The sky over this city has been dead for a long time. It no longer shows beauty, no longer bears the name that was once exalted.
Beneath the dark crimson heavens, the burned-out skeleton of the city looms like the bones of a colossal corpse left behind. Communication towers hang helplessly, resembling twisted crosses, while a half-collapsed suspension bridge bares its broken jaws above a canyon choked with dust and tangled cables.
Cracked concrete, rusted steel, and the frame of a skyscraper once called Nirvana—now staring into the empty sky like a giant skeleton repenting its own sins.
There is no more bustle. The streets have turned into a barren desert, where even the clouds refuse to linger, as if they despise gazing upon ruins that once stood in grandeur.
Now, this city is nothing more than fragments of memory—buried, drowned, swallowed by destruction.
Yet beyond the rubble, deep within the city's belly, a silent space remains hidden—a place that still pulses with a faint rhythm, like the last breath of civilization.
Its walls are old, dust-laden concrete, overgrown with creeping wild plants, thick moss, and Noctilis flowers with bluish-purple petals that refuse to die, even after the world itself has consented to its own annihilation. Aged cables stretch across cracked walls, concealing emergency lights that blink in slow rhythm, dancing among elongated shadows.
Along the chamber, dull steel laboratory tables stand in silence, their surfaces layered with dust-coated beakers, test tubes chipped at the edges, and obsolete analysis devices whose indicator lights have long gone dark. Yellowed documents lie scattered across floors and desks—handwritten notes with fading ink, half-peeled medical diagrams, and technical symbols that have lost their meaning amid the collapse of time.
Leaning metal shelves support open storage cases, revealing micro-surgical tools, synthetic neural cables, and portable cooling modules that have not been touched in ages. Several monitor screens hang crooked on the walls, cracked and lifeless, as though still waiting for a final command that will never come.
And at the center of the room—within coils of cold mist—a cryostasis capsule stands upright, intact. Frost clings to its silvery surface, reflecting the dim light like a silver sarcophagus upon a sacred tomb's altar.
Thin fog creeps around the base of the capsule, slipping between fractured concrete tiles, sand, and shards of glass, wrapping it in a silence that feels deliberate—as though this entire room, with all its remnants of knowledge and ambition, was built for one purpose alone: to keep a single existence asleep, waiting for a time that was never promised.
Inside the cryostasis capsule, the body of a young man lies frozen—still, imprisoned by time.
His black hair is messy, framing a pale, sleeping face. A long dark-red combat coat still drapes over his body—its edges torn, stiff with ice. Beneath it, black-silver armor covers him in sharp yet elegant lines—a hybrid design, blending the protection of a classic warrior with the tactical technology of a bygone era.
Residual static energy still trembles faintly along his belt and shoulder guards, a sign that the systems within have not completely died—only fallen asleep.
He is the last assassin of The Silent Oath, lying motionless amid the remnants of the past. Once, he was the most feared weapon in the shadows of secret wars. Now, all that remains is a legend—a tale of a defector who refused to kneel before the world's lies.
His steps once toppled regimes, yet in the end, they brought ruin with them until everything fell.
Now, only the ruins of Nirvana and silence remain, wrapping him like a shroud over a wound that never healed.
But not long after….
Within that petrified stillness, a faint pulse slowly spreads—a signal, ancient and violet, seeping through the network beneath the floor, alive like a breathing organism.
A system awakens.
The world trembles softly.
The air tightens, as if holding its breath.
Then, the voice arrives.
Not a human voice. Nor the voice of a living being. Only an echo—a low wave resonating through every fragment of metal, piercing air and flesh alike, striking dormant systems to rouse them from their eternal sleep.
At first, it is only a faint hum. Then it slowly becomes a whisper—thousands of voices converging into a single frequency, hissing between electric vibrations and the cold breath of machines.
It is time… to awaken, Kael.
The voice is deep and layered, like an echo from beneath the world itself, vibrating through bone and shaking the air. Not merely a call—but a command that pierces the boundary between life and death.
Deep within the dark void of his mind, Kael hears it, yet can only question who he truly is.
Kael…?
Outside, one by one, systems slowly come back online—not only within that chamber, but throughout the buried networks beneath the city.
"Power restored_online…"
The echo of a resurrected system.
Dim lights flicker across the ruins, then ignite.
The glass surface of the cryostasis capsule pulses rhythmically in a vivid violet glow.
