Lyam was already nearing the age of seven, while his sister was three. Soon, he would have to start school. If he said he was excited about it, he would be lying. In his past life, he had lived twenty-two years, and the idea of going back to school felt like a waste of time. Even so, he recognized that perhaps there he could find new knowledge. In this world, education was a privilege, and knowledge was carefully restricted: only those who excelled could access higher-level institutions.
For now, that was a problem for the future. In the present, Lyam spent his time entertaining his sister while their mother worked at the local clinic. She often brought them along, and with the help of others, they were cared for during the day. His mother was very beloved in the village; everyone greeted her with respect and affection. Lyam, who had always been stoic and indifferent to displays of affection, was beginning to get used to that warmth. His little sister, in particular, had managed to soften him: a small girl who barely let go of him, following him everywhere. At first, it was annoying, but little by little, he had grown fond of her.
That day, the clinic was particularly crowded. His mother moved from one side to another, attending to patients, while Lyam sat with his sister on his lap, telling her a story. By now, Alpha had managed to restore most of his memory. Though he still didn't know exactly how he had arrived in this place, he also didn't understand what had happened to all the physical mass that made up Alpha's brain. We're talking about an enormous amount of processing capacity that had simply vanished, but Alpha seemed to function properly nonetheless. However, within his memory were many useful things—for example, many stories and children's tales that he now used to soothe his little sister. After all, in this world, there didn't seem to be a well-developed entertainment industry, unlike Earth, where it could be considered one of society's largest industries.
Everything was proceeding normally until, suddenly, a distant sound broke the tranquility. They were emergency sirens.
Lyam didn't recognize them immediately, but the expressions of the adults were enough to warn him of the danger. The alarms had a sharp, sustained tone, a metallic echo that seemed to bounce off the walls, carrying a sense of urgency. Shortly after, he heard distant explosions, and a subtle tremor ran through the ground.
His mother took him by the hand while carrying his sister. "Lyam, come with me. Don't get separated," she said firmly, though her voice trembled slightly.
The clinic filled with screams and confusion. People ran out in a panic, some crying, others pushing. The air filled with dust and the metallic scent of fear. Lyam managed to remain calm despite the situation and realized that things seemed serious. The ground shook lightly, the streets were in chaos, people screamed—panic and crowds were never a good combination.
His mother dragged her children until they reached their house. "Hurry," she ordered. "Grab some clothes, some food, and what your sister needs. We have to leave now."
Lyam didn't waste time. Feeling the urgency in his mother's voice, he quickly packed a backpack with what she had told him and then threw extra clothes and provisions into his shadow, hiding them for later. Although keeping objects there consumed ether, his breathing technique allowed him to store them indefinitely as long as he didn't overload the space.
When they came outside, a vehicle stopped in front of the house. His father was at the wheel, his face hardened. "Get in, quickly. We need to evacuate."
His mother placed the little girl in the back seat, and Lyam climbed in beside her. The engine roared with a low hum, powered by an unknown energy source. The sky was tinged with reddish hues; the sun was setting, and the three moons were beginning to rise.
Then they heard it.
A sound that froze the blood of everyone present: a deep, low roar, impossible to mistake for anything human. It was a mix between the cracking of dry branches and the scream of a dying animal, a bellow that distorted as if coming from multiple places at once. It resonated in their chests, vibrating with an intensity that made their bones tremble. It wasn't just a sound—it was a presence.
Seconds later, a deafening crash shook the ground. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop. In the distance, at the entrance to the village, a colossal figure emerged from the smoke and fire. It had a humanoid shape, but its body was unnaturally elongated, covered in grayish skin stretched tight over its bones. From its back jutted black, branch-like protrusions, twisted toward the sky. Its arms were disproportionately long, ending in claws that gleamed under the moonlight.
The creature raised one of its limbs and slammed it down violently on the nearby buildings. The impact destroyed entire houses, sending waves of dust and debris through the air. The flames reflected in its sunken eyes—two incandescent points that moved with savage intelligence.
The silence lasted only a second before the screams of despair filled the air. Lyam watched, petrified, as the creature slowly advanced toward the heart of the village, leaving behind a trail of ruin and hopelessness.
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The vehicle sped through the streets; his father seemed to know the city well and took the least crowded routes. There weren't many vehicles in this town anyway, and at that moment everyone seemed to be using them for the same purpose—to evacuate. Lyam had seen cars before and often wondered how they worked, since there didn't seem to be anything like gasoline, but there was no time to think about that now.
They traveled until they reached the northern edge of the town, where there appeared to be a small garrison. Soldiers and volunteers ran back and forth, all wearing the same uniform as his father. Amid the smoke and chaos, vehicles could be seen unloading civilians, the wounded, and supplies. The air was thick with tension, but there was still an attempt to maintain order amid the disaster.
Lyam's father took them to a spot where families were being gathered for evacuation and, after making sure his wife and children were safe, went over to a group of uniformed men. One of them, a man with a stern face and authoritative bearing, seemed to be in command.
