"This is a joke. A cruel, twisted joke."
Valen Veridian opened his eyes to nothingness. A vast, endless void stretched in all directions, neither bright nor dark—just an existence without meaning. It was silent, yet he could feel something unnatural pressing down on him.
He tried to move, but his body felt weightless. No ground beneath him. No sky above. Just emptiness.
"I died."
He remembered the blade. Marcus Alderwood's blade. The way it had torn through his chest with effortless precision. The cold that followed. The fading light in his eyes. The end.
"So why... why am I here?"
A flicker of movement drew his attention.
Sitting across from him, as calm as ever, was Marcus Alderwood. His once-rival. His murderer.
Valen's hands clenched into fists. His breath hitched, and rage surged through his veins. But Marcus? He sat there in silence, unbothered, his gaze unreadable.
"Damn you..." Valen wanted to shout. He wanted to lash out, to demand answers. Why? Why did you betray me? But no words left his lips.
And then, a voice.
Not Marcus's.
Something greater.
Something beyond comprehension.
A presence filled the void. No form, no face—just power. Overwhelming, suffocating, inescapable.
And then it spoke.
"Tell your story."
It was neither a request nor a suggestion. It was a command. A force pressing into his very existence.
Valen's body tensed. He scanned the void, searching for the speaker, but there was nothing. Just Marcus, just himself... and the presence.
Then, a third figure appeared.
A shadow, a being draped in an aura of authority and chaos. Unlike Marcus, unlike himself—this figure was beyond them. Beyond fate. Beyond death.
Tormentor of Peace.
The name burned into his mind, as if it had always been there, waiting to be remembered.
A smirk tugged at the figure's lips. The Author. The one who wove the threads of their existence.
"Ah, Valen," the voice hummed, neither mocking nor kind. "You do love your delusions, don't you?"
Valen's breath hitched. A chill ran down his spine.
Who was this being? Was it a god? A devil? Or something worse?
The shadowy figure tilted his head. "I have given you a chance, Valen. A chance to speak. A chance to be heard. But tell me... can you even recognize the truth?"
Silence.
Valen swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't know what game this entity was playing, but one thing was certain—he had no choice.
He turned his gaze away from Tormentor of Peace, away from Marcus, and faced the endless void before him.
A slow exhale. His fists relaxed. His eyes hardened.
"Dear readers," he spoke, his voice steady, echoing in the abyss.
"You will hear my story now."
The void trembled.
And so, his tale began.