It was early morning.
Not long after the Gates rose… not long after the city of Lumisgrave held its breath in silence.
Far beyond the castle, across gentle hills and waving grasslands, a lone figure moved quietly through the farmland.
Arslan.
He wasn't a soldier. Not a scholar. Not anyone important.
Just a boy of 22, working the fields like he did every morning. Calloused hands. Dirt beneath his nails. Rain from the night before still clung to the roots.
He adjusted the weight of the empty basket on his back and stepped between rows of budding grain, focused on his task. The birds chirped softly nearby. The breeze carried the smell of damp soil and morning dew.
> "Another harvest day," he whispered to himself, trying to smile.
Then—it happened.
A strange stillness.
Not like before, when the storm had turned the skies black. This stillness came from the inside.
Arslan froze.
His chest tightened. A dull pressure pushed behind his eyes, crawling down his spine. He staggered forward, dropping the basket. He gripped a wooden post for balance, breathing heavy.
> "What is this...?" he gasped.
The warmth in his chest turned sharp—no longer pressure, but heat. It spread through his ribs, across his shoulder, and down his right arm.
Then—
Light.
But not golden.
Black light.
His entire right arm glowed—swirling dark energy bursting through the skin like smoke and fire made of shadow. It didn't hurt—but it felt wrong. His fingers trembled as the veins beneath his skin pulsed with black mist.
> "Stop—stop—what is this?!" he shouted.
The sky above remained quiet.
Suddenly, a whisper echoed. Not in the air. Not from the fields.
Inside his mind.
> Voice (calm, deep, ancient): "Summon… Shadow Blades…"
Arslan staggered backward, panic rising.
> "Who's there?! WHO ARE YOU?!"
> Voice: "Speak it. Command it. Say the words…"
> Arslan (shaking): "No! I—I don't want this! I don't know what's happening to me!"
The black energy in his arm coiled tighter.
His legs buckled. He fell to his knees in the mud, panting.
> Voice (soft, steady): "Summon… Shadow Blades…"
He didn't know why.
Maybe fear.
Maybe instinct.
Maybe something buried deep that remembered a power long forgotten.
> Arslan (desperate): "…Summon… Shadow Blades."
BOOM.
A sharp crack exploded in the air around him.
The wind burst outward in a pulse. Grass bent low. Birds scattered from the nearby trees.
And in his right hand—
A weapon appeared.
A blade, black as a moonless night, humming faintly with flickers of dark energy. Jagged edges. Weightless in his grip. Like it belonged there.
He stared at it, eyes wide.
His breath caught.
> Arslan: "…what… what is this?"
The whisper came again.
> Voice: "You are awakening. But this is only the first spark."
> Arslan: "Tell me who you are! What is this inside me?!"
> Voice: "I am waiting. You are not ready to understand. For now… your power reshapes the dark energy."
The blade pulsed.
Then, slowly… it vanished—like smoke drawn back into his palm.
The black energy faded from his arm, dissolving into the wind. His skin returned to normal, though faint marks remained—barely visible veins of silver and dark blue beneath his skin.
He dropped forward into the grass, his hands trembling.
> Arslan (whispers): "This… this can't be real…"
He looked around.
No one had seen it. The field was empty. The birds had returned. The breeze moved again.
The world acted as if nothing had happened.
But everything inside him had changed.
He clenched his fists.
> "I have to hide this… whatever this is…"
His heart still pounded.
His breath still shook.
But he stood, brushed dirt from his clothes, and forced himself to walk back toward the village.
No one would believe him.
And maybe… maybe he didn't want them to.
---
> And so, without fanfare or prophecy, the first spark of Arslan's awakening burned into the soil.
Unseen.
Unknown.
Unstoppable.
"It's coming…"
"Something… is changing us."
"The Gates—"
"No… it's inside us now."
The sun had barely risen when the world began to ripple.
It started in the most unassuming corners. Quiet villages. Market squares. Lonely hillsides.
No horns. No thunder. Only the sound of reality cracking.
Scene One – The Flower Vendor, Mirei (Lumisgrave's Lower District)
"Ten petals for a silver leaf!" Mirei called, her hands full of freshly cut blossoms.
She was a gentle woman in her late thirties, her voice always carrying warmth. Today, however, as she reached down to arrange her sunflowers, her fingertips touched the petals—and the entire bouquet bloomed midair, expanding into a spiral of living light, hovering above her head like a crown of energy.
The crowd gasped.
"Mirei?!"
She stumbled back, eyes wide. "Wh–what is this? What's happening to me?!"
Vines burst from the cobblestones beneath her, wrapping her arms—not with harm, but like they were holding her.
