Veilstrum

The world Arkan once knew was gone, replaced by an unrelenting silence that pressed against his ears. He stumbled through the ruins of his hometown, his breathing shallow, his chest heavy as though the weight of the universe bore down on him. Ash danced like ghosts in the air, the remnants of lives reduced to nothing but dust.

His trembling fingers clutched the shard—a jagged, glass-like fragment that pulsed faintly in his palm. It felt cold and alive, as if it were breathing in sync with him. He didn't remember grabbing it. In truth, he wasn't sure if he had grabbed it at all. A flickering memory surfaced—of the sky fracturing as Nullus spoke. The shard had simply appeared in the chaos, falling toward him as if drawn by his despair. In his last moment of clarity before the world collapsed, his hand had closed around it.

Now, standing amidst the smoldering ruins, Arkan couldn't tear his gaze away from the shard's faint glow. It shouldn't exist. Nothing should. Not after what he had seen. He clenched his jaw, but his thoughts spiraled back to the screams.

The screams of people he loved.

He had watched them dissolve into nothingness—friends, neighbors, his mother—all ripped away by Nullus's presence. Their faces twisted in horror as they vanished into oblivion. He could still hear their voices, their cries for help, echoes in his head that refused to fade.

His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, dry heaving. The shard slipped from his hand, landing in the dirt, its glow briefly intensifying.

"Why me…?" His voice cracked, hoarse from the tears he didn't remember shedding. "Why am I still alive? Why didn't he kill me too?"

The air grew colder. A faint wind stirred the ash, carrying a sound that sent a shiver racing down his spine. It wasn't the wind—it was something else.

A whisper.

At first, he thought it was in his head, another symptom of his fractured mind. But the whisper grew louder, crawling along the edge of his sanity. He glanced around, heart pounding, but the ruins were lifeless.

Except for the shard.

It pulsed again, brighter this time, and the whisper seemed to come from within it. A voice, faint and fragmented, barely distinguishable.

"...Stand… Arkan…"

He froze. His name. How did it know his name?

The shard's glow dimmed, but the whisper lingered, like an unspoken promise. He staggered to his feet, wiping at his face with trembling hands. He didn't have time to question the voice. Not when the world around him was shifting.

A distant rumble broke the silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of movement. Something was coming.

He turned, his eyes widening as the shadows in the distance began to move unnaturally. Humanoid figures emerged from the ash, their bodies writhing and incomplete, as though reality itself had stitched them together. Their eyes glowed a sickly green, and their forms crackled with the same energy that had torn his world apart.

Nullborn.

They moved toward him with jerky, unnatural motions, their fractured bodies distorting with every step. Arkan stumbled back, panic clawing at his chest.

"No, no, no…" he whispered, his hands shaking as he reached for anything—a weapon, a way out. But there was nothing.

The shard pulsed in response, its light growing steadier, almost as if reacting to his fear.

The Nullborn advanced, their hisses filling the air like static. One of them lunged, its malformed arm extending unnaturally toward him. Arkan barely managed to dodge, stumbling over rubble as the creature's claws slashed through the air where his head had been.

He scrambled to his feet, but they were closing in, their movements growing faster, more erratic. His chest tightened as he realized there was no escape.

"Why now? Why here? Why me?!" His voice cracked, raw with desperation.

The shard's glow suddenly flared, its light cutting through the encroaching darkness. The creatures recoiled, hissing, but only for a moment. They began to close in again, their distorted forms seemingly unaffected by the light.

Arkan's heart raced. The shard pulsed again, more insistently this time, as though urging him to do something. But what?

"I don't know what you want from me!" he screamed, clutching the shard in both hands. Its light surged, momentarily blinding him, and he felt a strange warmth flood through his body—a warmth that contrasted with the icy fear gripping his soul.

The whisper returned, louder now, more distinct.

"Stand, Arkan. Stand and fight."

The voice wasn't comforting. It wasn't gentle. It was a command.

The Nullborn lunged again, and Arkan's body moved on instinct. He ducked under the attack, the shard in his hand releasing a burst of light that sent the creature staggering back.

The others hesitated, but only for a moment. They surged toward him as one, and Arkan braced himself, his grip tightening on the shard.

Its light burned brighter than ever, enveloping him in a blinding glow. And then, just as the first Nullborn reached him, the light exploded outward.

When the light faded, Arkan was on his knees, the shard's glow reduced to a faint flicker. The ruins around him were silent once more. The Nullborn were gone.

But in the distance, a deeper shadow loomed, and a cold, familiar voice whispered from the void.

"So, you survived after all…"