Prologue: Tough Luck

Perched on the roof, the being watched as the battle below unfolded. It toyed with a leaf that seemed to wither and die in its grasp. The fight—brutal, bloody, and inevitable—was nearing its end. To the creature, it was all just a trivial amusement. The victor would live, the defeated would die, but in the grand scheme, it didn't matter. This was the nature of things in a world forever trapped under Talos, the unbreakable barrier that locked everything within, keeping the horrors of the stars at bay.

Good thing, too. The beings beyond? They'd tear everything apart.

Bang.

The final blow had been struck. The woman, despite her victory, crumpled to the ground, her life bleeding out beside the creature she'd killed. Only one remained alive—the little one. A girl, barely able to hold herself together, cradling the woman's body, her tears soaking the ground.

The being, Eikþyrnir, found itself intrigued. Just like that, it vanished from the roof, the leaf in its hand crumbling to dust.

Down below, the girl sobbed. Her cries were sharp, desperate, but the world around her grew eerily quiet. No crickets. No wind. Nothing. She stilled, not because her tears were done, but because they were shifting. Grief turned to rage. Hands clenched, breath heavy, she stood up, her silver hair whipped by the wind. Her eyes, once bright and full of life, were now dull, filled with something dark and simmering.

"Quite the mess, aren't you?"

Her head snapped up. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. In front of her stood the figure—its form flickering, ever-changing. Eikþyrnir's presence was suffocating.

"Get lost," she hissed, her voice shaky but firm.

"You don't look like someone who's fine on their own." It tilted its head slightly, as if amused. "All this anger... you have no idea what to do with it, do you?"

She clenched her fists tighter, nails biting into her palms. "Shut up."

"I'm only offering you a way out." Its tone was casual, almost dismissive. "You want to make them pay, don't you? The ones responsible for this. The ones who keep taking from you. You want power. Revenge. I can give you that."

The girl's lip curled, a snarl threatening to form. "Why the hell would I want anything from you?"

Eikþyrnir moved closer, the air around it distorting as it did. "Because you're weak. And without me, you'll stay that way."

Her body shook, not from fear, but from the rage boiling beneath her skin. It was right, and that was what made her want to scream. She was weak. All the fight in the world couldn't change the fact that she was powerless.

She spat at the ground. "I don't need your help."

"Oh, but you do," Eikþyrnir replied, its voice a low hum, almost amused. "Or do you think you'll survive the next time something like this happens? Do you think you'll win? Look around you." It gestured toward the bodies scattered around, the remnants of the battle. "This is what happens to those who fight without the strength to win. You'll die, just like them. And no one will care."

Silence fell between them. Her heart pounded, anger and despair swirling inside her, threatening to tear her apart. She couldn't deny it. The world was cruel. It took and took, and left nothing behind. And she was stuck in it, drowning in her own helplessness.

The wind picked up, her hair whipping across her face. Her eyes, once clouded by pain, now burned with something sharper.

Eikþyrnir watched closely, its gaze unrelenting.

"What do you want?" she muttered, her voice barely audible.

It smiled, a flicker of something dark and satisfied passing over its features. "All I need is for you to say yes. And I'll make sure you never feel this powerless again."

The girl hesitated, her fists loosening for the first time. Her chest tightened, the weight of her decision sinking in. She looked down at the body of the woman she'd held moments ago—the last connection she had in this brutal world.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and spoke the words that sealed her fate.

"…Fine. Do it."

"Shh... you wouldn't want the creatures within to jump, would you?" Eikþyrnir's voice drifted through her mind, dark and smooth, everywhere and nowhere at once.

In an instant, time seemed to slow, as though reality itself had twisted around Sera. Her breath echoed in her ears, sharp and loud, every movement dragging like it was stuck in place.

Sera's chest heaved, the weight of the air around her pressing down. Everything felt magnified. The world seemed louder, more vivid. Her heart pounded, each beat like thunder in her ears.

A ritual sigil formed beneath her feet, its jagged lines glowing in dull red and gold. The chants began—a maddening chorus of voices, overlapping, twisted together, incomprehensible. The sound surged, surrounding her, pushing in on her skull.

Then it hit.

She screamed, a scream so full of emotions, that it tore through the quiet night. The pain was unbearable. It was as though her very being was being ripped apart from the inside. She fell, her body writhing as every bone, every nerve, shattered and rebuilt itself.

Again. And again. AND FUCKING AGAIN.

Each time, it felt like she died, and each time, she was dragged back to life—broken, twisted, then shattered again. Her mind cracked under the strain, her thoughts spiraling into chaos, unable to focus, unable to escape the relentless cycle of agony.

Breathing was impossible. Thinking was impossible. Time stretched, distorted. Every second felt like a year, every moment an eternity of suffering.

She couldn't scream anymore. The pain had taken that from her too.

And then, without warning, it was over.

She lay on the ground, her body broken but still alive, trembling, barely holding itself together. Slowly, her hand pressed against the cold earth, pushing herself up. Her limbs felt foreign, weak, like they no longer belonged to her. She could feel the changes. She knew she wasn't the same.

Her once-silver hair had turned pure white, the strands falling lifelessly around her face. Her eyes, which had once held so much light, were now empty, dull, as though the life had been drained from them.

Suddenly, a cold voice echoed around her. It wasn't Eikþyrnir. No. This was something else. Something far older, far more powerful. The Voice of the World. It spoke, as if judging her very existence.

[Notice: נָפוּל One]

You, who has fallen from grace. You, who has accepted, have lost your privileges.

The voice was emotionless, indifferent. The weight of its words fell upon her like a final sentence, irreversible, damning. The Voice of the World—the unseen force that governed all things, that which has existed since the collapse.

There was no turning back now.

Eikþyrnir was long gone, but before it left, it had left something behind. A note, lying carelessly on the ground beside her.

She reached out, her hands trembling as she picked it up.

Good luck.

The words were simple, mocking. She stared at them for a moment, but there was no reaction. Her mind was too shattered, too hollow to process what had just happened.