Children screamed. Others stepped away in silence. No one came forward.
A man whispered, "She's cursed…"
Another murmured, "No. She's... blessed."
Tears rolled down Mirei's cheeks. "I don't want this," she said, her voice cracking. "Please… someone help me…"
But no one moved.
They only watched, stunned, as the flowers around her glowed brighter, feeding off her breath.
Scene Two – The Glass Orchard (Halyth Village)
Young Nairon was climbing a tree when it happened. He reached for an apple—just one. A simple, red apple.
But as his hand touched the bark, a pulse traveled down the tree. In an instant, the entire orchard turned to crystal.
Not ice. Not stone.
Glass.
The wind whistled through the crystal leaves with a fragile, chime-like song. The boy dropped from the tree, unharmed, staring up at the translucent branches reflecting morning light.
"Papa?" he called.
His father stood on the field's edge, frozen.
"Nairon," the man said slowly, his voice shaking, "what did you do?"
"I didn't… I don't know!"
Others came running—then stopped in their tracks when they saw the trees.
One man fell to his knees. "It's begun… just like the scrolls said."
Another woman clutched her child. "Don't touch him," she warned.
"But it's just a boy!" the father shouted, shielding his son.
"No," the priest among them whispered. "He's touched."
Scene Three – The Wings of Light (Elveran Town)
An old weaver, long forgotten by time, lived alone in the stone cottage at the cliff's edge. Her name was Esha. She'd woven tapestries for kings, and now, at the end of her days, she simply watched the sea.
On that morning, she woke with pain in her back—deep, burning pain—and fell to the ground, calling to no one.
Then came the rupture.
With a burst of soundless energy, her frail body lifted from the floor as two wings of blinding white light erupted from her back—vast, slow-moving, elegant like moonlight flowing through silk.
She floated in place, eyes closed, breath shallow.
A fisherman saw it from the coast and fell backwards. His net dropped into the sea.
People rushed to the hill where she lived, surrounding the house in silence, their mouths agape.
"Is that… is that Esha?"
"She's glowing…"
"No. She's flying."
Inside the cottage, Esha whispered through her tears:
"I… remember this feeling… from a dream I had as a child."
---
Scene Four – The Fire in the Mines (Faroweign)
Screams echoed from the lowest tunnels.
"GET BACK!" someone shouted.
The guards arrived too late to stop it—Darnel, one of the miners, was writhing on the cavern floor, clutching his arms. Flames danced across his skin, but he wasn't burning.
Instead, a sphere of pure fire formed between his palms, pulsing with every heartbeat.
"MAKE IT STOP!" he screamed, eyes wild.
Others pressed against the walls, wide-eyed, horrified.
"What is that?!"
"It's not him. Something's inside him!"
The fire hovered. Then—it collapsed inwards, vanishing completely.
Darnel gasped, trembling. His arms were scorched black, but he was alive.
A silence fell.
No one stepped forward.
The Council Balcony (Lumisgrave Citadel)
From the upper balcony, King Farhan stood with Council Leader Julious beside him, overlooking the growing disturbances.
Below them, people had gathered in circles around those who had "changed." Some were praying. Some crying. But none crossed the invisible boundary.
"They're afraid," Julious whispered.
"They should be," the King replied.
"What is this, my king?"
Farhan didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on a girl surrounded by floating feathers that had appeared from nowhere, each shining like a tiny constellation.
"Maybe it's awakening," Julious said. "Or maybe it's punishment."
"No," Farhan finally said. "It's neither. It's a signal."
Julious turned. "From the Gates?"
Farhan's jaw tightened. "Or from something behind them."
Scene Six – The Bound Threshold (Watcher's Cliff)
At the Bound Threshold, the air grew colder.
The chains still held. The gate remained half-open.
But those standing guard reported whispers that night. Two voices. Breathing.
One said:
> "They are responding… They still remember."
The other answered:
> "Soon, they will return. Whether by pain… or by purpose."
The guards told no one.
---
Closing Moments – The Watchers and the Untouched
In alleyways, rooftops, and behind shuttered windows, the untouched watched the changed.
From afar.
With awe.
With terror.
With envy.
> "He hasn't moved in hours… his hands turned blue, and now they glow."
"I saw a man summon water with a blink."
"They won't talk. Not even to their families."
"Are they still… human?"
No one had answers.
No leaders declared law. No Council announced definitions. The world had no name for what was happening.
But across every land, from smallest hut to tallest tower, one thing was certain:
The Silence was gone.
And something ancient, something buried, had started to wake inside the blood of humankind.