"Cryo Subject #003_Alive—"
"…Integrity: 71%…"
"…Capability: 21%…"
"…Energy: 0%…"
"…Memory: 10%…"
"Access granted… recovery system initiated…"
The system that had guarded his body for hundreds of years begins to function again, slowly restoring his consciousness.
The temperature inside the capsule rises. Layers of ice melt, releasing thin mist that clings to the glass as fresh oxygen is pumped in.
His heart beats again. Slow. Labored. But real.Proof that he is still alive.
THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD...
An utterly impossible rhythm—one that should never have existed in a dead world.
"Cryo Subject #003… Cryostasis protocol successful. Elapsed time: 450 years, 7 months, 14 days."
He hears the words, but does not understand them. He doesn't know their meaning, nor who he is. All he knows—he should have been… dead long ago.
Amid it all… his fingers twitch, slowly, leaving faint streaks across the protective glass.
Then, his eyes open—slowly, decisively, defying fate.
Kael coughs violently as the capsule opens and freezing air slams into his lungs.
"Uhhhk—khhkk—!"
His breaths come broken, his muscles burning as if on fire. He writhes weakly, gripping the capsule's edge, forcing himself upright even as his body shakes uncontrollably.
The world around him blurs, a shrill ringing filling his ears.
He takes a step forward—his knees barely able to support him.
CRASH!
""K-gehkkhh…!"
He slams into the hard floor, face-first into dust and sand that sting his nose.
Panting heavily, he tries to stand again, bearing a weight that feels like iron fused to every joint.
""So heavy… every part of my body…."
But giving up has never been an option.
He forces his legs to move, his body trembling as bones and muscles long asleep struggle to remember how to carry the weight of the world.
His balance doesn't last. His step falters, and his body lurches right, crashing into a large research table beside him—an old metal table coated in dust and shattered glass.
"A—ghrr—!"
Metal screeches softly as the impact shifts the table, carving a trail through the dust on the floor. The shelves behind it rattle, spilling cracked glass tubes that shatter beneath his feet.
Kael collapses into a half-seated position, both hands reflexively gripping the table's edge—his fingers digging into thick dust, using it as support to keep his body from completely giving way.
His breathing stutters. His chest feels tight, lungs as though they are learning to draw in the cold air of an unfamiliar world for the first time. In his eyes, reflections of the ruined laboratory slowly take shape—echoes of a past buried beneath time.
As if his own body still cannot believe that he… is alive.
"Unbelievable…" His voice is faint, mixed with ragged breath and a chill that cuts to the bone.
"I'm… still alive?"
He swallows, trying to steady his pulse. Every breath feels like lungs relearning their purpose after centuries entombed in ice. His body trembles—not merely from the cold, but from the confusion gripping his mind.
Around him, the world remains mute. No human voices. No machine sounds.
Only ruins—and the whisper of wind slipping through cracks in shattered structures, hissing softly as if mocking his presence. Like a curse flowing through broken walls, calling his name… or perhaps demanding it.
He closes his eyes for a moment, bracing against the swirl of dizziness crushing his nerves. Then he slowly shakes his head, trying to dispel the fog poisoning his awareness.
"Calm yourself. Control the rhythm. Focus… stabilize your vision."
"This dizziness… is nothing more than an illusion born of weakness." He murmurs softly, like a mantra to keep his mind intact.
When his eyes open again, the world before him begins to take shape. Still blurred, but no longer distorted. Resolve slowly seeps back into him, rekindling the remnants of pride that have yet to die.
""Good… this is enough for now… I can feel it starting to return… the difference… and… life."
He draws a long, deep breath—its end trembling.
"…This isn't just a fairy tale. Nor is it an ending… It feels like a page erased, then written over again. This isn't death… this is rebirth, in a world that's already dead."
""Did I… change my fate? But…" Kael squints slightly at the cryostasis chamber. "I don't remember ever being put inside something like this."
Once more, silence grips him—without answers. Absolute quiet. His hearing has returned, yet no sound reaches him; only a hollow echo inside his own head.
"Could it be… someone saved me? Or…" His words trail off as something stirs in his chest—an unfamiliar gratitude, or perhaps a fear far older than that.
His gaze drifts around the room, his breathing still heavy. "Just this suffocating dwelling. The atmosphere here… it really wears me down."
