Alex adjusted the straps of his training pack as he walked the school corridor, fluorescent lights humming overhead. At Crestvale Academy, no one asked if you were brave — they assumed you'd survive long enough to learn how to pretend.
Combat drills. Void survival. Distortion theory. Awareness training.
And still, his stomach tightened when a shadow shifted wrong at the edge of his vision.
The instructors called it awareness.
Alex called it fear.
He knew how to stay unnoticed. Good enough on his feet to avoid remedial combat. Sharp enough to excel in philosophy, history, and logic — subjects meant for students who never awakened. He obeyed rules. Avoided risk. Rationalized inaction.
Something brushed the edge of his sight.
Small. Wrong.
He rounded the corner and saw Milo Renner pinned against the wall. Darius Holt and Kael Vey stood close, casual and cruel. Their voices echoed softly down the empty hall.
Alex almost kept walking.
Milo's eyes met his.
Alex sighed, then smirked.
"Having a rough day, Renner? Losing to Sera must sting. Five-on-one and still not enough, huh?"
Kael laughed. Darius turned.
Alex didn't stop.
"Come on. Stand up a little. Or do you want me to explain why logic beats brute force every time?"
It didn't.
Domination Magic slammed him into the floor. Kael's presence crushed his limbs flat. Fire flared at his ribs as Darius kicked him, heat biting through fabric and skin — pain meant to humiliate, not kill.
When it ended, Milo brushed dust from his sleeve.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Alex grabbed him by the shoulder.
"You didn't even fight back."
Milo said nothing.
Alex let go and slammed his fist into the wall.
He stumbled through his front door.
The house smelled wrong.
Too still. Too quiet.
His parents lay on the floor.
He didn't scream.
The world folded.
White replaced everything. A yellow door hovered ahead, pulsing softly. There was no floor — only a small patch of solid ground beneath his feet.
Something whimpered.
A tiny obsidian infant sat alone nearby, its surface cracked and hollow-eyed. Alex knelt instinctively. His fingers brushed it.
It crumbled.
He pulled back.
A voice spoke behind him.
"That poor baby."
His mother stepped from the void.
Her neck bent at an impossible angle. Yellow vines threaded through her scalp. Molten brass poured from her eyes.
"Help it," she said gently.
The infant whimpered again.
The door pulsed.
Alex backed toward it.
The space tightened.
"If you don't act," the voice murmured, "nothing changes."
Alex swallowed.
"If I kill it," he whispered, "will you bring them back?"
The figure smiled.
"Perhaps."
The infant shook.
Alex crouched and pulled it to his chest.
"No."
The smile sharpened.
The ground trembled.
The void laughed — not sound, but pressure.
Knowledge slammed into him.
Worlds. Cycles. Consequences.
His thoughts fractured.
When it ended, something inside him had gone quiet.
"Can I," Alex asked softly, almost politely, "have a sword?"
Silence.
Then the answer came.
"No."
The laughter returned.
His fists trembled.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
And he struck.
Alex collapsed through the yellow door.
The house was empty.
Not ruined. Not broken.
Just… absent.
Faces slipped from memory. Names followed.
Something watched from the corners of his mind.
A presence lingered.
A faint smile burned behind his eyes.
Then a sound echoed — metallic, distant.
System activated.
User: Lumen of the Void.
First Nightmare: Perfect Clear.
Alex stared at nothing.