Wrapped in the frozen, lightless night—
Kael Vieron walked through a ruined metal corridor, surrounded by the corroded remnants of a past long devoured by time. The air was cold, heavy, steeped in rust; every breath dragged in something foreign, as if this world no longer recognized him as its own.
He moved like a silhouette born from destruction itself, his steps steady beneath the dim blue-green lights flickering weakly along the walls. His eyes glowed red—not a blazing crimson, but a deep, muted red, like embers that refused to die.
Short black hair hung in disarray, strands falling across his eyes. His face was pale, flat, cold—like freshly forged steel. There was no anger there. No sorrow. Only an empty gaze, carrying the faint remnants of an old resolve.
He wore pitch-black tactical armor, traced with silver along the chest and legs—gear built to endure, not to impress. Draped over it was a dark crimson cloak, knee-length, its torn edges uneven, fluttering faintly with each step he took. Scars and gouges marked the armor's surface—wounds of the past that refused to fade.
In the narrow corridor, only his footsteps echoed—boots striking dusty metal, mingling with the distant hum of ancient systems still breathing their last. In that silence, Kael was a living shadow—the only thing still moving in a world long dead.
Courage… or perhaps the foolishness once called adventure—now reduced to a single ember, just enough to keep his soul from going dark.
What he sought was no longer glory, but life reclaimed from the fragments of his past—his comrades, those he loved, and the soldiers of The Silent Oath, buried beneath the ruins of time.
He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. But as someone who had always lived by calculated instinct, he knew well the unspoken rules that had guided him all his life.
Observe.
Analyze.
Feel.
Conclude.
Then act.
His steps slowed, then stopped in the middle of the dim corridor. The overhead lights flickered one by one, as if unsure whether they should remain lit.
"Before I go any further…" he murmured softly.
Kael narrowed his eyes. The red in his irises reflected drifting dust and dull metal. His gaze swept across every inch of space ahead.
"This corridor… it's too quiet," he said, almost whispering to himself. "I can feel it—something is hiding behind the silence."
Stillness.
So deep that he could hear his own heartbeat.
"If there's nothing here, I lose nothing," he continued. "But if there is—then I need to know… before it's too late."
Cold seeped beneath his long cloak, like the breath of a world already dead.
Kael ignored it. He straightened, held his breath for a moment—then stepped forward again.
One step.
His boot touched the floor.
RAKK!
Gravel and brittle debris crunched beneath his sole.
And in the instant that followed—something inside him trembled.
Kael's eyes flew wide. His breath caught.
Huh…!?
A wave of memories surged through him. Not a mere sensation—this was a detonation of the soul, a pulse that tore through time and flesh alike.
Wait… my leg!?
He tried to pull his foot back—but it wouldn't move. Even his body refused his command. As if time itself had frozen him in place, turning him into an eternal witness of a dead world.
GLITCH!
Fragments of corrupted code tore through the air, piercing walls and space alike. Pulses of warped light raced down the corridor, like electricity stripped of its path.
The once-empty passage… twisted.
Gkkrrhhhhh…
The ceiling screamed. Space itself shuddered, folding under the grip of something unseen.
Whoooommm… wuuuuummm…
The lights flickered in rhythms no human eye could follow.
And then—the world inverted.
ZrRkKTT—!!
A silent explosion of energy erupted; even the air seemed to crack.
…Wh…a…
Kael's vision spun—not in any ordinary sense, but across absolute time itself, as though his consciousness were being torn free from his body.
Swwwiirrr… whirr… thkkk…
My body… it won't move at all. Everything… feels heavy.
What's happening to me…? This space… is it warping?
His thoughts were trapped between two realities, devouring one another.
Then—
SKRREEEEAAAAAAACHHHH!!!
BOOOOMMM!!
Splasshhh!!!
The sounds came like a nightmare on repeat—screams, explosions, blood spilling.
Yet he could see nothing clearly—only shadows of what once existed, half-formed contours dancing within a fog of memory.
Slowly, the corridor changed.
It became a battlefield.
The ground was soaked in blood that existed somewhere between memory and reality.
Crying voices and crashing metal echoed from afar, reverberating through broken time.
Ting… ting… clang…
Kael frowned.
That sound…
A battle…!?
And suddenly—
CEPRAT!
Fresh blood splattered near his boots.
Warm.
Sticky.
Real.
He froze. His breath locked in his throat. His red eyes widened—not in fear, but in sudden realization.
The boundary between memory and reality had just collapsed.
