The cool, damp dirt beneath his fingers brought a fleeting sense of calm, a small oasis of comfort amidst the tempest swirling in his chest. He pressed his palms into the earth, feeling it cool against his skin like the embrace of an old friend. Each ragged breath wrenched from his lungs was a struggle, a battle against the storm brewing within—a storm filled with confusion, pain, and an unsettling sense of purpose.
Memories—or were they nightmares?—haunted him: the images of an invasion, bodies falling, a world crumbling into chaos. The screams still echoed in his ears, a dissonant chorus that refused to fade, accompanied by the cold, authoritative voice of the being who had created him: "You were made for this."
He exhaled sharply, frustration burning in his throat.
"It doesn't matter who I was made to be," he thought bitterly. "I didn't ask for this life."
But the truth was undeniable—he was a weapon, forged in the fires of despair. He clenched his fingers, digging into the earth as though it could anchor him, grounding him against the chaos raging inside. He felt the strange power within him—a surging energy that pulsed through his veins. The way he had moved earlier, leaping across obstacles, like gravity had little hold of him, wasn't just a fluke. It was a part of him.
But even amidst all this power, a question loomed, dark and heavy:
Was he enough?
Above him stretched a sky full of desolation, a canvas of grays, weighed down by the memory of brighter days long gone. The air felt thick, suffocating, filled with the acrid scent of decay—remnants of life that used to thrive but now lay trapped in silence. He stood, brushing dirt from his hands like shedding an old identity, looking eastward. His journey had barely begun.
He walked for hours, letting the rhythm of his steps soothe the turmoil in his mind. It felt strange, almost liberating—each stride effortlessly pushing him forward, as if gravity had decided to relent for a while. Despite the strength and agility he possessed, he felt a pang of uncertainty gnawing at him. Strength was just a tool, and without guidance, he feared it would turn against him.
The ruins that surrounded him were a testament to what once was—broken towers reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers grasping for a lifeline, roads splintered and wrapped in vines as nature began to reclaim its territory. An unsettling silence enveloped everything, a void that felt wrong. A world should be alive, bursting with chatter, laughter, and music. Yet here, there was only an echo of past joys, replaced by the haunting stillness of abandonment.
In that silence, he found himself longing for companionship, for the warmth of human connection that had never been a part of his existence.
Just then, he heard it: a sound—a faint rustling, the soft crunch of dirt under hurried footsteps.
There was someone nearby.
His heart began to race, a mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through him as he froze, senses alert. He scanned the area and spotted a flicker of movement behind a crumbling wall. Small. Human.
"I know you're there," he called out, trying to keep his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest.
Silence answered him like an echo.
A moment later, a voice sliced through the quiet—a sharp demand laced with distrust. "Stay back."
He held still, not wanting to frighten her further. "I don't mean you any harm," he replied carefully, trying to convey his sincerity.
After a tense pause, she stepped into view. She looked to be around fifteen, her dark hair wild, dirt smudged across her cheeks, yet her eyes—oh, those eyes—burned with a fierce determination that spoke of survival. She held a knife, rusty but still threatening, a protective measure against the world.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice firm, though a hint of vulnerability seeped through.
He hesitated, feeling unmoored. A name felt foreign on his tongue. "I don't know," he confessed, shame washing over him. "I woke up not long ago. I don't remember anything before."
She narrowed her eyes, studying his face as if searching for signs of deception. "That's a lie."
"It's the truth," he said, desperation creeping in. "I don't have a past."
She scrutinized him, her gaze unwavering as if she could see straight into his soul. Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered the knife slightly, but tension still hung heavy between them.
And then, in a moment that felt both fleeting and eternal, she truly saw him. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening with a mixture of wonder and fear.
His skin glowed faintly, a radiance that felt like it belonged to another world, and what he wore—if it could even be called clothing—seemed woven into his very being. It shimmered with hues of gold and ivory, a garment that looked like it was crafted from light itself, inseparable from him.
"What… are you?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
Before he could find an answer, an electric sensation surged through him. His long hair tousled in the wind, picking up faint vibrations—a foreign frequency that pulsed with energy he barely understood. Suddenly, his senses sharpened, and the world around him expanded beyond comprehension. He could hear the soft rustle of leaves miles away, the drip of water in a hidden cavern beneath the earth, and then—a sound far to the west.
A guttural screech.
It was low and menacing, a sound that sent a chill racing down his spine, and he felt every muscle in his body tense.
"We need to move," he said, urgency sharp in his voice.
The girl frowned, confusion knitting her brows. "What?"
"They're coming," he urged, eyes now locked onto the ruins where shadows danced ominously.
She hesitated, a flicker of fear crossing her face. "Who's coming?"
"Come with me. Now."
But she stepped back, tightly gripping her knife as fear weaved itself into her resolve.
Then it happened—a low, guttural screech erupted from the depths of the ruins.
The color drained from her face. "They're coming," she whispered, terror flooding her voice.
At that moment, the ground trembled beneath them.
Figures emerged from the remnants of the past—twisted, grotesque shapes moving with a hunger that gnawed at the very fabric of reality. Hollow eyes glowed, filled with malice.
His heart thundered in his chest, panic flaring.
He recognized them—the invaders from his visions, those who had ravaged this world and left it scarred.
Her hands shook at her sides. "We have to run!"
But he stood frozen, the heat in his chest flaring into something primal. It coursed through him, a fire igniting his spirit as he felt the air crackle with energy—a force waiting to be unleashed.
As the first creature lunged, instinct took over.
Without thinking, he reacted. Abruptly, the earth answered his call; the wind roared in rebellion. In that single, split moment, he realized the extent of his power. It was here, alive and vibrant, ready to defend them against the darkness that had come to claim what was left.