The room is empty—empty like a womb of ruin that has swallowed every trace of humanity that once stood within it.
Then—
Something steals his attention. His eyes sharpen. Ten o'clock direction.
"Huh? Wild grass…? And flowers… is that Noctilis?"
His eyes widen. He holds his breath. Doubt.
"That can't be… In a place this bad. They're alive…?"
But reality does not shout. Reality simply… exists.
From cracks in the fractured concrete floor, amid damp rubble and corrosion, dark bluish petals glow—radiating a soft violet light that refuses to fade, as if defying every law of logic that should govern this place.
Noctilis.
Kael lowers himself, observing them more closely, slowly—as though afraid to disturb a miracle.
"They endured… even in a world that's already collapsed. Like hope… that refuses to die."
For a moment, his heart trembles. A feeling—admiration, tinged with bitterness—wells up as he looks at them.
"I suppose… some remnant of Aetherial energy protected them. Preserving… a fragment of hope… eternal."
But at that very moment—
His right hand begins to shake violently.
He stares at it in confusion, then slowly raises it before his face—the armored plating and black sleeve encasing his arm trembling, metal softly clinking against metal.
"What is this…? Why is my hand shaking on its own—"
Heat creeps up from beneath layers of steel and thick fabric, spreading to his wrist. His breath catches. With stiff, sluggish movements—as if his body resists even the smallest effort—he unhooks the arm guard. The metal armor drops to the floor with a dull clang, ignored, followed by the black sleeve slipping off and pooling beside his foot.
Cold air kisses his bare skin.
A thin vapor rises, slowly—like something long asleep has just awakened. He turns his palm over.
And there—no wound, no tattoo.
An unfamiliar seal is etched into the back of his right hand. Its lines are sharp and symmetrical, resembling a faceless mask stretched downward into shapes like a key's teeth embedded in flesh.
A brilliant golden light pulses within it—not shimmering, but rippling—moving slowly, like waves confined within its own form. The lines are not completely still; they overlap, intersect, subtly shifting, as though the seal itself is breathing in time with Kael's breath.
This is not natural light.
It feels more like a consciousness—staring back from the depths of his flesh and soul. The golden ripples continue to move, gentle yet piercing, as if something is calling from a depth untouched by time.
That symbol… feels as though it knows him.
Not through sight—but through something deeper, as if a part of his soul whispers softly, 'I have been waiting for you.'
His eyes widen, pupils trembling faintly.
"What… kind of symbol is this?" he murmurs, as if afraid his voice might shatter the silence.
"As far as I remember… I never had a mark like this before."
He lowers his gaze, brow furrowed, eyes wavering between uncertainty and the dim, rippling gold on his hand. Nothing about it feels familiar. There is no memory he can tether to that pattern. It feels as though the seal was born from the emptiness of time itself—time that has stolen his history.
He exhales softly. "…What really happened to me?" His voice sinks into the static hum of cables and metal around him.
His hand drifts to his temple, tracing the faint pulse within his skull. There is no pain—only a hollow echo reverberating inside himself.
His breathing wavers, yet his body remains still, as though trying to comprehend a world that has already rejected him.
"My head…? It's fine. My organs feel normal too…" he says quietly, more to convince himself than to state a fact.
He releases a long breath, then looks back at the symbol. The golden light reflects softly in his eyes—pulsing, breathing, like something alive. Each flicker speaks in a language only his soul can understand.
He lifts his gaze to the cracked ceiling. Shards of metal hang like frozen veins of the world, trembling whenever sparks of electricity pass through.
"This place…" he murmurs, "...it feels so familiar. But where? Why can't I remember it?"
There is no answer. Only the echo of time that stopped long ago. His memory refuses to name it, as if this place is a sin that must never be spoken again.
"The only thing I remember…" He lowers his head, his voice breaking at the end. "Everything was destroyed… died along with everything I ever believed in."
Silence swallows the remnants of his breath. Yet as his awareness slowly stabilizes, another whisper emerges—not from outside, but from deep within his own mind. A faint voice he does not recognize, yet feels… guiding.
Kael looks at his trembling palms, then slowly clenches them.
"And somehow… I feel like there's something I have to finish." His eyes fix on the symbol still glowing faintly on his skin. "They… feel like they're speaking. Asking me… to do something."
He lowers his head slightly, drawing in a deep breath. The air around him feels heavy, but within that breath, resolve begins to ignite—slowly, but surely.
