At the top of an abandoned building in his city, a young man stood alone—white messy hair, dark shadows under his eyes, staring downward from above.
Worries wrapped around him from every side. His gray eyes told the whole story. The rain was pouring heavily that night, yet did he carry an umbrella?
No. He didn't. It looked as if he wanted to wash himself with the fresh drops.
Beside him was a small gas canister, making an annoying sound whenever the rain hit its metal surface. As he reached to grab it and drink, a strong gust pushed it away from its place, sending it falling downward.
His hand tightened slowly, then clenched hard… as if he had lost something precious—more than just a gas canister.
"Luck… the ugliest word I've ever heard or written. It's something terrifying, like this endless night."
He spoke in a tone that sounded like someone about to fall asleep. Even the words leaving his tongue felt difficult—not in pronunciation, but as if his tongue didn't want to say them.
Eliah, a boy whose life was nothing but hardship and exhaustion. The path in front of him was never made of gold; it was closer to something ruined.
Still, he tried to endure—despite his thin body and short height.
Do you know how shameful it is to be short? To look around and see everyone taller than you?
But you could break that curse if you became one of the Awakened who were lucky enough to gain the Spell Heolstor… then you could prove yourself.
These were the chosen ones, the NightFarers, who could suppress the Age of Night and bring back the new light that had been gone for a long time.
Eliah raised his hand and looked at its back. A drawn mark was there—a straight line cut by a horizontal one, surrounded by a shape close to a triangle in crimson.
He gave a mocking smile—not because he was on the brink of madness or unlucky, but something closer to self-hatred.
"When luck comes to me, it comes as a curse… and when a blessing approaches me, it arrives like a blood-stained sword…" His words were like knives as he said them—sentences that only come from someone who has seen hell even in their brightest moments.
He placed his palm on his face as he continued:
"Night is the symbol of loneliness… looks like Mother knew how to name me."
He turned and began walking toward the stairway door leading down the building. But before he reached halfway, a light feminine voice circled his ears:
"Eliah… have you really accepted your fate, or did you come to fetch the rope behind the door?"
His eyes widened. He glanced back slightly and saw the Mystery, wearing elegant clothes, staring toward the edge. Strangely, the rain fell on her more than anything else, as if the rain was drawn to her.
"W-who are you?!" His question came out with a soft stutter.
"Me? I don't have a specific name… I suppose that's what makes me unique."
She lifted her head a bit and spoke with clear contempt:
"And you? What is it that makes you unique?"
A mocking smile rose on his face. He answered coldly:
"Laziness, bad luck, and loneliness… this triangle I have tells you exactly what makes me who I am."
"How foolish you are…"
Her insult carried elegance, making Eliah freeze for a moment.
"Do you know why you're foolish and not stupid?!"
"Heolstor chose you. And what did you do?! Like a fool, you want to hang your corpse off this building and let people record you like a pig."
The Mystery appeared behind him—Eliah didn't even notice it happen.
She held his shoulder and spoke:
"You chose to die in a cheap, pathetic way instead of dying inside the world of Night and Dreams… at least die protecting your world from the monsters of the night."
"Hahahahahahaha…"
A mad laugh burst out from him—one that sounded like it hadn't escaped him in a long time. It carried clear mockery toward everything she said.
"My world?! This filthy world isn't worth a drop of my blood… I never lived anything beautiful or bright in my entire life."
"This world deserves to be destroyed… no one ever cared about me."
When he turned, the Mystery was gone—not behind him, not anywhere. He laughed while wiping his face with bitterness.
"Looks like I've become insane… I'm starting to create illusions that don't even exist."
He walked to the nearest wall, leaned on it, and stared at the mark. Thoughts swirled around him from every direction.
The Spell Heolstor…
It appeared after a mysterious entity—or meteor—collided with the earth, causing many changes, including the rise of the Night Phenomenon.
The Night Phenomenon simply turned everything on earth into eternal night. Not a single thread of sunlight existed. It was as if the earth was surrounded by a wall blocking all sunlight.
Another side effect was the sudden appearance of monsters from random places all over the world.
And here came the Spell Heolstor, which brought forth the NightFarers, who fought the monsters within different dimensions and prevented them from crossing into the earth and causing chaos.
And a person could know they had received the Spell by a mark that could appear on certain parts of the body.
"Looks like that Mystery was right."
"Why am I thinking this stupid way… suicide?! I've lived my whole life as a coward, never tasted courage even once."
Eliah was trying to hold on to life, trying to find any reason— even an imaginary one.