Lyam, though far away, could hear part of the conversation. His hearing was sharper than anyone would imagine for a child his age."We can't contain them," said the deep-voiced man. "Too many wounded, too many people. The priority is evacuation. Five more minutes, then we leave.""And the support units?" asked his father."No response," replied the superior, frowning as he looked toward the horizon. "There's no communication from the central base. That thing…" he paused, swallowing hard, "doesn't stop. It's like nothing affects it."
Lyam's father nodded, his face hardening. "Understood, Captain. We'll hold the perimeter until everyone is out."The superior placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do what you can, Daren. But if it gets close, don't try to be a hero."
Lyam watched in silence, understanding more than anyone would think. That conversation only confirmed what he already suspected: there was no hope of stopping that creature. The strategy was simple—buy time, sacrifice what was necessary to allow others to escape.
Lyam tried to stay calm, but the situation was becoming increasingly chaotic. The explosions continued to rumble in the distance as soldiers organized the civilians, lining up buses and large vehicles to begin the evacuation. The lines moved slowly, amid shouting, orders, and crying. His mother kept Lyam and his sister close, her face tense but trying to appear strong for them. The little girl clung to her mother with tears in her eyes, too frightened to speak.
His father appeared soon after, covered in dust, and ushered them onto one of the buses. "Don't get separated." Then he went to the front. Other people—mostly women and children—climbed aboard as well, along with several soldiers, and once the bus was full, it started moving, along with others that were also packed to the limit.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Lyam was leaving his hometown. He looked out the window in silence as the vehicle moved forward. Despite the danger, the steady movement and the hum of the engines gave him a false sense of calm. Still, his mind kept racing: what exactly was that creature? Why were they fleeing instead of fighting? If magic existed, couldn't they face it with power? On Earth, a being of that size would be taken down with heavy artillery or missiles, right?
The convoy moved along a road that bordered a mountain. It was wide enough for several vehicles to pass, though to the left there was a deep cliff, and to the right rose the rocky wall of the mountain. The journey went on in tense silence, broken only by the murmur of the wind and the hum of engines.
Suddenly, a dull thud sounded in the distance, followed by a metallic crash. It sounded as if a vehicle had slammed into a wall. The bus braked sharply, jolting everyone in their seats."What was that?" someone asked with a trembling voice.
No one answered. Lyam's father and several soldiers quickly got off, and within seconds, there were screams—and explosions.
Chaos erupted again. Lyam's mother grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him down while holding his sister in her arms. The noise was deafening: guttural roars, the wet sound of tearing flesh, and the crackle of fire.
A soldier burst into the bus. "Quickly! Evacuate through the rear exit! This vehicle is too close to the front—you need to move!"
The emergency doors opened, and the passengers began to rush out. Lyam's mother picked up his sister and pulled him along with her other hand, pushing through the crowd. At that moment, Lyam turned toward the front... and saw them.
Creatures.
They were like insects and mammals fused into a nightmare. Some were barely a meter and a half tall, with segmented bodies covered in a dark, tar-like substance that dripped onto the ground. They had multiple eyes and thin limbs ending in claws. Others were enormous, three or four meters tall, with spined backs and mouths that opened vertically, revealing rows of uneven teeth. Moving with unnatural agility, they lunged at the soldiers.
And among them, one beast larger than the rest roared. Its body was armored with an organic shell, and a long tail smashed into the ground with force, shattering the asphalt.
The soldiers responded with magic and fire. One raised his arm, summoning a torrent of flames that engulfed several of the creatures. Another thrust his spear into the ground, causing pillars of stone to rise and impale nearby enemies. Bursts of energy and explosions lit up the night.
In the midst of the battle, Lyam saw his father. His feet trembled against the ground as he extended both hands. The earth answered his call—it rose and shaped into spikes that impaled one of the larger creatures. With a gesture, he raised a wall of rock that stopped the charge of three more, and then, with a roar of effort, hurled it forward like a wave of stone that crushed everything in its path.
The scene was overwhelming—a spectacle of destruction and power. Fire, rock, wind, and blood mingled under the moons. Lyam, paralyzed, understood for the first time the true magnitude of blessings and the danger of the creatures that inhabited that world.
The two buses at the front had been crushed in the sudden attack, reduced to twisted heaps of metal and smoke. The vehicles behind, however, still held; soldiers ran forward, trying to reinforce the line, while the screams of civilians echoed along the road. The air smelled of fear, gunpowder, and burnt flesh.
The people from Lyam's bus—mostly women and children—were led farther back, away from the fighting. The chaos was absolute. Amid the pushing and crying, Lyam became separated from his mother. It was just a second—a sudden movement in the crowd—and suddenly he found himself alone, surrounded by strangers. He could have used his blessing to return to her, to disappear into the shadows and reappear safely, but he didn't. He still didn't know the rules of this world or the consequences of revealing what he could do at his age. He couldn't take that risk... not yet.
From the mountain, the creatures continued descending like a dark tide. Each one pushed the soldiers and civilians closer to the edge of the cliff. The screams mixed with the crack of spells and the sound of breaking bones. Smoke covered everything.