Huhh—
Forcing himself, Kael raised his head. The movement was slow, stiff—like an ancient machine dragged back to life after millennia of sleep.
And ahead of him—a shadow began to take shape within the red mist.
His heart slammed against his chest, pounding as if trying to break free from his own body. His eyes widened, fixed on the corridor that had been completely transformed.
What had once been a dusty metal passage was now a battlefield of phantoms. Thin smoke veiled the air, flashes of light from explosions and clashing steel tearing through the haze.
There—mechanized soldiers in heavy armor, the emblem of Tyrak Megacorporation emblazoned on their shoulders, trading fire and steel with figures clad in black cloaks…
Cloaks just like his.
The Silent Oath.
Hunters in shadow. Assassins.
SHING!
SWOOSHH!
TING! TING!
DAR!
SHING!
The sounds of battle became a death-song without rhythm. Screams, detonations, and crashing steel danced together in a symphony of annihilation.
A scream tore through the air. Bodies fell like leaves in autumn—except these leaves burned, igniting before they ever touched the ground.
The forces of The Silent Oath appeared and vanished from the shadows, moving like lightning—smooth as spirits, their motions beyond the grasp of human sight.
Meanwhile, the Tyrak soldiers… broke into panic. Their steps collided, some dropping their weapons, others screaming the names of comrades who would never answer again. They ran as if chased by death itself—by something they had brought into existence with their own hands.
And in the midst of it all, Kael stood still within frozen time. His body unmoving, yet his soul was dragged along by a living flashback.
They're… not illusions…
Not a dream either. This is… the past of… the shadow war?
Kael's voice echoed emptily, as if it no longer had a place to return to.
Then—everything vanished.
Not fading away, but cut off abruptly, like a television broadcast switching channels without warning.
The light died. And the world changed once more.
Now he stood within a darkness that was more than the absence of light—it was meaningful nothingness.
A boundless space.
No sky. No ground.
Only a vast pool of black water stretching as far as the eye could see, rippling softly when he tried to move.
He could walk.
Yet his steps made no sound, as if he were no longer standing in reality—but upon the reflection of a world already dead.
Kael raised his hands, staring at his palms, now faint—transparent, like reflections on glass.
I can move freely now… but they're… gone.
He lifted his head, searching for direction, but there was only silence. No sound. No wind.
As if… my existence is being forcibly diverted from a data system designed to be inaccessible to anyone.
His own words echoed back, breaking apart like ripples on water.
A few seconds later—his vision returned.
But something was different. The world was tinted in unfamiliar colors, as though his eyes were now seeing through senses that did not belong to him.
I… feel different. What I'm feeling right now… isn't mine.
He fell silent. A new awareness crept in.
Because… this is a truth that was never meant to be seen.
Unbelievable…
GLITCH!
The corridor returned, accompanied by a low rumble—like a world forced to breathe again. Dim light dripped from the ceiling lamps, but the air was no longer the same.
Kael looked around. The wounds still lingered—unseen, yet unmistakable. The remnants of battle had settled like emotions that refused to die.
And he walked. Unconsciously.
One step… two steps…
Then—the world collapsed again.
Not changed, but made more real than before. As if the illusion now demanded to be acknowledged as truth.
From the far end of the corridor, footsteps echoed. Slow at first—then multiplying.
Dozens of Tyrak soldiers ran toward him—scattering without direction, fleeing from something they couldn't explain.
Their faces were pale, eyes wide with panic. Some fell, rose again, only to fall once more.
"Another change…?" Kael whispered, his eyes narrowing.
He couldn't believe such a vision could repeat itself. And yet this time… something was different.
"Help…!"
"Help…!"
"Don't let that woman—!"
"She's… not human…!"
Their voices—those screams—were filled with raw terror, like final cries before drowning.
They ran past Kael without seeing him. As if he were nothing more than a shadow among them.
And from within the dark mist at the end of the corridor—the Assassins emerged once more. Clad in black, sliding out from walls, from shadows, from the seams of the world itself.
But this time… among them stood one figure unlike any other.
A woman.
Draped in a long black cloak that enveloped her entire body, the fabric swaying softly as if absorbing the surrounding light. A hood concealed her face, leaving only pale, unsmiling lips visible—and a small red triangular symbol on her left cheek, pulsing faintly like a living wound.
From her body radiated an aura that was cold and sharp—not like ice… but like a void that devoured all warmth and life.
