The city of Velistra gleamed like a fractured jewel beneath the dusk—skyscrapers rising like iron thorns, holo-ads flashing with the faces of awakeners, and the air thick with essence dust. In this city, power wasn't just status; it was survival.
A single figure walked through the evening crowd, his blue coat trailing behind him like an echo of night. Drax's presence didn't draw attention at first glance, but the closer people got, the quieter their conversations became. Something about him felt wrong—like staring too long into an eclipse.
His eyes, once soft and uncertain, now glowed faintly with abyssal reflection.
He turned down a quiet street lined with old homes—a rare sight in Velistra's mechanical sprawl. His mother's house stood there, small but kept spotless, the lights still burning in the windows.
When Drax pushed the door open, he heard the faint hum of a kettle.
Then came her voice.
> "...Drax?"
The cup fell from her hands before he could answer. In the next heartbeat, she was holding him—arms trembling, her breath hitching against his shoulder.
> "You're alive. My god, Drax, I thought— I thought they said no one made it out."
He stood there stiffly, uncertain at first. Then his hands lifted slowly, returning the embrace with quiet restraint. Her warmth felt distant, as if filtered through glass.
> "I'm fine, Mom," he said, voice low. "Sorry for worrying you."
She pulled back slightly, eyes shimmering. "Your brother and sister— they'll be so happy— well, your sister when she wakes up..."
His expression darkened at that.
> "Still no change?"
She shook her head, trying not to cry. "The doctors said her consciousness is... trapped. Like she's dreaming but can't wake up."
He glanced down the hall toward the room at the end—the faint scent of antiseptic drifting from it. His steps were slow, measured. He opened the door quietly.
Inside, his sister Lyra lay on the bed, her chest rising softly beneath white sheets. A small essence crystal pulsed faintly above her head, maintaining her vitals.
Drax sat at her bedside. For a long time, he said nothing. The world outside felt far away—only the sound of the machine breathing with her remained.
> "You always hated being still," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Guess even you couldn't run from this, huh?"
His eyes hardened.
> "No," he said softly. "That's not true. I can reach you."
He closed his eyes, focusing inward. His consciousness sank—past breath, past thought, into the silence beneath the mind.
And there, in the darkness of his inner world, a shadow opened. The Black Tree stirred, and a pulse of essence rippled through its roots. His abyssal domain answered his intent.
> To enter another's subconscious… it's forbidden magic, a whisper reminded him from somewhere deep within.
> "Then I'll break the rule," Drax murmured. "She's my sister."
His soul expanded—his essence flowing like ink through invisible lines. Slowly, carefully, he reached for the faint thread of her spirit… and followed it inward.
Outside, the night thickened.
At the edge of Velistra, black vehicles marked with the sigil of the Inner World Association rolled into the district. Inside, officers whispered over flickering monitors.
> "Subject identified: male, approximately twenty, came out of the shattered dungeon alone."
"Team status?"
"All deceased. No trace of bodies."
"Classification?"
"Unknown affinity. But energy readings... don't match any registered category. His essence devours everything it touches."
A man in a long coat stood in the corner, watching the data stream. His nameplate read Director Varian Cross. He frowned, lighting a cigarette.
> "Devouring essence…" he muttered. "That's not awakening. That's ascension gone wrong."
The monitors flickered again, showing a faint pulse of black energy emanating from the residential district.
> "He's active," an analyst said nervously.
Varian's eyes narrowed. "Find out who he is—and what he brought back with him."
Inside the house, the air had gone still.
Drax's body sat motionless beside Lyra's bed, his fingers resting gently on hers. His consciousness was no longer there.
It had entered the storm.
Beneath the veil of his sister's mind, the world was gray and endless—an ocean of memories fractured by fear. He could see faint silhouettes drifting in the fog—echoes of laughter, faces half-remembered, moments replaying endlessly.
And deep below it all, something moved. Something that didn't belong.
Drax's aura flared, dark waves rippling around him as his abyssal essence took shape. His eyes burned faintly as he whispered to himself:
> "Whoever did this to her… I'll find them."