The wind whispered through the ruins of Arasta, carrying the stench of death.
In the center of the city stood a man cloaked in black—tall, silent, unmoving.
Beneath his feet, what remained of humanity lay scattered: limbs, flesh, clothing torn like paper in a storm.
Not a soul stirred.
No cries. No begging.
Only silence.
The man did not speak. He did not look down.
He simply walked—through blood, through bone, through what was once life.
Arasta, a small kingdom, proud and ancient, was gone.
Erased.
Like it had never existed.
---
But far beyond Arasta, the world still danced in ignorance.
Sun City — the capital of the South Ravel Empire — bloomed in color and joy.
It was carnival day.
The sky glowed gold.
Children's laughter rang like bells through wooden streets.
Vendors shouted, musicians played, and flags of a hundred regions fluttered in the warm wind.
In the heart of the city stood the golden statue of Emperor Alar Ferriex, the founder of Sun City.
For 500 years, his empire stood tall, carved from wood, copper, and bronze, steeped in ancient glory.
This was no ordinary celebration —
This was The Carnival of Light, held once every six years.
People had traveled across oceans to be here.
To witness paradise.
> "Hey hey! Stop, Reena!"
"No way! Catch me if you can! Hahaha!"
Children ran.
Dancers twirled.
The city pulsed with life.
And then…
The sky screamed.
A metallic shriek tore across the heavens — not thunder, but something unnatural, like a blade dragged across bone.
People froze.
Eyes turned upward.
> "What is that sound?"
"The sky… it's turning red…"
High above, a spark of red—sharp, bleeding across the sun like a fresh wound.
Then came the silence.
A silence deeper than death.
And in that silence,
He appeared.
A being stepped from the rupture in the sky.
He was titanic — a humanoid draped in broken, metallic wings that stretched endlessly, vanishing into black void.
His body pulsed with liquid shadows and blinding chrome, warping light, bending space.
Reflections flickered across him — images of places that had never existed, lives that had never been lived.
Time froze.
Reality shattered.
And then —
In the blink of an eye —
Sun City died.
Not collapsed.
Not burned.
Not attacked.
Erased.
Stone, flesh, sound, memory — all torn into nothing.
There were no screams.
There was no time.
By 2:48 PM, Sun City had vanished from the face of the world.
No ruins.
No bones.
Not even ash.
Only red dust swirling in the wind.
---
This wasn't the first time.
It wouldn't be the last.
Ninety years ago, it began.
Cities, kingdoms, entire empires —
gone.
Always the same red light.
Always the same silence.
No survivors.
No explanations.
Some called it divine judgment.
Others, cosmic horror.
But all agreed on one thing:
It could not be stopped.
They called it The Unknown.
Those who feared it whispered another name:
> The Final Silence.
Cults formed.
Books were burned.
Statues built, then shattered.
Whispers passed from town to town:
> "He doesn't kill you… he un-makes you."
"He watches."
"We are dust in his hands."
---
And as the blood-red sky faded and darkness crept across the world…
A lone traveler arrived.
He had walked weeks to reach Sun City —
To taste its food.
To see its golden palace.
To stand in the center of the legendary carnival and believe, for just one moment, in paradise.
He stood now in a field of lifeless red.
No palace.
No statue.
No music.
Only dust.
Tens of thousands — gone in an instant.
He stared at the emptiness, then slowly exhaled.
He was not afraid.
He was not surprised.
He whispered:
> "Is this… paradise?"