"…Alright," he murmurs, almost inaudible, "if that's all that remains of me… then I'll answer that call."
For a moment, the world is truly still. Only the low hum of machines deep beneath the ground remains—like the final breath of something that refuses to die.
But the longer he stands there, the clearer that sense of wrongness grows in his chest—as though the consciousness that just awakened is still incomplete. There is a vast hole in his mind—empty, yet calling out for something from the past.
"But how…? What is it I'm supposed to finish…? I don't know anything at all!"
No answer comes. Only the echo of silence swallowing his words. His brain is functioning—reflexes, responses, all stable. But his memories… are shattered beyond repair, like a cracked mirror that refuses to be pieced back together. Fragments of the past swirl in his mind—vague, distant, unreachable.
"Could it be… am I suffering from amnesia?"
He falls silent.
Ten seconds. Twenty.
His eyes stare blankly at the wing-like symbol tapering symmetrically on the back of his hand. The light slowly fades—weakening—until it finally disappears, absorbed back into his skin. But its trace remains: pitch black, clinging to his flesh like a mark of sin that cannot be erased.
"Uhh… the pulsing light… stopped?"
His breathing suddenly quickens, his chest tightening. He senses something that sends tremors through his entire body—a primal instinct clutching at his heart.
"Wait… where did everyone go!?"
He sharpens all his senses. Panic floods his eyes, slamming into his awareness. His head snaps left—right—again and again. Nothing.
No companions.
No footsteps.
No pulse of life.
There is only him. Alone, amid dust, ruins, and the whispers of dead machines.
"This can't be…" His lips tremble, barely forming sound. "There's nothing left? Not even one…? Everything—"
Kael's thoughts churn violently. A fear he does not understand surges from his chest. Fragments of memory collide within him—shards of the past crashing together, sending waves of nausea and sharp dizziness stabbing through his skull.
Zzzrrttth—
"A-aghh—!"
His body stiffens. Both hands snap up to clutch the sides of his head, fingers digging in as if trying to restrain something about to explode from inside his skull. The pain isn't just an ache—it's like an electric current detonating at the center of his thoughts, surging through every nerve, scorching every fragment of consciousness.
Alien images force their way into his half-open eyes: faces, lights, voices—blurred, overlapping, colliding until the line between reality and illusion dissolves completely.
"Damn it… stop it… stooop—!!"
Frustration and loss pile up, fusing into a single emotional eruption he can no longer suppress.
"Grahhhh!"
And—
DEBHT!
His right fist slams into the shelf beside him, leaving fine cracks spidering across its surface. Dust erupts, swirling through the air. Kael bows his head, shoulders trembling, his face buried between ragged breaths—caught somewhere between rage and despair.
"So while I was asleep inside that capsule… everything in this world… was already destroyed…?"
He grits his teeth, a low sound scraping out of his throat, as if trying to deny reality itself.
"No… my friends…" His voice weakens, fractures under an invisible weight. "…Why did you all leave me like this?! I might have been a failed leader, and—"
He swallows bitterness that coats his tongue. His breath quivers in the cold air, and for the first time—he truly understands just how lonely this world is.
A silence that is more than quiet. A void. As if the entire world has stopped breathing, and only he remains—to listen to its stillness.
"And I… I can never accept it. My soul… refuses to collapse just to forget what happened. And the memories in my head feel fragile… even recalling the details is difficult."
"But—!" His fists clench tight. Without thinking, he forces his legs forward, even though his body feels as heavy as rusted metal, his joints creaking like an unlubricated ancient machine.
"I won't give up just because of this."
"If it's true that all my memories were stolen—or erased—because of my long sleep inside that capsule… then I'll reclaim them, even if it costs me my life."
One step. Two steps. Three.
"For now… what I need to do is find a way out of this place."
His body trembles, nearly collapsing again, but he hardens his resolve—
"No. Don't fall here… not now."
The air in the hall feels thick, saturated with drifting dust like the ashes of a dead world. Each of Kael's steps produces a low echo, swallowed by cracked, moss-covered concrete walls.
Ahead of him stands a massive metal door, frozen in place, its surrounding walls buried under steel debris and shattered glass. Its control panel is completely dead; indicator lights glow faintly, as if merely mimicking the heartbeat of a machine that has long since ceased to live.
Kael stares at it dully, then lets out a quiet sigh.