Kael stared at her without blinking. In that silence, a single realization crawled through his mind—
…That wasn't fear.
That was… hatred wrapped in emptiness.
And he knew—whatever he was witnessing now was not merely the past. It was a memory that refused to die, and was now staring back at him.
Kael's entire body tensed. His blood felt as though it had stopped flowing.
Who… is that?
The words escaped him softly, as if not meant for anyone at all.
His eyes never left the cloaked figure—now standing alone in the center of fractured time.
Kael watched her with uncertainty. Not because he was afraid, but because of the deep, invasive unfamiliarity gnawing at him, as if every sense he possessed rejected what it was seeing.
My emotions… are dead. And my body… is telling me she's someone to stay away from.
He drew in a deep breath. The air felt heavy. Yet beneath it, something inside him… resonated.
But that symbol…
His gaze narrowed onto the small red triangle on her left cheek—a simple mark, yet one that felt like an ancient wound torn open once more.
He didn't recognize her face. But his body recognized that strange frequency—the vibration that had once been etched into his very soul, far back in an age when humans and machines still shared the same breath.
And in that very instant—time stopped.
All sound vanished.
Tyrak soldiers, Assassins, screams, even the dust suspended in the air… froze within a single breath.
One by one, they stiffened—then slowly turned to stone, like statues carved from cold ash by the hand of terror itself.
Only the woman still moved.
She drew her blade. The motion was slow, elegant—yet carried no mercy. From beneath her black hood, her gaze pierced through every layer of space. Direct. Deep. Unshakable.
No sound left her lips, yet inside Kael's mind, a gentle whisper rang with terrifying clarity:
Keep running… lost child.
And Kael—heard it. In a way he could not even begin to understand.
His hand rose slowly. Not out of hope… but from a fear he never had time to name.
Then—the woman froze as well. Like a world that had once tried to swallow her whole.
Everything stopped.
Silence. Absolute.
(...)
(...)
Time stood still, and space held its breath.
Explosions, screams, the chaos of war—erased without a trace, as though deleted from the memory of the universe itself.
Yet the shadows of the past did not disappear. They changed form.
The dark corridor was now filled with statues—not of stone, but of people frozen in their final moments of suffering.
Tyrak soldiers locked in terror. Assassins halted mid-strike.
One screaming.
One stabbing.
One running.
One falling.
Time… had hardened them into artifacts, embodiments of a tragedy no longer comprehensible to humanity.
And among them—the woman. Still standing at the center of the corridor. Her black cloak hung motionless, like a curtain of death. Her hood had slipped just enough for Kael to see half her face—pale, silent, with an empty gaze that spoke nothing, yet pressed upon the soul like the weight of an entire world.
Kael stepped forward, slowly.
His footsteps barely sounded among the statues. He walked between petrified screams, passing echoes of the past that still throbbed faintly in the air.
"All of you… shouldn't be here. And yet… you are manifestations of pain I chose to witness," he continued. "The will to live… is not the only thing worth protecting. To pity the wrong thing… is a form of failure."
"And what I see now… is precisely why they were consumed by the chaos they created themselves."
His words felt heavy, as if sinking through thick water. Even his own voice sounded foreign—like an echo sent far away, descending into a depth no one could reach.
His eyes never left the woman. She still stood there, blade drawn toward the Tyrak statues, as if issuing a final command destined to remain unfinished forever.
Kael moved closer. Calm. Gentle. As though every step was taken along the edge of the world.
Until he stopped—right before the tip of her blade.
Between them, there was only the distance of a single breath.
And there—Kael noticed it.
A small, ambiguous movement in her left hand.
"Hmm…?"
Unlike her right hand, tense and directed forward, her left hand formed the number seven.
A silent signal—pointing toward the deepest darkness at the end of the corridor. Kael frowned. Not out of suspicion… but understanding.
"You're trying to guide me… to go there, aren't you?"
He knew the gesture wasn't accidental. He knew that direction wasn't a trap.
He took two more steps forward, closing the distance until barely a breath separated them. And in a low voice—almost a whisper meant only for himself—
"I step forward not because I'm afraid. I look not because I don't care—but because I challenge what you've shown me. And just as I suspected… you are not merely an evil shadow of the past."
He wasn't guessing. He wasn't assuming.
He felt it.
The resonance was alive—merging with the rhythm of his own heartbeat. An unseen pressure, speaking not in words, but through the smallest of signs.
Kael turned his gaze toward where the woman's hand pointed. A faint light at the end of the corridor flickered softly, as if responding to a call without sound.
