood. What a hassle— damn , this will hurt like hell.'Astis steeled himself.
He sliced open his left palm and carefully let the blood dripped into a glass.
'ouch, ouch, ouch, urgh.'
He wanted to scream, but manage to stifle it in so he wouldn't alert anyone.
After bandaging his hand, he drew the circle, and to his surprise, got it perfect on his first try.
'Luck is on my side for once.'
Then he carefully placed the book in the center of the circle, which had a radius of three feet.
Then he looked again at his notes , only the incantation part was left.
' Okay here goes nothing, but I wishes everything comes to me.'
He cleared his throatand unwrapped the bandage around his left hand.
Then he recited.
"Oh mother of creation, our forefathers, I have grown far too complacent in the cradle of your benevolence."
"The time has finally come for me to leave your embrace. I now wish to give myself to the endless pit."
"I shall embark on the endless voyage by it's will. I shall be the spectator of chaos and corruption erupted upon it's arrival."
"Oh the nameless chaos, I call to thee , awaken and consume from the mindless void beyond the veil".
Suddenly, Astis felt his body burning up. A wave of nausea twisted his stomach, and a haze crept over his vision.
Crap.
His left hand jerked violently—moving on its own, without his command. For a moment, his sight sharpened, stark and clear. What he saw made his blood run cold—his palm swelling grotesquely, twisting itself into... something akin to a lump of flesh, mutating like a pulsing meatball.
"What the fuck—Aaaargh!"
Panic cracked his voice as the morphing spread, oozing up his wrist like a living infection.
"Aaaaaah! Ayaaah! Ahhhh!"
His shrieks tore through the silence. He flailed wildly, his movements frantic and desperate. Tears blurred his bloodshot eyes, falling freely to his cheeks.
He bolted for the door, stumbling, crashing against it with raw and desperate force.
He was locked and trapped alone inside his own room. Well, in a sense he was not alone.
'Who the hell locked it.'
A presence stirred behind him.
He spun around, but there was nothing. But how could he deny the sensation of threat.
"Who—? Let me go! Please!"
His legs gave way. He crashed to the floor, wheezing in pain. His left hand throbbed with unnatural life, and from the distorted flesh, dozens of wet crimson eyes began to sprout, blinking, and watching him just like a any normal human.
"Fuck...!"
His gaze locked onto a knife glinting nearby which he had earlier used to slice his arm. Without thinking, he snatched it up holding the handle and plunged the blade into his left hand.
Agony erupted as extreme pain surge immediately he felt like a sharp blade pierce through his eyes.
"Fuck! Aaah! AAAAAH! Please...!"
Red blood splattered out of his hands which seemed too real to him.He yanked the blade out with shaking hands—and stabbed again.
And again.
More blood poured out, soaking the floor beneath him. His screams went unheard.
He could no longer endure the overwhelming exhaustion and the tremendous pain that coursed through him. With a silent resignation, he collapsed to the cold floor, curling up as if seeking refuge from the torment that consumed him.
He collapsed inward, hunched over his ruined hand as time unraveled. Hours slipped by. He groaned, whimpered. The blood loss, the pain, the fear—it all smeared together until the only thing left was silence.
The morphing stopped. His hand, mangled and deflated, now rested on cracked tile.
Defeat cooled his panic into bitter reflection.
It was the Sigil he'd wanted and craved it. The power to wield yai. To be like his mother.
But envy had ensnared him, twisted him from within.
"Fuck..." he muttered, his voice thinner than air.
He hadn't even told his crush how he felt.
He had been a good son—obedient, except that he spent most of his times readjng novels or grumbling. However his foster mother had no one else she could call family.
"Mom... I'm sorry."
However he regained consciousness and all the nauseous feelings were gone.
"Huh… am I dead?"
Astis muttered, staring at his left hand—whole, unmarred. Not a scar, not a drop of blood was visible on his left hand. It was as if nothing had happened at all.
"Was it a dream…? It felt too real."
His eyes swept across the room. The blood circle remained etched into the floor—dark, ominous, dried into the grey floor like a seal. But where he had placed the Book of Voyages, there was now only a single sheet of paper.
'Yeah, now I have completely lost it.'
Cautiously, Astis approached. His steps were uneven, every fiber of his body trembling. As he reached the page, a shimmer passed over his skin. No words formed in his throat.
The letter lay still and on it, in bold, twisted letters, was written:
"Beyond lies the end of self—only a shell returns."