By the age of twenty, Ginro believed he had finally started figuring out his life.
He was a young adult trying to survive in the city. balancing part-time work, hanging out with friends, navigating confusing relationships, and pretending he wasn't stressed about what the future held. His life wasn't perfect, but it was real enough.
Or so he thought.
Because the night before everything changed, Ginro had a dream... one unlike any he had ever experienced.
He stood in a world of pitch-black haze, endless and silent. The ground was smooth like glass, yet ripples formed each time he took a step. No sky. No horizon. No sound.
Only Darkness.
Then, through the shifting black mist, he saw someone.
A figure... tall, featureless, and made entirely of shadow. Not human. Not solid. Its form flickered like smoke trying to hold itself together.
Ginro couldn't see its face, but he felt its gaze... heavy, ancient, knowing.
He tried to speak, but no sound came out.
The shadow figure lifted an arm slowly, as if pointing directly at him. Its voice, when it finally spoke, was layered like dozens of whispers overlapping.
"Wake up."
Ginro's heart pounded.
The shadows around the figure writhed violently, as if something was trying to tear it apart. It stepped closer despite its unraveling form, and the dream world trembled.
"Wake up, Ginro…"
The voice deepened, cracks of power rushing through the words.
"Your life is not your own."
Before he could react, the shadow lunged toward him... and Ginro jolted awake.
Only this time, he didn't wake in his apartment. Not in his bed. Not in the modern world he knew.
But in darkness, real and suffocating.
Cold, metallic air filled his lungs. His breath echoed. And above him, a massive runic seal glowed with dying light.
The dream… The shadow… The warning...
Ginro began to realize it wasn't a dream at all.
The second he tried to sit up, cold metal scraped against his skin.
Chains.
Thick, black chains wrapped around his arms, chest, and legs, engraved with glowing symbols that pulsed like dying embers. They weren't ordinary restraints, each link thrummed with an oppressive weight, as if meant to crush something far more destructive than a human body.
Ginro struggled. The chains rattled loudly in the silent cavern.
With every movement, more fragments of memories flashed inside his mind chaotic, overlapping, suffocating.
A burning kingdom. A throne drowning in shadows. His own voice, twisted and furious. Angels descending in blinding light. The sound of a sword piercing flesh. A seal forced over his heart. A promise of endless sleep.
He grasped his head, overwhelmed. Each flash felt like a lifetime trying to slam back into him at once.
"What… what is all this?" he whispered, breath shaking.
The chains responded not loosening, but reacting to his rising power. The runes flickered violently, as if losing control. A thin fracture formed along one of the bindings.
Then another.
And another.
Ginro inhaled sharply as raw energy surged through him dark, ancient, hungry.
With a final push, the chains exploded into fragments of dissolving light.
For the first time, he stood freely.
His legs trembled from disuse, but instinct guided him. He reached out into the darkness, feeling the walls of the cavern. rough, cold, carved with forgotten symbols. Searching for an exit felt hopeless, but a faint pull tugged at his chest, as if something deep inside remembered this place better than he did.
He followed the pull.
Each step triggered more memories.
A sword of light cutting through his domain. A hand reaching for him... his own? Someone else's? A shadow commanding legions. A voice yelling his name in desperation. The sensation of falling. Darkness swallowing everything.
He stumbled forward, chest burning with confusion and awakening power.
Then... a faint breeze brushed against his skin.
Air... Not the stale, suffocating kind. A Real air.
His pace quickened.
The cavern walls widened, rising into a narrow tunnel. At the end of it, a sliver of pale, natural light broke through... weak, but real.
Ginro's heart hammered.
He reached the end of the tunnel. And when he stepped outside...
The world trembled.
Wind roared. Clouds churned violently in the sky. Mountains groaned as if waking from their own slumber. Flocks of birds scattered in every direction, screaming across the heavens.
Across continents, mages collapsed to their knees. Priests dropped their sacred relics. Angels in distant holy towers felt their halos flicker. And deep within the Radiant Citadel, the Hero's Blessing flared in warning.
A single message echoed into every corner of existence:
"He's awakened."
Ginro stood at the mouth of the cavern, shadows swirling naturally around his feet like old friends welcoming him home.
But instead of feeling powerful, he felt… relaxed.
The air outside was cool, fresh, and gentle against his skin, so different from the suffocating darkness inside. For a moment, he simply breathed, letting the breeze wash over him. It felt peaceful. Almost comforting.
Then the exhaustion hit.
Every muscle trembled. His vision blurred at the edges. The adrenaline that kept him moving faded all at once, leaving only the weight of pressing down on his twenty-year-old body.
His knees buckled.
"...I'm so tired," he whispered, barely conscious of his own voice.
Ginro collapsed onto the ground, the world tilting and spinning around him. The sky above flickered in and out of focus. Darkness crept in again. but softer this time, like a blanket pulling him under.
Just before his eyes closed completely, shadows gathered in front of him.
They twisted, thickened, and formed a familiar silhouette.
The black shadow figure from his dream stood over him... tall, faceless, and made of swirling darkness. Its shape flickered gently, as if it had been waiting for this moment.
This time, it didn't feel frightening. It felt… inevitable.
The figure leaned closer, and though it had no face, Ginro could sense a smile forming... ancient, knowing, almost proud.
"Welcome back… Abyssborne."
Ginro couldn't respond. He fell into unconsciousness as the shadow wrapped around him like a protective cloak.
Everything faded to black.