The cold air stung Kael's cheeks as he stood on a rocky hill, looking down at the ruins of the village below. Smoke still billowed. The smells of burnt flesh and blood mingled.
It wasn't a monster attack.
It was an uprising.
Again.
The three villages he had passed in the past week... all the same. No external enemy. But there was always that symbol. Scribbled, burned, or carved—⚫.
One eye.
Dark. Deep. Lurking.
And there were always surviving witnesses—who said they "heard a voice."
"Lieutenant Farun," Kael called softly.
The tall blond soldier stepped forward. His face was stern.
"How many casualties?" Kael asked.
"Thirteen villagers. Two patrol soldiers. But... no trace of the enemy. Only they themselves... changed."
Kael was silent.
"Anyone alive?"
Farun nodded. "A child. But he didn't talk. His eyes... looked dead."
Kael looked down. "Bring him to me. Now."
Inside the tent, the boy sat still. He was no more than eight years old. His face was pale. His eyes… blank.
Kael crouched in front of him. "What is your name?"
Silence.
"What happened in your village?"
Still silence.
Then, slowly… the boy spoke. Not in his own voice.
But a voice that sounded too old… too deep.
"You will see it too, Kael. The light you defend… is full of lies."
Kael froze. His eyes narrowed.
"Who are you really?"
The boy smiled. But not a child's smile.
"⚫ will spread. From the heart. From the head. From your fears."
Then he passed out.
That night, Kael gathered his five captains.
"Listen well," he said sharply. "We are not facing an ordinary enemy. This is not a war of swords and arrows. This is a war of ideas. A war of minds."
One of the captains, Kiren, asked, "So… what are we fighting? Illusions?"
"Worse," Kael replied. "We're fighting despair. And Gorath knows how to use it."
But the next day, Kael found the symbol ⚫ scrawled on the wall of the main kitchen.
From inside his own quarters.
He checked all the soldiers.
And that night, he caught one of the guards standing alone outside the tent, whispering to the darkness.
"He will come… he will free us… he… he…"
Kael immediately pushed the guard and knocked him down.
His eyes were black. Like ink.
No ordinary magic.
"Let him go!!" Kael shouted.
Farun and two soldiers held the guard down.
But before he could tie him up, the man smiled and said,
"You will come with us. You just don't realize who your real enemy is yet."
Then, blood poured out of his nose. His heartbeat stopped.
He… died. A magical suicide.
Kael stared at the night sky from outside his tent. His eyes were heavy, his mind a mess.
"Gorath... what exactly have you planted in this world?"
"This is not a war to conquer."
"This is a war to divide faith."
And Kael knew...
If ⚫ continued to spread, then it would not be Gorath they would have to fear.
But humanity itself.
The sky to the east was dark. Clouds rolled in even though it was not yet time for rain. Something pressed down from above—not wind, not storm—but an inexplicable sense of unease.
Kael and his men walked through the dry forest toward the ruins of an old temple, a former place of worship for the God of Light.
According to the latest reports, ⚫ first appeared on the altar walls of this temple... before spreading to the villages.
Lieutenant Farun walked beside him. "Are you sure we should go to this place? This is... cursed, according to the locals."
Kael stared ahead. "Cursed or not, the truth is there."
The ruins of the temple looked like an old shell of a bygone era. Crumbling pillars. Headless statues. And a black eye symbol was clearly carved into the top of the main altar, as if it had been carved overnight.
Kael approached, his hand touching the carving.
"This is not the work of mere mortals," he murmured.
From behind the dark pillar, a hoarse voice emerged. "You are right."
Everyone was immediately on alert.
From the darkness, an old man in a tattered robe emerged. His white hair was messy, his eyes glowing faintly even though there was no light.
Kael told everyone to restrain themselves. "Who are you?"
The man smiled softly. "I used to be known as Priest Ilor. Now? I am just... a witness. The first to see."
Kael approached. "See what?"
Ilor sat down slowly on the rock. "The gap behind this world. Where all beliefs are destroyed."
Ilor pointed to the ⚫ symbol on the altar. "That is not just a symbol. That is an eye from below. An eye that sees everything. Including the lies of the light that you glorify."
Kael frowned. "What does that have to do with Gorath?"
"Gorath?" Ilor laughed shortly. "He is not the origin. He is just... a channel. He received the whisper more powerfully than any of us. But the one who whispered it? Not from this world."
Kael stiffened. "You are talking about the Abyss?"
Ilor shook his head slowly. "Older than the Abyss. Deeper than darkness itself. ⚫ is not power. It is consciousness. It does not need a body. It only needs... attention."
"And now everyone is starting to think about it," Kael murmured.
Ilor nodded. "And that is the key. The more people believe, the stronger it becomes."
Suddenly, the ground shook slightly. The clouds above the temple swirled like a vortex.
Ilor stood quickly. "He is listening. He knows we are talking about him."
Kael turned to his soldiers. "Set up a perimeter. Leave no one alone."
Ilor grabbed Kael's arm. "You can still stop him. But not with a sword. You must break... the whispered story."
Kael stared at him intently. "What do you mean story?"
"⚫ spreads through stories. Through hatred. Frustration. Distrust. Cut that... and you cut off his breath."
Night fell fast. But there were no stars.
Only black.
And as Kael's men camped beneath the ruins, one by one they began to have nightmares. The same dream.
They were all... standing on the edge of the world, and something was staring back from below.
Kael woke up gasping for breath. His eyes stared up at the now pitch-black sky.
And in his heart, he knew...
⚫ was too close.