Night stared into the bottomless abyss, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders, framing a face carved by the agony of loss.
His silver eyes—once bright—were now dull and empty, shadows of the soul behind them.
Tears trailed silently down his cheeks, mingling with the dirt and ash clinging to his tattered clothes.
A hollow laugh slipped from his lips—dry, broken, cruel.
It didn't offer relief. Only more pain.
He couldn't stop sinking.
Couldn't stop the numbness from becoming everything.
The world felt weightless, as if time had shattered, leaving him stranded in a void where nothing lived—not even memory.
He had lost his parents. His sister.
Everything.
The weight of that promise—the one he'd made to protect her—crushed him now.
What was left?
No hope.
No meaning.
No strength.
His hand trembled as it reached for the ground. His fingers brushed against something cold—a strange, jagged key lying abandoned in the dust.
He should have thrown it away.
Instead, he just stared.
And then, without a sound, without a thought—
He stepped forward.
And jumped.
The air screamed around him as he fell.
Faster.
Deeper.
Colder—
Until—
Stillness.
He wasn't falling anymore.
He was drifting in an endless dark—weightless, numb, swallowed by silence.
That's when they came.
Two presences emerged from the darkness.
One was pure shadow, shapeless and still. His eyes held only pity. He said nothing—only stared.
But his silence roared in Night's mind.
The other stepped forward, wrapped in a calm, pale light. It held no warmth, but eased the edge of his pain.
"Who are you?" Night whispered.
Her eyes were like stars behind clouds. Her hair shimmered like the edge of dawn.
"You seek the end," she said softly, "but your fate has been decided since the beginning. I'm sorry... but I have no control."
"I didn't ask for this," Night murmured, his voice barely there. "I just wanted it to stop…"
The shadow didn't speak, but Night could feel its pressure—like the Void itself was listening.
Waiting.
The girl stepped closer, unfazed.
"Even in despair, something in you chose," she said. "Your heart yearned for the truth. But truth is not something you can simply grasp."
"I have nothing left…" he said. "I just want to know why. Why I suffer. Why I'm like this."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"Then earn the truth you seek. It's within you—but it won't unfold unless you challenge it."
A door appeared as she held the key—no summoning, no motion—just a tear in space.
Its surface shimmered, caught between black and white, shifting like oil and starlight.
"Face your Trial," she said.
Night clenched his jaw, fists trembling.
He didn't reply.
He walked forward.
Toward the door.
Toward the unknown.
Toward the Trial.
"What you seek… will always return."
A pause.
Her voice softened.
"Along the way, I'll stay with you—until the very end, Master.
My name is… Solenne."
Then the door swallowed him.
And the Trial began.
---
The Hex
It came after the wars. After the skies fell and the earth crumbled, swallowing entire cities whole.
After the fires.
The screams.
The silence.
People vanished.
Gone without a trace.
But when they returned… they were not the same.
Their bodies bore tattoos—delicate, intricate designs that bloomed across their skin like flowers and tendrils. Patterns that were beautiful in a way that felt deeply wrong.
Some glowed faintly.
Others pulsed—as if alive.
No one knew what they meant.
No one knew where the marked had gone.
But they carried the Marks—symbols of trials they couldn't remember, but which haunted them nonetheless.
Each tattoo was a key.
A key to something far worse than anyone could imagine.
The Trials had begun.
And only the strong survived them.
The rest…
Became Gates.
Monsters.
Empty vessels.
They opened rifts to the Abyss, letting horrors beyond comprehension bleed into the world. Twisted things—nightmares from beyond time—unleashed upon the earth.
The Dread Hex scarred the world.
Not just with marks.
But with the blood it demanded.
The Abyss—a wound that would never close—reminded all that the curse, like death, could never be escaped.
But even in the face of ruin, something stirred.
The Seekers.
Those who had once been lost… but returned with purpose.
They were the ones who survived the Trials. Who faced the Gates and emerged alive.
They held knowledge of the old world—secrets of forgotten magic, ancient technologies, and the means to survive in a broken realm.
With their guidance, civilization began to rise again.
Cities were reborn.
Nations formed.
The survivors clung to hope, even if it was fragile.
From the ruins, great powers emerged—each with a vision of what the world should become.
Some sought to control the Marks.
Others focused on defense against the Abyss.
Whispers told of alliances and betrayals.
Of factions rising and falling in the shadows of chaos.
The Seekers were revered… and feared.
Their bond with the Marks made them powerful beyond normal humans.
But even they—
Could not stop what lingered.
—