The night deepened.
Clouds swirled like black ink stirred by an invisible hand, folding and unfolding above the dead city. The wind carried no warmth—only the scent of dust, metal, and something else…
A quiet ringing.
Soft. Thin. Like a nail tapping glass from the other side of reality.
—ting…
—ting…
—ting…
Han Islat stopped walking.
The sound came from nowhere. From everywhere. From inside the world itself.
He lifted his head gradually, as if afraid the sky might shatter again.
Nothing.
No movement. No life. No color.
Just silence.
He exhaled deeply and continued forward.
The street had changed.
Not physically—this wasn't an illusion. But the air… the space around him shifted as if an unseen boundary had been crossed. Faint patterns crawled along the pavement, forming symbols he didn't recognize—curved lines that felt older than any human language.
He crouched and touched one.
It pulsed faintly.
Then the ground throbbed.
A heartbeat.
Not his.
Not human.
"Again…" he whispered.
Ever since he woke up here, the city had felt wrong—like an imitation of the world copied imperfectly from a fading memory.
But this—this was the first time something answered him back.
He stood slowly.
The street ahead was lined with abandoned buildings, tall and sharp like broken teeth. Their windows reflected nothing—not even him. The sky was dim but not dark, glowing faintly with pale, exhausted light.
And in the middle of that lifeless road…
A door stood.
Alone.
Unattached to any wall.
Standing upright on cracked asphalt as if it had roots beneath the earth.
A single wooden door, old and chipped, with a bronze handle dulled by time.
Han Islat felt something shift in his chest—an instinct carved into his bones.
Danger.
But also… calling.
Like the door recognized him.
Like it had been waiting.
He approached slowly, each step echoing unnaturally loud in the empty street. His reflection appeared faintly on the door's surface, distorted, stretched, almost unrecognizable.
It wasn't him.
Or rather—
it was him from somewhere else.
Somewhere that didn't exist anymore.
Han reached out a hand… then froze.
A voice.
Not spoken aloud. Not heard with ears.
A whisper vibrating behind his ribs.
"Not yet."
His hand recoiled on instinct, breath tightening in his throat.
He knew that voice.
He didn't remember the speaker.
He didn't remember a face.
He didn't remember a name.
But he knew that voice as deeply as he knew the feeling of falling, or drowning, or being erased by something vast and merciless.
His heart pounded.
"Who's there?"
Silence.
Only the faint ting of glass being tapped far above him.
The sky trembled.
A crack had appeared again—thin, fragile, stretching like a spiderweb. Behind it, he saw… shapes.
Huge. Terrifying.
Watching.
Gods who had abandoned this world.
Or something even worse.
The crack widened slightly.
The door reacted.
The bronze handle shifted on its own, turning with a slow metallic groan. A thin line of darkness appeared between the door and its frame.
Cold air spilled out.
Han instinctively stepped back—but the asphalt beneath his feet twisted, gripping him like soft mud.
He couldn't move.
The door opened fully.
A blinding white glow spilled out, swallowing the ruined city's color and drowning every shadow. Han raised an arm to shield his eyes—but the light wasn't just bright.
It was alive.
It reached for him.
Warm. Familiar.
A warmth he hadn't felt since before he woke in this silent world.
He didn't know why, but his throat tightened.
Then—
The warmth turned cold.
Freezing.
The glow twisted. Warped. Something unseen forced its way through the frame, bending the white light into jagged shapes.
Something tried to cross the door.
Something that didn't belong.
Han's breath stopped as he saw it.
A silhouette, tall and thin, with too many limbs and not enough humanity. A head shaped like a crown made of bone. Endless black eyes opening like cracks across its skin.
No feet—
just shadows dripping like liquid darkness.
It stepped forward.
The asphalt cracked under its presence.
Han Islat finally tore free from the ground, stumbling backward.
Not a god.
Not a monster.
Something in between.
A being that should not exist in any world.
The creature tilted its head, studying him.
Han felt pressure crush his lungs—a silent force pushing down on him like a celestial hand.
Then…
the creature spoke.
But not with words.
It projected a feeling.
A concept.
A command.
"Return."
Han's vision dimmed.
The world warped around him.
His body felt weightless—
as if he were falling again.
As if he were being erased.
As if—
Something grabbed his shoulder.
A hand.
Warm. Human.
Strong.
Han jerked violently and spun around.
Someone stood behind him.
A boy.
Maybe eighteen.
Covered in dust and scratches.
Breathing hard.
Alive.
Real.
"Don't go near it!" the boy shouted, voice shaking with terror. "That thing— it's not a door! It's a trap! Run!"
Han stared at him, speechless.
A living human.
The first he had seen.
The boy tightened his grip on Han's arm, eyes wide.
"You want to live? Then move!"
The creature stepped out of the door fully.
The ground cracked.
The sky bled.
The air froze.
Han Islat didn't know who the boy was.
He didn't know what the creature was.
He didn't know why the world had ended in silence.
But one thing became clear—
This was only the beginning.