Ash awoke to silence.
Not the comforting hush of night, nor the gentle stillness of snow. This silence was deeper—like the world had forgotten how to breathe.
His eyes opened slowly.
Above him stretched a sky that wasn't blue, but something pale and faded, almost bleached of color. Cracks spiderwebbed across it like broken porcelain, and thin slivers of strange, silver light bled through the fractures. There were no clouds. No birds. No sun.
He sat up.
Ash. That was the first word that entered his mind. Not a name, but a substance. It coated the ground, the stones, the ruined arch behind him. A fine, white powder that smelled faintly of something gone long ago. He ran a hand through it and felt nothing unusual. Cool. Dry. Soft. Familiar.
He paused.
Familiar?
His brow furrowed.
The thought troubled him—not because he recognized the place, but because he didn't. There was nothing. No names. No faces. No memories. He didn't even know how old he was, only that he looked down at his small hands and knew they weren't yet full-grown.
A child.
He was a child.
But he felt… older. Too calm. Too quiet.
He stood, brushing the ash from his legs. His clothes were simple, grey with faint traces of some symbol woven into the fabric—worn out and half-faded, as if time itself had tried to forget them. He traced the mark over his heart with his fingers, but it held no meaning to him. Just a broken circle with a line running through it.
He didn't know who he was.
He didn't know what he was.
But he wasn't panicking.
Shouldn't he be? A child, alone, with no memory? Lost in a broken land of ash and silence?
But instead, he felt… composed. Unshaken. Like this wasn't the first time.
He blinked and looked around.
Endless grey plains stretched into the horizon. Black ruins poked from the ground like bones—pillars, shattered statues, half-buried roads. Faint gusts stirred the ash in lazy circles. There was no sign of life. No animals. No people. Not even insects.
The world was dead.
But he didn't know what death was. Not really.
The word came to him, but its meaning felt… vague. The way a forgotten word on the tip of the tongue itches at the mind. He knew things died. He knew things ended. But the exact mechanics of it, the weight of it… was missing.
Like the memory of death itself had been erased.
He turned toward the largest structure nearby—a stone arch, cracked and half-submerged in a sinkhole. Ancient glyphs ran along its inner edge, but he couldn't read them. Still, something pulled him toward it.
A faint hum. Not of sound, but of feeling.
Curiosity stirred.
He stepped closer. The ash swirled slightly around his bare ankles. He didn't feel cold or warm—just neutral. Balanced. Numb.
He placed a hand on the arch.
Nothing happened.
Then, something shifted inside him—not pain, not power, just… motion. Like a curtain pulled back an inch.
A whisper in the back of his mind.
A flicker of a memory.
A voice without a speaker.
"...the Order must never awaken..."
He pulled his hand away.
His expression remained still, but something dark stirred in his chest. Not fear. Not dread. Just… recognition.
Not of the words, but of the emptiness that followed them.
He took a slow breath and turned away. The wind had picked up slightly. Fine ash danced across the cracked ground. In the distance, broken mountains loomed like crumbling monuments. If there were people… they might be that way.
He didn't know where he was going. But standing still wouldn't answer anything.
So he walked.
---
Hours passed—he wasn't sure how many. The light never changed. The sky stayed pale and fractured. But eventually, the terrain shifted.
Ash thinned. Ruins grew denser. Cracks in the ground grew deeper.
And then he heard it.
A sound.
Real sound.
Not wind. Not echo. Voices.
He stopped and crouched behind a toppled statue. Two figures walked among the ruins ahead—teenagers, from the look of them. Cultivators. He didn't know how he knew that word, but he did. They wore flowing robes marked by glowing glyphs, and thin, sharp weapons were strapped to their backs.
The boy—taller, broad-shouldered—was scanning the buildings with mild interest. The girl trailed behind him, checking a glowing tablet in her hand.
"...no mana traces in this section either," she said. "This whole zone's been dead for cycles. Weird, right? There's barely any soul-light residue."
The boy grunted. "Just another ghost zone. You think the elders sent us here to test our patience?"
"Maybe. Or maybe they're just hiding something."
The girl looked around warily. "Still… I don't like how quiet it is."
Ash didn't move. He didn't know who these people were, but instinct told him not to reveal himself. Not yet.
He listened.
They continued searching the ruins. Their conversation drifted toward techniques, missions, something called "The Outer Realms." He understood none of it. But what caught his attention was how casually they spoke of things like resurrection, soul rebirth, body reconstruction.
One phrase stood out.
> "Even if we get killed, it's not a big deal. Just a temporary delay."
Killed… but not dead.
It didn't make sense.
He waited until they passed, then slipped from hiding. He moved quietly, carefully—instinct guiding his steps. He found a broken temple nearby, its roof collapsed but part of its inner sanctum still intact. A half-circle platform stood at its center, ringed by dust-covered symbols.
He sat in the middle and closed his eyes.
Something stirred again.
Something deeper this time.
It wasn't memory. Not quite. But… understanding.
His breathing slowed. His pulse steadied. He sat without moving, without trying to meditate, yet his body naturally fell into the pattern of stillness, of inner focus.
In his mind, he felt something spark—faint and black, like a match struck in the dark.
A thread of energy.
Black. Cold. Not cruel.
Just… quiet.
It flickered and faded.
He opened his eyes. Sweat dotted his brow. For the first time, he looked unsettled—not afraid, but confused.
That energy… it was inside him.
He hadn't summoned it.
He had simply been it.
A whisper echoed in his mind again—not words this time, but a feeling: gravity, silence, time ending.
He stood, quietly.
Somewhere in this world, he would find answers.
To what that power was.
To who he truly was.
To why the word death felt familiar… but empty.
---
Ash left the ruin and walked toward the mountains.
He did not know what he would find.
But something inside him knew this:
The world had forgotten something.
And one day, it would remember.
Because he was here.
And even he didn't yet know what that meant.