And while still looking at her, he spoke quietly—his voice almost a prayer, or perhaps a warning:
"Very well… if this is all that remains of you, then show me the buried truth. I'll dig it out—even if it costs me my life. You… you may be the one trying to save me from the future. And the most dangerous silence of your soul… reminds me of who I am."
Kael's voice was low—almost a murmur, battered by the frozen air. Yet within the corridor's silence, those words echoed… crossing distance, as if time itself had paused to listen.
The sharpness in his gaze softened. He looked at the woman in the black cloak without anger, without fear. Only a quiet acknowledgment—that amid the ruins of the past, something was still alive.
An intent.
"For an existence like mine… an assassin," he continued. "The past, the present, and the future… are nothing more than patterns anyone can rewrite."
His voice trembled faintly, yet it carried conviction.
"And that is precisely why… I can see you here now."
Among the petrified shadows, his breath felt like the only thing still moving. He lowered his head slightly, then allowed a faint smile to form—not a happy one, but the kind that accepts something inevitable.
"I believe that even for someone like you, there must be a way… to say that you're still alive. And you—you know that way."
His right hand slowly reached out, touching her right shoulder. It wasn't a sentimental gesture, nor an attempt at comfort. It was a deep acknowledgment: that the two of them were bound by a single timeline—one that had been torn apart, yet never truly severed.
The touch was warm. Or perhaps only the illusion of something once called life.
"Good… if this is what you wanted to tell me," Kael murmured, his voice nearly swallowed by the fog hanging in the air.
"Then I'll move forward. Even if what lies ahead is nothing but wounds and ruin—I'll keep walking."
He drew in a slow breath and met her gaze one last time.
"If I die today, I won't thank you. But… if I survive, then I will."
After that, Kael straightened. His steps were slow, but each one landed like a hammer striking the heart of a world long dead.
His cloak swayed gently, casting dark shadows that devoured the faint reflections of light along the metal walls.
And the woman… remained where she stood. Frozen in place, yet somehow, impossibly, it felt as though she were still watching him from beneath that black hood.
――Ten minutes passed.
Or perhaps a hundred years. No one could tell. In a place like this, time was nothing more than the echo of something already worn away.
The corridor stretched on without end. Its walls trembled faintly, like the breath of some ancient creature sleeping beneath the world. Then, little by little… the space narrowed, becoming something akin to an ancient cavern, where cable-like roots dangled from above, pulsing weakly like veins.
And at last—Kael reached the end.
A massive fissure yawned open in the wall.
A rift nearly three meters wide, spilling forth an unnatural golden light—as though piercing the boundary between this world and something far above reality itself.
The light wasn't blinding, but warm… and within each shimmer, Kael could see memories that refused to fade.
Faces, battles, whispers—everything danced inside like fragments of a corrupted film, replayed thousands of times. Yet beneath its beauty, there was something calling to him—calm, absolute.
"Hm…" Kael murmured, staring at the rift with a heavy yet resolute gaze. "Looks like I've reached the end of this corridor."
He lifted his hand slightly, touching the air before. Its surface rippled softly like water, reflecting his silhouette in radiant gold.
"There's no other path," he said quietly. "If she showed this as the 'way'… then I can't stop just because I fear the strangeness my eyes perceive."
Kael took a single step forward.
"I don't care what happens next," he continued, his voice soft but firm. "All I want… amid these thoughts buried beneath fragments of memory… is to know the answer."
And in the very next instant—Kael passed through.
His body was gently drawn into the flow of golden light, like a fallen leaf welcomed by a calm sea. There was no explosion. No sound. Only silence, swallowing everything whole.
The corridor returned to emptiness. The statues of the past remained frozen, as if nothing had ever moved there.
Kael was gone.
Yet within that quiet space, the golden light continued to pulse faintly—leaving behind a trace, like the final heartbeat of something that refused to perish.
He didn't know what secret awaited him beyond that light. He knew only one thing:
That he… was still alive, even though the world had long since rejected him.
And among all that could not be explained, a single sentence drifted through his mind—not a prayer, not a resolve, but a kind of silent promise to himself:
Every choice is a knot at the end of a rope.
And whether that rope binds the past—or sets it free...
…I will keep running, until I find the question even I am afraid to ask.
The light consumed everything. The world slowly faded away. Yet for a few lingering seconds within it, his consciousness drifted between light and darkness, as if cast onto the far side of his own mind.
***