Ex didn't remember waking—only the fire. Shadows screaming. The Seven watching. Then… stillness.
One moment, the dreamscape was burning—flames licking the sky, his shadows coiling in defense, the Seven standing watch in silence. The next, he was here.
Standing in a clearing.
The ground was cold. Damp. Dirt clung beneath his fingernails, and dried blood caked his palms like forgotten prayers. The forest around him was still—too still. Not silent. Ex knew true silence. This was something else. This was the kind of quiet that held its breath.
The kind that waited for something to die.
He rose slowly, shoulders heavy with a weight he hadn't earned in this place—like his body remembered a war his mind had yet to fight. His breath fogged the air, even though it wasn't cold. The taste of ash lingered on his tongue, faint but bitter.
Above, the trees bent inwards like ribs around a corpse. Their roots twisted unnaturally along the ground, pulsing faintly with aetheric decay. Ex could feel them watching. Not the trees—but the forest. It had eyes. Hunger.
But something was off.
There was no wind. No birds. No insects. Only the slow, uneven crackle of a branch breaking under pressure in the distance. Something was there.
And then he saw him.
At the far edge of the clearing, a figure sat atop a stone. Small. Young. Legs crossed. Hands resting in his lap like he'd been waiting all morning. No scent of fear. Just… light. Faint and warm, like the sun had taken the shape of a boy and decided to hide in plain sight.
Ex froze. His eyes narrowed. His shadows began to curl at his back.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The boy looked up slowly. Tan skin. Calm eyes. A slight smile—neither mocking nor kind. Just there, like it had always been.
"Just a traveler," the boy replied.
"There's no path here."
"There wasn't," the boy said. "Until you walked it."
Ex didn't move. " Speak straight before I decide to craft weapons from your bones."
The boy tilted his head. "A shepherd once lost one sheep out of a hundred. He left the ninety-nine to find the one that strayed. When he did, he rejoiced—not because the sheep was pure… but because it was his."
Ex's brow twitched. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I thought you'd understand," the boy said quietly. "You're lost too."
"I'm not lost," Ex growled. "I'm hunting."
The air between them thickened. Shadows stirred behind Ex, flaring like wings.
"You've bled for power," the boy murmured, "killed for it. And yet, you're still empty." "If that isn't lost i don't know what is"
"And i've gained that power."
"Strength doesn't silence the hunger," the boy replied. "It only sharpens it."
Ex took a step forward, jaw tight. "You talk like a priest. All that softness wrapped in riddles. I've gutted priests who spoke smoother than you."
The boy didn't rise.
He simply watched Ex through the golden outline of his aura—still and radiant, like fire that knew it could burn the world but chose not to.
"You carry too much for someone so young," the boy said.
"Rage. Memory. Guilt.
As if killing the world might cleanse you."
"I don't need cleansing," Ex snapped.
"No," the boy agreed. "You need truth. Even if it kills you."
Ex stepped forward. "I've lived in truth. Bled in it. Drowned in it. And I'm still breathing."
"You've lived in pain," the boy corrected. "You've mistaken it for purpose."
A twitch of Ex's fingers summoned his dagger— whispering, tasting the air like wolves eager to feed.
"You speak like a priest," Ex growled. "Praying while feeding bodies to the gods they worship."
"I've seen what they pray to," the boy said. "I've seen what they fear."
"And what is that?" Ex barked. "Some fairy tale about balance? Hope? A god who cares?"
The boy tilted his head.
"They fear the One who made them," he said. "The one they no longer speak of. The one who gave men something they could never control—
Soel."
The name tasted ancient, like the sound of a bell rung before the world had language.
"What is that?" Ex asked.
"You've been using power… and you don't even know what it is," he said.
The boy looked at him, as if deciding how much a soul like his could handle.
"Before the Fall, Man was clothed in light," he began. "Soel is that light, Soel is the breath of the Divine placed inside mankind. Not magic. Not power. Something higher."
He gestured toward the trees, where dead leaves trembled in the windless air.
" "It's dormant. Woven into the body like sacred fire asleep in stone. There are many ways to draw it out. Most force it. Few earn it."
He trailed off, then smiled faintly. "They Pulse."
"Pulse?"
"The moment the divine rhythm stirs—the vessel begins to hum. Like blood remembering the hand that shaped it."
.Some awaken through meditation. Some through suffering. Others… through divine encounter."
The boy's eyes sharpened.
"You, Ex, are all three."
