Thunder howled across the heavens, but it wasn't natural. This wasn't Earth. The storm wasn't of clouds and wind, but of divine pressure—rolling waves of energy that cracked space itself. Below the skies, a fractured stone platform floated in the middle of an endless void. There was no ground, no stars, no horizon. Only darkness and judgment.
A single boy stood bound in its center.
Aiden, seventeen years old, black messy hair clinging to his forehead from sweat, stood upright despite the glowing shackles of divine light around his wrists and ankles. His war robe—once grey and stitched with the symbol of the resistance—was torn, bloodied, barely hanging on. His glowing blue eyes flickered like a dying fire, yet they still refused to show fear.
Surrounding him in a perfect circle stood twelve gods, draped in cosmic armor and radiating unnatural light. Behind them, standing upon a throne of carved starlight, floated the being who ruled above them all.
Vael'thyr , KING OF THE GODS
He was not like the others. The gods looked like humans in divine form—tall, flawless, inhumanly regal. But Vael'thyr? He looked like a walking storm wrapped in gold. His eyes were galaxies, spinning endlessly. His voice didn't echo—it erased sound when it spoke.
"You," Vael'thyr said, "are the child who defied creation."
Aiden didn't respond.
"You desecrated temples. You murdered seraphim. You stole knowledge not meant for mortals. And worst of all…" Vael'thyr leaned forward. "You believed you could change the world."
Aiden finally raised his head, his expression bloodied but calm.
"No. I still believe it."
A wave of silence passed through the gods. Then murmurs. Angry whispers.
"He defiled the Gate of Heavens—" "He taught mortals how to resist divine order—" "He unsealed the Blade of Echo—"
Vael'thyr raised a hand, silencing them.
He stood and stepped down, each movement shaking the entire platform. Aiden stood still, chained, eyes locked forward as Vael'thyr approached.
"Your kind were meant to worship," the god said coldly. "Not question."
Aiden tilted his head. "Maybe if gods weren't such cowards, we wouldn't have to."
The ground trembled. A lightning strike cracked into the void, but Vael'thyr didn't flinch.
"You still believe your cause has meaning?" Vael'thyr asked. "Even now? Standing on the edge of non-existence?"
"I believe," Aiden said, his voice quiet but firm, "that fear is the only thing that's kept you all in power. And I believe fear can die."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Vael'thyr turned, raising one arm. Instantly, ancient glyphs ignited across the platform. Symbols of time, mind, memory, and soul. They coiled around Aiden's body, digging into him like invisible vines.
"Then let me give you something to be afraid of."
"You will be cast into a realm shaped not by law or light, but by dream. A place where time slips and breaks, where every horror you've ever imagined lives and breathes. You will forget your name, your purpose, your past. Every nightmare you ever had will come to life."
Aiden's jaw clenched. The light from the runes was searing into his skin now, binding not just his body—but something deeper.
"And yet," Vael'thyr continued, "you will not die. No. Death is a mercy you have not earned."
Aiden raised his head. "What's the catch?"
The gods looked surprised.
Vael'thyr smirked. "Of course. You're still thinking like a rebel. Very well. You can leave the dream… if you reach the highest level of power it allows, defeat every nightmare guardian, and escape its final gate. But no one ever has."
He paused, his voice lowering to a whisper.
"More than ten thousand souls dwell within that realm. Trapped. Forgotten. Screaming in their sleep."
"What makes you think you'll be different?"
Aiden looked down at the glowing chains. Then, back up at Vael'thyr, and smiled.
"Because, unlike them... I remember why I fight."
"And because you're afraid of what I'll become."
That wiped the smile from the god's face.
The runes flared blindingly bright.
"Then fade," Vael'thyr said.
He slammed his palm onto the air. A gate of pure crimson light opened beneath Aiden's feet. The stone platform fractured. The gods vanished one by one. The sky twisted into spirals of chaos as Aiden was pulled down—screaming through layers of magic and madness.
His memories flashed by.
His childhood. His first battle. The deaths he couldn't stop. The promises he'd made. The rebellion he led. The god he killed.
And then—
Silence.
Aiden's eyes snapped open.
The world around him was silent and wrong.
Crimson clouds churned overhead like boiling blood. They didn't move with the wind—there was no wind—but instead twisted in slow, deliberate spirals, as if watching him. The air hung heavy, thick like syrup, and tasted of metal and ash. The sky was cracked in places, revealing nothing but endless void beyond, as though the very heavens were splintering.
He lay on a vast plain of cracked obsidian earth. Faint red mist coiled around his limbs like snakes, cold and damp, slithering across the ground without a sound. The soil was littered with black shards—broken weapons, shattered bones, fragments of rusted armor. There were no birds, no wind, no sound. Only the faint, echoing creak of something massive moving far away… and the subtle crackling hum of magic that never fully slept.
When Aiden rose to his feet, pain flared through his spine. The glowing blue eye in his face pulsed once—dimly—like a heart wrapped in frost. His breath came slow. Measured. He had been here for mere seconds, and already the weight of the realm pressed down on his soul like chains.
Then, he looked around—and saw them.
Bodies.
Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe more. Some were human, faces twisted in frozen screams. Others… weren't. There were creatures with chitin skin and eyeless faces, some with too many arms, others with none. Some towered, monstrous giants lying dead in pools of black ichor. Others were skeletal, shriveled down to little more than cursed memories. Some of the corpses twitched—slowly—as if sleep was optional in this world.
Aiden took a step back and nearly slipped in a pool of thick, dark-red sludge. It wasn't blood. Not exactly. It shimmered faintly—like liquid magic, corrupted and decayed. He could feel it trying to pull him under.
And that's when he noticed the whispers.
They weren't voices in the air. They were in his mind.
"…he walks now…"
"…the cursed one… he returns…"
"…can he escape, or will he be consumed too?"
The whispers hissed and laughed and wept all at once.
Aiden clutched the side of his head. The glowing eye flared brighter for a second—repelling the noise. The curse… was alive. A seal placed not just on his body, but his very existence. He could feel it like a brand, burned into his soul. He wasn't welcome here.
He was trapped here.
Aiden forced himself to breathe. He looked forward—through the fog, past the corpses, toward the distant silhouette of the dark tower.
He didn't remember how many steps it would take. Or how many monsters he'd have to slay.
But he knew this:
Until the last curse was broken…
He would never wake up.