— The Sky That Forgot Light
The wind died.
Not slowly.
Not naturally.
It simply stopped, as if the world itself had forgotten how to breathe.
The last echo of the previous battle faded behind Vaen as he walked through the skeletal remains of the forest. What was once a living canopy now hung like the bones of a colossal beast, stripped bare and silent. Underneath his feet, even the ashes dared not stir.
Vaen did not look back. The screams that once filled this place had already been filed away somewhere in the cold chambers of his mind—irrelevant, unnecessary, weightless.
He was looking for only one thing:
the pull.
It was faint at first, almost like a memory brushing the edges of his consciousness. But now it throbbed like a pulse woven into the air. A beat that did not belong to the world. A rhythm older than creation itself.
Vaen stopped walking.
The sky—grey moments ago—darkened unnaturally, turning into a dense shade of ink. Stars blinked out one by one, swallowed whole. Not covered by clouds.
Erased.
A laugh echoed.
It was not a sound.
It was not a voice.
It was a concept, ancient and heavy enough to make the air bleed.
"Child of Contradiction," the laugh-inside-a-thought whispered, "you walk too boldly. Even your shadows tremble to remain with you."
Vaen didn't look up.
He didn't need to.
The presence materialized before him, twisting the fabric of reality. A figure in no shape, a being without edges or outline, wearing a hundred faces flickering between birth and death.
A lesser god.
Not one of the high heavens.
Not one of the creators.
But something ancient enough to remember them.
It bowed—mockingly.
"Your steps disturb the order that binds this realm. You carry something that should not exist."
Vaen finally raised his head.
His eyes were still void-calm, but the air around him rippled, bending ever so slightly.
"Move," he said, not as a threat, not even as a command—simply a truth spoken aloud.
The god chuckled. "I am the Keeper of Fate's Second Thread. Everything that lives, dies, or changes in this realm is tied through me. You cannot walk here without me knowing—"
The god paused.
Vaen's gaze met it directly.
Something changed.
Something broke.
A single crack appeared in the invisible air between them.
The god stumbled back—not from harm, but from recognition. As if staring at Vaen forced it to confront an impossible memory. A forgotten era. A truth buried beyond the fabric of this universe.
"You…" the god whispered, trembling, "you aren't a mortal. Nor a vessel. You're… wrong. You should not be here. You should not be alive."
Vaen blinked once.
For a moment, the sky trembled.
The god steadied itself. "No matter what you are… I will not let the Thread unravel."
It extended its hand. The world shivered. Lines like glowing veins shot out from the ground, weaving themselves into chains made of pure causality.
The Shackles of Fate.
They wrapped toward Vaen, infinite, unbreakable, used only on gods and primordial beasts.
Vaen didn't move.
The shackles collided against him—and dissolved.
Not shattered.
Not deflected.
They simply ceased to exist the moment they touched his presence.
The god froze.
Vaen walked forward—one step, soundless and steady.
The god staggered backward. "Stay away. You don't understand—these threads bind the laws of existence! You cannot—STOP!"
But Vaen continued walking.
Because he had no reason to stop.
No fear.
No curiosity.
No hesitation.
The world bent around him, bending like light near a collapsing star.
The god screamed—not from pain, but from ancient, primal instinct.
"WHAT ARE YOU?"
Vaen tilted his head as if considering whether the question was even worth acknowledging.
Finally, he spoke:
"I don't know."
A lie.
A truth.
A contradiction.
It didn't matter.
Vaen raised his hand—not to attack, not to defend. He merely lifted it slightly, as if brushing aside dust.
The god evaporated.
Not killed.
Not destroyed.
Erased.
Time quivered. The ground fractured. The sky began to rebuild itself, stars flickering back in confusion, trying to remember if they had ever disappeared.
Vaen lowered his hand.
Silence returned.
But this time, it wasn't the peaceful hush of a quiet forest.
It was the terrified silence of a world that had just seen something impossible—and survived only because Vaen allowed it to.
He glanced at the sky.
For the first time, the heavens didn't scream at him.
They hid.
And somewhere far above, beyond realms, beyond divine thrones, beyond the false heavens—
someone began to notice.
A whisper rippled through creation:
"He is awake."
Vaen walked forward, unbothered, emotionless.
The path ahead darkened.
Not afraid of him—
Awaiting him.
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