Ex narrowed his eyes, but didn't speak.
"Once it awakens, the Soel manifests," the boy went on. "Threads of golden light. Living scripture. A garment made of your nature, your conviction, your scars."
He looked toward the heavens. Or maybe beyond them.
"Golden threads are rare. Pure. Untouched. Most are corrupted—tainted by sin, by gods, by lies men believe."
"So… it's this power?" Ex asked. gesturing to his shadows
The boy's gaze cut back to him, sharp as a blade.
"No. It's a mirror. And a door. What you find on the other side depends on who you really are." "The shadows were just the echoes of who you used to be."
A long silence followed.
Then the boy said, "I've seen many awaken their Soel. I've seen crimson threads, black coils, even chains pretending to be light. But you, Ex… you are different."
"How?"
"Because you are the village," the boy said.
Ex Blinked. "What?"
"Two opposing forces cannot rule the same village. Your body… your soul… is being fought over. Your shadows—drawn from sin, from you father. But this—Sin Perception—" he gestured to the space around them, is not the same. It is divine. It sees as He sees."
"who is he?" The shadows around Ex pulsed, at the question growing uneasy at the thought of the name. They slithered without form, unsure of what to attack. He could feel it too—like something else had barricaded inside him, and everything unholy within him now recoiled from it.
"You think you've mastered darkness," the boy said clearly ignoring his question, stepping closer. "But what happens when light lives there too?"
Ex said nothing. Inside, something cracked.
The boy's voice softened.
"They fear that question. They fear you. Because you were never meant to survive. Not Hell. Not the Void. You were meant to decay."
His golden aura flickered slightly, like sunlight through fog.
"But here you are."
"…Why?" Ex asked again. Quieter now. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to do more than kill them."
Ex's eyes snapped up.
"I want you to burn them at their thrones."
The words hit like thunder inside a cathedral.
"Make them feel the same helplessness they built this world on. Show the gods they are not untouchable. Make them beg. Not for mercy—but for death."
The boy stepped forward again, voice dropping to a whisper only the dead would understand.
"I want you to tear Heaven open and leave the bones of tyrants in its gates."
Ex stared at him. Something stirred in his chest—dark and golden, hatred and light clashing like wolves inside the same cage.
The boy continued, calm and unwavering.
"If you truly want answers—go south. Past the black rivers. Through the fields where nothing grows. Find the place where the stars refuse to shine. There, beneath the roots of the dead tree, you'll find the woman they tried to erase."
He turned, as if to leave—then stopped.
"Look around, Ex," he said, softly. "Tell me—do you see anything in this world worth saving?"
And then—it hit.
Sin Perception awakened.
Ex's body dropped to one knee, breath wrenched from his lungs like a blade piercing his spine. The world twisted.
The trees dissolved into outlines—ghosts of themselves. Not bark and root, but bleeding auras. Red. Rotten. Every living thing radiated filth, corruption, agony, shame. He saw everything.
Faces he'd never seen. Moments others had buried . Lies dressed in truth. Churches built on bones. Cities drowning in silence.
The world screamed.
And above it all—something else stared back.
A shape. Towering. Distant. Blinding. Judging.
Not one of the gods. Not one of the monsters. Something older.
The golden silhouette stood still, watching like time itself bowed before it.
Ex clutched his head. Blood ran from his nose. His shadows panicked—clawing, spiraling in chaos.
And through the distortion, the only thing Ex could see clearly… was the boy.
He glowed. Not with power. But with absence. No sin. Not a blemish. Not a mark. His soul shone like a second sun—and Ex felt it. Something ancient in him recognized it.
For the first time, Ex didn't feel hatred. He felt… silence
"there is not worth saving"
"Then let me leave you with something."
He looked back one last time.
"There were once three kings," he said. "Each given a garden by the same God."
"The first king starved his garden—hoarded every seed.
The second drowned it—gave too much and never let it grow on its own.
But the third king… he burned his garden to the ground. Because he refused to tend something he did not understand."
The golden boy looked directly into Ex's eyes.
"One day, I will ask you what kind of king you are."
Then, just before his silhouette vanished into the trees:
"If there's a god worth bowing to," he rasped, voice shaking, "he'll be the first I kill." ex declared
The boy didn't turn. Just kept walking, his golden light retreating into the trees.
"Then I'll be waiting," he said.
And just like that, he was gone.
Only the forest remained.
And Ex left with more questions than answers.
Exactly as the boy intended.