He placed his ten fingers on his face as he slowly sank to the ground. Rain hit his hands and parts of his face—the line between tears and rain was impossible to tell.
Then a stabbing headache struck him, forcing him to his knees. He held his temple, rubbing hard, hoping to ease the pain. It was useless. The pressure felt like being trapped in a tiny space.
A crimson tear slid down his cheek as strands of painful memories surfaced…
A massacre—
A boy named Alon, who lost everything and became nothing more than an orphan with no one to care for him.
The headache faded. The crimson tears were pulled upward, returning into his eyes.
"Haaagh—!"
He breathed again, like someone rising from the depths of the ocean, able to see a glimmer of life once more. A faint smile appeared on his face as he stood.
"Looks like I found a reason… yes, it's a vengeful one, but it doesn't matter. I wanted a thread to tie me to life—and I found it."
He stepped toward the center of the courtyard, eyes fixed on the mark etched on the back of his hand. He drew a sharp knife and carved a deep cut across the symbol… Blood dripped onto the ground as he extended his hand, unfazed and untouched by pain. And before the final drop could touch the earth, a dark light descended — sharp and narrow like a falling needle — radiating sparks of malice and dread.
The needle split open sideways. From within, several pitch-black hands burst out, grasping desperately for the one who had summoned it. Whispered murmurs poured from the void — incomprehensible, ritualistic, ancient.
Eliah gripped the fabric of his black robe tightly. He tried to take a step forward, yet his leg refused him.
What he had done was not an act of randomness, nor self-harm. It was the sealing signature between the Heolstor Spell and the night itself… a vow of no return.
While he hesitated, the mystery appeared beside him once more, fingers resting on his shoulder, her lips hovering near his ear as she whispered softly:
"Not long ago, you wanted to die. Now you're gasping after life."
"Go in. Dying to beasts is better than the mockery that will cling to you."
Then she faded away like dew slipping between branches…
Eliah approached the gate as the hands clawed outward, reaching for the one who had opened the passage.
"It's fine… The hatred I carry for this world — I'll plant it deep inside the monsters."
His words came out sharp, a declaration and a long-term oath whose end even he could not see. Then he extended his hand, intertwining it with the cold hand of darkness.
"It's soft… cold… and reeks of death. I wish I were the death wandering this place. I swear my blade will never dry of blood."
Several long arms shot forward, seized him, and dragged him violently into his new fate — into the eternal night.
⸻
Within the First Night…
"What is this cold?!"
"My whole body feels frozen… I can't even move my finger."
The chill seeped into every part of him. He heard a distorted voice, then it sharpened, drawing closer until it whispered near his ear:
"Seems like we've got a new NightFarer."
When Eliah heard that line, he forced his eyes open, staring at five figures standing before a wooden door.
He turned his head north and south, studying every corner of the place with tired eyes.
A windowless wooden cabin.
A heated stove struggling against the brutal cold.
A door sealed with planks.
A foul stench filling the air.
And the sound of furious winds battering the cabin.
So I made it… And not just that — I ended up with a bunch of lowlifes.
He muttered the thought with disdain as he glared at them.
One of them approached with a mocking expression.
"The new warrior? No sword, no strength… Looks like the Spell picked you by mistake. What a shame."
The other four laughed — except for one figure, head lowered, red hair hiding half his face.
Humans… Wherever you throw them, they remain filth. Filthier than beasts.
"How amusing. Anyway, we wait for the storm to settle—"
"Man, I doubt it'll calm down. It's getting worse."
"No problem. At least we found shelter."
Throughout their chatter, Eliah stared at them with naked contempt and undisguised hatred.
"One of you… or all of you… will die."
He spoke the words with a faint smirk, taking a seat calmly.
The man who mocked him earlier stepped forward, placing a hand on Eliah's shoulder.
"Repeat that, rat."
Eliah didn't respond. He simply lowered his head.
Another burst out laughing:
"Hahaha, look at him — trying to act tough. How adorable."
"He couldn't kill an ant with that twig of a body."
The man tightened his grip around Eliah's neck, repeating:
"Say it again, you—"
"It seems… there's no other choice."
With a small, clean motion, Eliah pressed his small blade to the man's throat — and severed his head.
It rolled across the floor, stopping near the red-haired man's foot. Blood sprayed across Eliah's black clothes and face.
Before the body collapsed, Eliah snatched the man's sword and rose to his feet.
"If you're clowns… then I'm the circus. So get ready, you pigs."