Part one--✦☾ Prologue☽✦
Light and darkness were never meant to be enemies — only mirrors, reflecting the same eternal truth from opposite sides
I dare you to follow this story.
To see how long the light in me can survive… or if the darkness will overcome it.
And though the world defined it differently in every soul, I would learn what it truly meant — not by the light it gave, but by the shadows it left behind.
---
Fifty years ago, something drifted across the sky — a speck too perfect to belong.
Not a star.
Not a meteor.
Not anything born of science — or divinity.
Something else.
Something that watched.
And in a single breath, it ruptured —
spilling golden light across the heavens,
like a thousand dawns breaking all at once.
The glow fell softly — gentle as snow —
sinking into something more fragile than flesh.
Without words, it spoke.
Its voice was a lullaby of forgotten dreams… and unspoken desires.
They called it The Lightfall —
a light that took root within humanity itself,
awakening something beyond comprehension.
---
Generations rose and fell beneath its glow.
Some became heroes, carrying its brilliance.
Others fell into darkness, devoured by the shadows it cast.
And some simply lived —
carving out ordinary lives in a world forever changed by extraordinary light.
Over time, their story became legend.
Legend hardened into belief.
Belief turned into chains —
binding each generation to the legacy of those who came before.
---
When The Lightfall touched the earth, it didn't fade — it waited.
Hidden in bloodlines, memories, and the quiet corners of the human soul.
---
Let's begin when there was only darkness,
consuming everything… even me.
I could feel it pressing against my skin,
sinking deeper with every breath.
"Where the hell am I?"
My voice didn't echo — it just vanished into the black, thick as tar, heavy as memory.
A shadow crept across my face
I stood frozen, hands clenched at my sides — lost, consumed by nothingness.
A soft glow shimmered ahead, like a doorway breathing open. Gentle, familiar, almost alive.
It spilled over me, casting half-light that carved every tense line on my face the wide, searching eyes, the shadows beneath them deepened by fear.
The light highlighted everything I had tried to hide even from myself: doubt, uncertainty, the weight pressing down on my chest.
My feet moved reluctantly, each step stiff, as if the nothingness clung to my heels, whispering that I didn't belong in the light.
For a fleeting moment, hope flickered — fragile, trembling, painfully aware of how close it was to being snuffed out.
The instant I crossed the threshold, the void sighed behind me, hungry and patient.
I shivered, heart tightening, and wondered if this time… I'd stepped into something like heaven's lie.
But the moment I stepped over, I knew.
A nightmare — etched into memory, unchanging, unyielding — had returned once more.
---
I stepped into the playground I once ran to for joy — now drowned in dark blue.
The air reeked faintly of rust and rain.
The swings creaked like old bones, moving on their own.
Ghosts with nowhere else to go rode them.
Then I saw them.
Two bodies, laid out like broken prayers.
Massacred beyond mercy.
My parents.
I was only fifteen.
Too young to see that kind of cruelty.
Too old to ever forget it.
Most kids would've cried. Screamed. Begged for answers.
But me?
I just watched. Cold. Still.
My hands twitched at my sides, my chest tightened — a storm I couldn't name yet.
Even as something deep inside me cracked forever.
---
The whispers came again.
"Kill them all."
The words felt like shards of something I almost remembered… something buried deep inside me.
"Let it go…"
The voice seemed like an echo of someone I shouldn't have forgotten.
"End it."
Heavy. Cold. Yet… why did it feel like it was waiting for me, not just anyone?
"Shut up," I said, calm. Not pleading.
They only laughed, echoing louder until the sound pressed at the edges of my mind.
"Shut up!" I screamed.
The world reacted.
The ground split open beneath me — a thunderous crack, blue light flaring behind my eyes.
Power surged outward, wild and alive, coursing under my skin like liquid fire.
It wasn't just power. It was recognition — alive beneath my skin, crawling, breathing, pushing to break free.
---
Then silence.
A single breath.
I woke — blue-light glow still burned behind my eyes. The ceiling. My room.
The faint scent of coffee drifted through the air. Gold morning light spilled through the blinds, warm and steady against the cold blue-black chill still clinging to my skin
The hum of the city outside was distant, muffled, almost musical — a soft contrast to the violent crack of thunder in my mind moments ago.
Birds chirped in the morning, a colorless, ordinary sound.
Yet it felt piercing, after the deafening roar that had filled my head.
---
I sat upright, breathing even, heartbeat already at its usual rhythm.
The dream never fades. But I hope one day it will.
Fingertips brushed the smooth, warm sheets.
I wanted to believe it was over. But the shadow… it felt like it had followed me into morning light.
The cold from the dream lingered like a shadow.
Death is a fate everyone will face — whether quietly, surrounded, by accident, or violently.
In the end… you're forgotten.
No echoes of your laughter.
No traces of your pain.
No one left to hold the moments you lived for.
The world just keeps moving, like you never existed.
---
I let the thought settle, fingertips tracing the edge of the bed.
The room smelled faintly of dust and old wood, grounding me.
Death… every one faces it.
But my parents had left their echoes behind, imprinted in me.
I remembered them. Their presence, love, care, courage — everything they had given me wrapped around me like a warm, unyielding shield.
Even now, I could feel its faint pulse lingering in the hollow corners of my chest.
A reminder: still, I am not always alone.
---
Legs swung over the edge of the bed as I stood.
A subtle, smoky aura clung to me, cool and alive beneath my skin.flowed across my body, drifting like smoke, smooth and serene — a soft, living glow.
