Before beginnings, beyond endings—before the concept of "before" even existed, there existed the river.
Not any river. THE river.
An endless, churning expanse of liquid eternity, its currents molten silver and starlight, where all things that were, and all things that would ever be, flowed in an unbroken cascade. Its surface burned with the cold fire of dying stars, its depths whispered with the voices of unborn civilizations. It was not water, nor light, nor any substance mortal minds could name—it was the primordial current, the first and last truth of existence.
The River of Time.
And through this god-flow, this ceaseless cascade of destiny, cut a single, infinitely thin, impossible line of black.
It was not ink. Ink was mortal, fleeting. This was something older—a scar, a blasphemy, a defiance etched into the fabric of time itself. And along its obsidian length, enshrouded in an ephemeral sphere, three luminous orbs drifted like dying comets, their light warring against the crushing tide of eternity.
The first core fell.
A sphere of storm and sky—azure blue, emerald green, void-black, and blinding white—it pulsed like a dying heartbeat. The river roared around it, silver waves rising like wrathful gods, but the core held fast to the disintegrating ink-path. Then, with a final, thunderous crack of unraveling reality, it plunged into the depths. The impact sent shockwaves through time itself, the black streak beneath it evaporating like mist in a gale.
The remaining two cores shuddered, but quickly gained speed with the reduced weight.
But the onslaught of the river proved too powerful as the two remaining cores soon began to falter. The river was unrelenting, and the cores soon began to wane, dipping deeper and deeper into the water. Until...they began to hover above a shadow that seemed to come from within the river.
Below the two cores stood a perfectly even cube without the slightest blemish even amongst the torturous current of the river.
Right then and there, just when the cores seemed to succumb when—they began burning up, suddenly skyrocketing in intensity, as coincidentally the cube began to lose more and more of its luster.
With newfound life the cores skyrocketed forward, causing ripples as they battled the waves.
The second core fell.
A maelstrom of fire and life—crimson red, glacial blue, and verdant green—it flared like a newborn sun. The river protested around it, time's current thickening into molten silver chains, but the core pushed, its radiance eating away at the ever-disintegrating ink-path. Then—down. It tore through the fabric of the river like a meteor, vanishing into it's abyssal depths with a concussive boom that sent fissures spiderwebbing through the flow of ages.
Now only one remained.
The last core—a forge of earth and cosmic night, its surface swirling with umber brown, endless blue, starless and blasphemous black, and a swirling nebula of impossible violet—hovered at the edge of oblivion. The ink-path was nearly gone, the black thread frayed to a hair's width. The river howled in triumph, its currents rising in a tsunami of annihilating silver—
—and the core let go.
The waters convulsed as the now empty translucent sphere that once held the cores lurched forward, fighting for every precious centimeter it could push against the river. The silver flow twisted in on itself, spiraling into a whirlpool of unraveling destiny. The blackness coalesced, not fading, but condensing—collapsing inward until, at last, it was no longer a stain.
Until it was a seed. Then—
—a single drop of black fell.
WHOOOOM!
And it bloomed.
It struck the whirlpool's heart—and the river ignited.
Black fire raced outward in fractal tendrils, staining the silver currents, corrupting, changing. Darkness erupted outward in fractal tendrils, each strand a new path, a new defiance, a change.
The seed had formed fourteen years ago.
It had been fourteen years since the results of an impossible gambit, with a grace borne from an unwavering futility.
The city's twilight embraced Theon as he strolled along the busy streets, an outlier amongst the bustle and energy of life around him. Neon signs buzzed overhead, their colors flickering against the pavement, but in his eyes, they vanished—swallowed whole by pupils like an infinite black ocean. His right hand carried a plastic bag that slightly brushed against the ground, his left hand was tucked into his pocket, and dark crescents underscored his tired eyes. Yet despite it all, he stood as straight as an arrow with an unreadable expression.
He approached a sleek silver skyscraper that towered over the surrounding structures. The building's mirrored surface reflected the fading light of the evening, giving it an almost ethereal glow. As Theon pushed through the revolving doors and stepped into the spacious, air-conditioned lobby, his usually straight lips curved upward as a warm smile appeared on his face, his posture loosened slightly from its usual arrow-straight rigidity to a slouch just enough to mimic the weariness of exhaustion.
The atmosphere inside was strikingly different from the bustling streets outside. The spacious lobby, with its polished marble floors and modern decor, buzzed with subdued activity. People moved with purpose, some engaged in hushed conversations, others focused on their tasks despite the late hour. Theon nodded to a few familiar faces, offering a tired but genuine smile.
"Good evening, Theon." greeted the receptionist with a warm smile. "Late night again?"
Theon smiled back, albeit tiredly. "Yeah, just wrapped up some things. Have a good night."
"You too." she replied, watching as he continued toward the elevator bank.
Reaching the elevator, Theon pressed the button and waited, the soft chime signaling its arrival.
As the doors slid open, he stepped inside, the quiet hum of the empty elevator wrapping around him. Leaning back against the cool metal wall, he let his eyes drift shut for a moment, his features smoothing into the same stoic, unreadable mask he had held before he had entered the building. With a measured breath, his back straightened once more, every trace of vulnerability erased as if it never existed.
The elevator ascended smoothly, the digital display counting up the floors as Theon took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, revealing the hallway that led to his room. The surroundings was quieter here, the soft carpet muffling footsteps and creating a sense of calm. Reaching his door, Theon keyed in his code and scanned his card, and the lock clicked open with a quiet beep.
The room inside was a small, functional space—his personal sanctuary within the organization's headquarters, sparsely decorated with a bed, a desk, walls of bookshelves, and a small kitchenette.
Theon sighed, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around the room and reflected on the day's events.
Today, he had taken care of a job for the public side of the organization.
To the public, the organization was known as the Veritas Syndicate, a prestigious entity that prided itself on its philanthropic ventures, cultural patronage, and business innovations. The Syndicate was a well-respected name in the city, often seen sponsoring events, funding educational programs, and contributing to the betterment of society. Its emblem—a golden sun rising over a tranquil sea—was a symbol of hope and progress, especially in a country as bleak as Ardonia was.
But behind this polished facade lay a darker truth. The Veritas Syndicate was a double-edged sword. Beneath its gleaming surface was a shadowy underworld, known only to a select few. This clandestine side of the organization was involved in a range of illicit activities, from espionage and smuggling to more dangerous, morally ambiguous missions.
Theon's role often bridged the two worlds.
With a subtle click of the button Theon had pressed behind a bookshelf, the hiss of shifting air filled the dimly lit room. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a sleek scanner embedded in the surface. Theon swiped his keycard, and a hidden doorway parted, leading into a sterile, white chamber.
This was his training room.