The first thing Quinn Talen noticed was the silence.
It wasn't the peaceful kind—it was dense, like the world was holding its breath. No wind, no birds, no footsteps—only the subtle thrum of the ring on his finger, like a second heartbeat.
He stood in a vast expanse of nothingness. A black void stretched in every direction, but he could see. He could feel. Shadows moved beneath his feet, responding to his thoughts before he even spoke.
"Where… am I?" he muttered.
A voice, deep and ancient, vibrated around him—not through air, but through the marrow of his bones.
> "The in-between. The space of echoes. You were not meant to be here… yet."
Quinn spun around. There was no one. Just the shifting black floor beneath him, as if reality was liquid shadow.
"Who's there?"
> "I am the first. The fallen. The shadow before the flame."
From the darkness, a shape emerged. Slowly, it formed into a humanoid figure cloaked in billowing black smoke. His face was concealed beneath a hood, but two glowing violet eyes stared out with ancient weariness.
Quinn stepped back instinctively. "You're… you're the one in the ring."
The figure nodded.
> "I am what remains of him. The shadow called Graxion."
The name meant nothing to Quinn. And yet, he felt the weight of it pressing on his shoulders.
"Why did the ring bring me here?"
> "Because it remembers pain. It remembers purpose. And it recognizes something in you... something familiar."
The void shifted again. Images flickered across the space like torn memories—Quinn's childhood, the face of his mother, the bullying, the endless loneliness. Then—him standing up to the gang, taking the beating, refusing to stay down.
> "You carry loss," Graxion said. "But not hatred. You hold power, but not ambition."
He stepped forward, shadows folding around his feet like living mist.
> "The ring was made to contain my curse. But it seeks a host to master it… or fall as I did."
Quinn's gaze hardened. "I didn't ask for any of this."
> "Nor did I."
Silence again.
The shadows around Quinn began to rise, responding to his emotions—uncertainty, confusion, anger. They shaped themselves into spears, blades, and wolves with glowing eyes.
Startled, Quinn tried to will them away—and they vanished like smoke.
> "You control them… but only when you control yourself," Graxion said. "Lose focus, and they will consume you."
Quinn looked at the ring. "Why me?"
Graxion didn't answer immediately. Instead, he extended a hand.
> "Because your story is not written in blood… yet."
Quinn hesitated—then took it.
In an instant, visions surged through him: an ancient war, a shattered realm, the forging of the ring from the dying breath of a god. Graxion's screams. Kaen's betrayal. The void swallowing everything.
Then silence again.
When Quinn opened his eyes, he was back in the alley. The night air was cold. The ring pulsed gently on his finger.
But he was not the same boy who had entered that darkness.