For a heartbeat, the dream pressed close.
But the aura moved before I did, settling around me like a protective veil.
I let it linger, delicate as breath, shimmering faintly along my skin.
Then, as if it had never been, it slipped away, vanishing into nothing.
Leaving only the faint echo of its presence behind.
Mask back in place. Every movement precise, deliberate.
Nothing — not even the shadows in my mind — could stop me.
Blue-dark light traced the edges of my form, faint but insistent — a whisper of what I had barely controlled, lingering still.
And somewhere beneath it all, a flicker of will remained:
Fragile. Unbroken.
A quiet strength no darkness could ever fully erase.
---
I strode into the bathroom.
Shoulders relaxed. Hands resting lightly on the sink.
I splashed cold water on my face.
Lifted my eyes to the mirror.
For a moment, I simply observed the calm reflection staring back — the face of someone who'd learned to survive by pretending the world couldn't touch him.
Blue-light pupils — steady, alert, measured.
Grey-black hair, straight and neat, framing a face that bore order over the chaos inside.
Fingers grazed skin pale and composed — a shield that had long since learned to hold the world at bay.
Chest rising and falling in calm, even breaths.
Lips relaxed.
Every line, every shadow, contained.
A face that could pass in a crowd — yet still carried the quiet weight of experience, lessons learned, things endured.
---
After a shower, I returned to my room.
The quiet of the house pressed around me.
Soft. Familiar.
Yet heavy with lingering echoes of the morning.
I pulled on a blue-light hood and plain black trousers.
Fabric settling over my skin like second armor.
Every movement is deliberate, measured.
Each step is purposeful, as if preparing for something unseen yet inevitable.
Fingers lingered over the seams, smoothing folds, checking the fit — a quiet ritual of readiness.
I paused. Breathing evenly.
Scanning the day ahead.
Thoughts aligned themselves with precision.
Anticipation existed, yes.
But tempered by control. By awareness.
Nothing in my stance, actions, or gaze suggested hesitation.
Every motion. Every inhale. Proof I was present, ready, and unshaken.
---
"Neriah? Are you awake?"
Her voice was soft. Hesitant.
Followed by a gentle knock.
I moved and opened the door.
Mira stood there. Her eyes were wide with concern and curiosity, dark and luminous all at once. Her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her uniform, betraying the calm she tried to wear.
Long black hair spilled down her back like liquid ink, a few strands drifting forward to catch the light.
Her black-and-white uniform gave her a quiet elegance, the kind that made you realize she had always been more than just a caretaker — she was a constant, a presence I could rely on even when the world offered nothing else.
"Good morning, Mira," I said softly.
She blinked, a little surprised — I hadn't greeted her that way in years.
Her posture straightened, shoulders easing as she steadied herself, her hands folding neatly in front of her — a quiet gesture of respect she'd carried for years.
For a moment, she just stood there. Silent. Studying me.
Poised, with a faint hesitation in the tilt of her head, as if weighing every word I'd spoken.
"Good morning," she said at last, recovering quickly.
"I made you breakfast before you go out."
I rolled my shoulders back, running a hand through my hair, brushing away the last traces of the dream.
"Thanks. I really appreciate it," I said — words lighter than they'd felt in a long time.
Her eyes widened slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"You don't need to thank me," she murmured. "I've only done what I should. After all... you are my master."
The words landed wrong.
A quiet weight pressed against my chest.
But I didn't let it show.
My expression stayed neutral.
Shoulders steady.
Only the faintest flicker in my eyes betrayed the tension coiled beneath.
---
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't call me 'Master' anymore." My words barely stirred the morning air.
Her smile faltered. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her features.
But her eyes — steady, loyal — never looked away.
"I've always called you by that name," she said softly.
"It's the only way I know to honor the place you've held in my life."
She was right.
Her presence had always been steady. Quiet. Almost motherly.
A constant I could rely on when the world offered nothing else but silence.
"It's not wrong for you to call me 'Master,'" I said, low and measured.
I exhaled slowly.
"But I'd prefer if you used my real name instead. It would mean more to me.
And if that feels unfamiliar…" I shrugged lightly, meeting her gaze.
"Then think of me as your own son."
The tension in my chest eased as the words settled between us.
Her eyes widened — the words sank deeper than I'd expected.
I didn't think she'd ever hear them. And yet here she was, waiting for me to let her in.
A warmth flickered there, fragile but bright, as if she'd been waiting years to hear them.
"If that is truly what you wish… very well then."
Her gentle smile returned, softer this time.
"I will call you by your name."
For the first time in years, it felt like I'd finally given her something real — not only taken from her.
I let my shoulders drop.
The quiet weight in my chest lifted slightly.
"Okay then… hurry up, before your breakfast gets cold," she said, stepping down the hall.
I gave a faint smile. Small, but real.
My gaze lingered on her as she disappeared.
Her voice was the only sound that didn't echo like a ghost in this house.
Almost enough to make me believe the silence meant peace.
Almost.
But silence has never been mercy to me.
---
Because the silence I've known has a way of hiding whispers…
Whispers I couldn't tell from my own thoughts,
from hallucinations given shape,
or from the pulse of my own power.
It terrified me.
So much that even drawing a breath felt like defiance.
Every step forward was a dance with a storm I had no chance of surviving.
And in the distance, beneath the hum of silence, I heard them whisper again —
not to destroy me not yet… but to wake me.
End of chapter.