Slowly, he opened his eyes. A dense fog of ash and dust swirled around him, clouding his vision and masking the shape of the dying world before him. The air was thick—heavy with silence, smoke, and something else he couldn't name. Breathing felt like swallowing sand.
Confusion struck like a hammer. He remembered nothing. No name, no place, no reason. Nothing but the ache in his limbs and the tightness in his chest. Where was he? How had he ended up here? There were no answers—only a deafening quiet and the weight of ash beneath his feet.
Instinct took over. Step by step, he moved through the grey wasteland, flinching at every distant groan and unseen rustle. His breathing came heavy, shallow. His muscles ached, untrained and uncertain, and yet they carried him forward. He was a blank slate—no memories, no identity, only the burning need to survive.
Then the fog shifted.
He froze.
A silhouette stood ahead of him—motionless, hunched. Not too far, yet far enough to hide its form. He squinted, cautious, and took a step closer. The shape grew larger as he approached. Still, it did nothing.
Then he saw it.
It was a dog—or at least, something shaped like one. Charred skin, bone exposed in places, and a low hum of breath that didn't sound quite alive. It didn't move. It didn't growl. But it watched.
Something in his gut twisted. He stepped sideways, slow and silent.
Crack.
A dead branch snapped beneath his heel.
The creature flinched. Its neck jerked unnaturally. Two glowing red eyes met his, burning like dying coals in the fog. Then it lunged.
Without a weapon, without direction, he turned and ran. The fog scraped his eyes with grit and smoke. His lungs burned. He stumbled, coughing, barely seeing what lay ahead. Then—he tripped. A root, gnarled and cruel, took his ankle and threw him to the ground.
He looked up. The growl drew closer. The shape closed in. Eyes blurred and burning, he crawled back until his hand struck something cold—metal. He turned.
There, beside a long-dead warrior, was an axe. Rusted, chipped, brutal. Without thinking, he grabbed it, rose with a roar, and swung with all his weight as the beast leapt.
Steel met flesh. The creature split open mid-air and collapsed beside him.
His chest heaved. He looked at his trembling hands, stained with ash and black blood.
He was still alive.
Time passed—but whether days, weeks, or months, he could no longer tell. He stopped counting. The creatures returned—stronger, faster, larger with each encounter. And he changed with them. His muscles hardened. His stance became steadier. His swings more precise. From hunted, he became hunter.
He built a shelter from the bones of fallen beasts—a crude fortress to shield his sleep, if only barely. There were no stars. No sun. Only ash, and shadow, and survival.
One day, in search of new ground, he came upon a monster unlike any other.
It looked like a hound, yes—but one born of gods and storms. As tall as a mountain, its wings blocked out what little light this world offered. Its jaws split open with fangs that could shred steel. Its roar shattered stone.
He stood alone. And yet he stood still.
He gripped his axe—no longer rusted, but reforged with bone and flame. The aura around him darkened. His body did not tremble.
He stepped forward, dragged the blade behind him, and—
Side slash.
The beast collapsed in two.
When the echoes of the battle faded, something else caught his eye. In the ruins beyond the battlefield, a faint glow pulsed from beneath a fallen shrine. Cold light. Unnatural.
He approached carefully.
The object rested in stone—black, humming, wrong. As he neared it, the sound grew louder, like chanting beneath the skin of the world. Against instinct, he reached out and touched it.
A shock of energy surged through him. His chest convulsed, his mind warped. Visions—souls, weapons, shadows, shapes—rushed past his eyes. Around him, the ruins began to shift. The air grew sharp. The ground cracked.
An earthquake. The sky split. The fog roared. Monsters fled in terror.
But he did not move.
And then—light.
A brilliant, blinding light consumed everything. The first light he had seen in ten years.
For the first time, he felt something stir in his chest.
Hope.
He opened his eyes again.
This time, the world was quiet.
No screams. No rumbling. No ash.
Only grass beneath his back.
The air was clean. His body broken but calm. His mind confused, but at peace.
And for the first time... silence didn't mean danger.
It meant something else.
A beginning.