"…Sealed tight. No way I'm opening this with my bare hands."
He turns his gaze, searching for another route.
On the right side of the chamber—three o'clock—there is a passage partially buried by rubble. Beyond the pile, a small emergency door can be faintly seen, still intact. Its white paint has faded, but its shape remains solid, defiant against time.
"Is that… an emergency exit?" he murmurs, eyes sharpening.
A thin thread of hope sparks in his mind. He walks toward it slowly, pushing aside metal fragments and cables blocking the way. Each step feels like a small battle against gravity and the exhaustion hardened into his joints.
Dust falls from the ceiling, settling on his shoulders. He stops before the door, staring at it for a long moment.
"If I can still open this… maybe there's still a way out for me."
His hand reaches out, touching the cold metal surface. He pauses for a few seconds, then—with what little strength he has left—pulls the emergency lever beside it.
No response.
Only the groan of ancient steel.
He stares at it, drawing a long breath. "…Damn. Looks like you don't want to help me either, huh?"
Kael looks away. On the opposite side of the room, he spots another large metal door—thicker, sturdier—with a sizable control panel beside it. It looks older, but at least the system appears intact.
"In that case…" he murmurs softly, "I'll just force that one."
Staggering, he walks toward it.
Srrkkhh… srrk—
The sound of his shoes scraping metal dust across the decayed floor.
Six steps later, he stands before the massive door, the aged control panel at its side. Rust eats away at it, thick dust clumping over the surface, obscuring the indicator lights.
Kael studies it, judging whether the relic still has any hope left.
"Completely dead? Looks like it."
He exhales in frustration.
"Haaahhh~ You're no different… but maybe I can still force you."
Panting, he gathers his strength, then slams his elbow into the panel.
Once.
THUMMP! (Gerrzzzt… krzzhh—)
Old cables inside shudder, jolted awake from death.
Twice.
THUMMPP!! (KLANGG… CRRKKK—)
Metal plating cracks, like brittle bones beginning to give.
Three times.
THUMMMMPPP!!! (BZZZT—TCHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!!!)
Sparks explode outward, dancing wildly from the last living circuits, lashing the air like mechanical flames.
"Alright… now open—!"
A burst of electricity detonates, burning through fragile cables. Thin smoke billows upward, and the door lets out a rasp—like a throat hoarse after centuries of sleep.
KREEEEEEE—KHHH…
Dust spills from its hinges as it slowly opens, resembling the jaws of an ancient beast unearthed after thousands of years.
The stench of rusted iron stabs at his nose.
Kael stands frozen, holding his breath as the corridor beyond the door reveals itself.
It is long. Dark. Stretching without end—littered with metal debris, the skeletal remains of collapsed structures scattered across a floor that has not known cleaning since the day of destruction.
Yet within the density of shadow, a faint light emerges—blue-green, pulsing slowly along the walls.
Remnants of an ancient system that, somehow, still clings to life, blinking softly like the final pulse of a colossal creature that refuses to die.
Kael remains motionless, his gaze tracing the rhythm of that light. With every flicker, the surrounding metal walls tremble gently, as if exhaling.
He swallows—cold metallic bitterness flooding his mouth.
"So…" His voice is barely audible. "This is the path I'm meant to walk…?"
Silence answers.
No system responds. No AI. No humans. Only that endless corridor, gaping like the jaws of the world, waiting for its prey.
He draws in a deep breath, letting the stale, dust-laced air fill his lungs.
Then releases it slowly.
"…Well. Exploring the darkness is probably better than becoming a shadow buried again." His voice fractures with exhaustion, yet carries a bitter irony he cannot hide.
One corner of his lips lifts—not in laughter, but in a cynical reflex. He knows how absurd those words sound. But perhaps, that absurdity is the only thing left that makes him feel alive.
Kael snorts softly. "You only live once… unless you're the one writing it."
The blue light along the walls flickers once—as if in reply. Or perhaps it is nothing more than coincidence.
He studies it for a moment longer, then straightens his still-unsteady body. With one final breath to steel himself, he steps forward.
The first step echoes through the dark corridor.
Then the second.
Then the third—until his shadow slowly devours the light behind him.
Darkness closes once more, leaving only a faint pulse in the air, as if the world itself is holding its breath. And Kael walks on through the void—toward something even he cannot yet name, let alone accept.
***