And then, something broke through the line.
One of the beasts, smaller than the others but just as terrifying, leaped over the barricade created by the soldiers and fell among the civilians. It was just over a meter and a half tall, with thick skin and tense muscles; its claws gleamed, stained with fresh blood. In the blink of an eye, two people were torn apart—literally, a single swipe of one of its claws was enough to shred two people in its path, and a third was split in half by the beast's jaws. It didn't stop to devour its victims; instead, it seemed bloodthirsty—thirsty to kill everything in its way.
Lyam froze. In his previous life, he had never seen anything like it. He had read about wars, about human atrocities… but this was different. This was real. The wet sound of torn flesh, the smell of iron, the screams. For the first time, he understood what true terror was.
The creature kept moving forward. Each step was a dull thud, its breathing harsh, and the roar it emitted mixed with the cries of the crowd. But then, the world seemed to stop.
Not far away, among the fleeing crowd, a brown-haired woman fell to the ground next to a small girl. People pushed past them unknowingly, trampling them in their desperation.
Lyam's heart skipped a beat. His mother. And his sister.
He felt something break inside him. His breathing quickened; his hands trembled, and his mind filled with noise. Part of him wanted to run, to disappear, to pretend he hadn't seen it. It was logical. He couldn't do anything. He was a child, weak, without strength, without weapons. What could he possibly do? If he ran forward, he would die in seconds. And yet… another part of him, one he didn't recognize, screamed for him to move."They won't make it in time…" he muttered through his teeth, seeing the guards running from the front.
His brain searched for reasons to stay still. The soldiers could handle it. He could survive. If he died, what was the point of everything he had learned? Everything he had achieved so far?
But the creature had already turned its head. It saw them—his mother, his sister. His family had become the next target. And it began to move.
Lyam swallowed hard. His body wouldn't respond, but the terror turned into something denser, something that burned in his chest. He thought of his mother, his sister. Of the fear in their eyes.
An inner voice silenced everything: If you do nothing… they'll die.
Lyam had become quite skilled at using his blessing. He could be considered a perfectionist—he did everything meticulously. He had measured the maximum time he could remain within the shadows, the margin of error between jump and jump, and his body's reactions to overuse. He had even realized he could use Alpha's processing system to enhance all his senses and calculation abilities in real time, but it was a state he couldn't maintain for long, as it would end up causing him a terrible headache. But this moment was no time for hesitation.
In barely an instant, he calculated the creature's arrival time and his own if he used his blessing. The result was clear: he wouldn't make it. The beast was too fast, and his mother was too close.
Lyam clenched his fists. He didn't think anymore.
He moved. He did it with everything he had, with every drop of energy his body could produce. His mind screamed warnings, but his body no longer listened. Maybe he would die, but the memories of his mother wouldn't fade. It had only been four years since he had met her, but that was enough to fill a void he had never realized he had… and he wasn't willing to lose it.
As he moved, he didn't notice it, but his soul—or something within it—began to heat up. It wasn't like before; this time, he felt another presence, something latent awakening inside him. It was as if a second soul, one that had always been asleep, had begun to stir.
Lyam ignored the sensation. He pressed on.
Walking through shadows—that was what he had called this technique. Being in that state deprived him of his senses, but he could feel everything: silhouettes, heat, movement. It was like a surrounding radar, a sixth sense, and no matter how hard he tried, his calculations were still the same—he wouldn't make it in time.
His mother and sister were seconds away from being reached.
Lyam's heart pounded so hard it hurt. Desperation mixed with a cold clarity. He couldn't save them if he thought too much.
Something burst inside his head. It was a familiar sensation, like when he first awakened his blessing: a surge of energy, an unknown impulse, a certainty.
And he acted.
He emerged from the shadows. He was still meters away, but his body moved on instinct. Lyna—his mother—was clutching her daughter tightly, covering her eyes. She had already accepted her fate; she only hoped her body could serve as a shield.
Lyam took a step, pushing against the ground, and vanished. He didn't return to the shadows as usual—this was different. There was no fading, no enveloping darkness; he simply ceased to be. A blink. In one instant, he was far away, and in the next, right beside the creature.
The momentum carried through. The air vibrated when his foot touched the ground, and his fist clenched tightly. He remembered every strike, every training session, every frustration. But this time, it wasn't training. There was fear, fury, and a feeling he couldn't name.
He struck.
The impact thundered. The creature was hurled backward, dragging the air with it. It didn't have time to defend itself; the blow caught it off guard and sent it crashing directly into the cliffside.
Lyam barely had time to breathe before feeling something cold and slimy wrap around his abdomen. A tentacle—one of the beast's appendages—had reached him."No…!" he managed to say, but it was useless.
The pull was brutal. His body was dragged along with the creature toward the edge. The pressure choked him; his vision blurred. He tried to use his blessing, but it didn't respond. Neither his body nor his soul obeyed.
The last image he saw before falling was his mother's face, eyes wide in horror, screaming his name as she watched him disappear into the darkness of the abyss.