Arc 1: Loss and Darkness - Chapter 1: The World I Awoke To

  Xwant leaned against the filthy wall, feeling its cold bite through his skin. His breath came in ragged gasps. Footsteps echoed closer—he had been cornered by a gang. The dim streetlights barely lit the shattered glass and rotting garbage heaps around him. It felt like the end...

  Until darkness suddenly consumed everything.

  When he opened his eyes again, he was in a completely different world.

  The cobblestones were neatly aligned. The buildings were adorned with intricate stonework. Creatures with animalistic features, elves with elongated ears, and beings he couldn't even name moved past him. He stumbled back in fear. All eyes turned to him—cold, full of hate, ready to kill.

  Trembling, Xwant fled into a back alley. But danger awaited him there too—muggers.

  "Give us your money!" they yelled.

  "I don’t have any!" he cried, but the fists raining down on him paid no heed to his words.

  Beaten black and blue, bleeding and bruised, he was left dragging himself across the streets. Hunger clawed at his insides. Alienation gnawed at his mind. Eventually, he found a forest. He ran inside and discovered a cave. There, under a fading sunset, he reflected—on life, on the past, on the haunting question: “Why me?”

  When sleep overtook him, he dreamed.

  He was bound to a throne-like seat. In front of him, a table. Atop it, a crown. As the structure around him crumbled, all he managed to seize was the crown. And the moment he placed it on his head… he awoke.

  Was this dream meaningless? Or a sign of something greater?

  Upon leaving the cave, he saw that the city was surrounded by guards—not humans, but other races. The memory of those menacing stares returned. He chose not to enter the city.

  Instead, he tried to survive in the forest—living off wild apples, catching fish from the river, setting up a small tent at night. Xwant began trying to live.

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  One evening, the dream returned—black shadows, people turning away. Only one had approached him, and even that one vanished.

  Three days later, he came across a sign: City of Shgon. This time, he took a risk and entered. The majority of the population were elves. A kind beastkin gave him a map. It pointed to a place called Erasen—once a human city. For the first time, Xwant felt hope.

  He set off. Days passed. Exhaustion weighed heavy on him. As he stared at the river, a thought slipped in: “Why am I here?”

  “Maybe… I should just die.”

  But the will to survive—ever stubborn—prevailed again.

  Finally, he reached Erasen. But the gates were guarded by non-human sentries. Knowing he couldn't sneak past, he pitched his tent nearby. That’s when he heard footsteps.

  A human.

  His name was Aren. Neither had seen another human in a long time. Aren revealed that humanity was nearly extinct—only a few remained. Xwant was at a loss. But they chose to stay together.

  One night, they found a way in. Distracting the guards with thrown stones, they slipped through. What greeted them was a ghost town—bloodstained streets, rotting corpses, silence. In one house, Xwant found ancient human currency. He had money now.

  But then, a scream from the square. Aren had been caught.

  Xwant pleaded, begged, cried.

  “There is no such race anymore,” the guard said—and struck Aren down.

  Xwant screamed. In grief, he plunged his blade into the guard—again, again, again. Bloodied, broken, he cradled Aren’s lifeless body.

  In Aren’s pocket, he found a pink handkerchief with stars. Xwant held it to his chest.

  When he finally left the city, he glanced at the sky and clenched his fist.

  The guards thought the human before them was just another nuisance. But something awoke in Xwant that day—something unknown.

  Time seemed to bend for him. His movements became faster, sharper. Most of all—he could sense his enemies’ next moves.

  He moved like a shadow. One guard’s throat slit, another's stomach pierced with lethal precision. He didn’t stop. Every strike felt predestined.

  When the last guard hit the ground, silence reigned. All he left behind was blood and stunned silence.

  Xwant walked away—expressionless. No anger. No sorrow. Just emptiness.

  Back in his tent, he sat motionless. His eyes didn’t blink. Staring, but not seeing.

  Time passed. His eyelids grew heavy. Sleep took him.

  In his dream, a white handkerchief burned in flames—simple flames, at first. But they leapt to the surrounding black, yellow, and red ones. Fire danced, devoured everything.

  Xwant noticed a glass of water. Desperate, he reached for it. But it slipped, spilling uselessly. As the white handkerchief burned fiercer, the others faded away.

  This triggered something deep inside. Rage. He found a lighter. His eyes flared. One by one, he tore and set the extinguished cloths ablaze. Burned them. Scattered their ashes. No colors remained.

  He awoke—wordless. Empty. Only silence.

  He stood, grabbed the map, and chose his destination: Kawa, capital of the Half-Elf Empire.

  He marched without complaint, without speech. With unrelenting steps, he reached the city. Disguised himself. Blended into the crowd like a silent shadow.

  Then, chaos erupted.

  Someone dashed past and took an elf hostage. Arms wrapped around the elf’s throat. Confusion spread—no one knew what was happening. But Xwant had lost his cover.

  He drew his sword. Met the elf’s eyes—cold, emotionless. The elf trembled, sobbing.

  Xwant… laughed. A mad, unhinged laugh.

  And with one swing—he beheaded the elf. Blood spattered everywhere. He tossed the head into the square.

  Fear and silence gripped the city.

  Xwant vanished into the shadows.

  He left behind screams, terror, and a blood-soaked square. In the forest, still stained with blood, he felt... something. A sliver of peace.

  He lit a fire. Gazed into the flames. With those same vacant eyes.

  Was he thinking?

  Perhaps.

  Or perhaps he had become completely hollow.