The night outside their home stretched deep and silent, as if the world itself held its breath. The soft hum of distant street lamps seeped through the curtains, painting faint streaks of gold across the floor. Ariv stood in the middle of the living room, his fists tight, his pulse hammering against his ribs like a drum of war. His mind swirled with everything he had seen—the eyes in the darkness, the weight of fear that crushed his chest, the name that had started to echo in his nightmares.
Kalarak.
The word lingered in his thoughts like a venomous whisper. For days, questions had clawed at him without answers. Every encounter with those shadows left him shaken, each one gnawing at his sense of normalcy until nothing about his life felt ordinary anymore.
Tonight, it was going to end.
He turned toward the kitchen, where his mother stood rinsing a steel plate under the tap, her movements calm, almost fragile in their grace. The faint aroma of incense still clung to the walls from the evening prayer—a smell that usually gave him peace, but tonight it only made the air feel heavier.
"Mom," Ariv began, his voice lower than usual, steady but layered with suppressed urgency.
She paused, turned slightly, her eyes meeting his. They were gentle as always—but behind that softness, Ariv saw something else. A flicker of tension.
"Yes, Ariv?" Her tone was light, but he noticed the slight quiver in it.
He stepped closer, his jaw clenched. "No more lies. No more excuses. Tell me everything you know."
The steel plate slipped slightly in her hands before she gripped it tighter. For a moment, silence draped the room. Only the water running from the tap filled the void.
She placed the plate down slowly and turned to face him fully. The calm mask on her face cracked, revealing a storm of emotions beneath—fear, pain, guilt, and something else he couldn't name.
"You've seen things," she said softly. "Things most mortals would never understand."
Ariv's fists tightened. "I've seen more than that. I've felt it. The pressure, the darkness… the eyes watching me. I need to know what's going on."
Her breath trembled as she stepped closer, her voice carrying the weight of years she had kept buried.
"You deserve the truth, Ariv. But once you know… there's no turning back."
"I don't care," he shot back, his voice sharp but quivering underneath. "I need to know why those things keep coming after me. Why I feel like… like something inside me is breaking free."
Her eyes softened, but the sharpness in her voice cut through the air.
"They're not attacking you. That's not what the Kalarak do."
The name on her tongue hit him like a blade. He froze, his breath hitching.
"You… you know what they are?"
She nodded, a slow, heavy motion.
"The Kalarak don't attack the living," she said, each word deliberate. "That's not their purpose. They collect the souls of the dead."
Ariv's stomach churned as the words sank in.
"Souls… of the dead?"
"Yes." Her gaze drifted for a moment, as if peering into a place only she could see. "When someone dies, the Kalarak arrive to claim their soul. They take it to the Soul Transferers—beings whose only purpose is to twist those pure souls into raw energy. That energy feeds something far worse than death."
Ariv's throat tightened. "What worse thing could there be than death?"
She held his stare, her voice lowering into something dark, something sacred.
"Chaos. They use that energy to unravel the very fabric of creation. Every soul they corrupt weakens the balance that holds our universe together. If they succeed… everything ends."
The room felt smaller. The walls seemed to close in on him. His voice cracked as he spoke again.
"Then why me? Why do they keep showing up where I am? Why do I feel… connected to them somehow?"
Her silence lasted too long. When she spoke, her words carved deep into him.
"Because you are not ordinary, Ariv. Inside you burns the Galaxy Zenith—the most powerful essence that has ever existed. It's not just strength. It's a bloodline."
The sound of those words roared in his ears. He took a half-step back, his eyes darting down to the locket that glimmered faintly against his chest. His fingers closed around it like iron.
"This locket…?"
She nodded, her voice trembling with both pride and grief.
"It was your father's last gift to you. He gave it before he disappeared. That locket binds your aura. Without it, your energy would tear you apart… and worse, draw every Kalarak within a thousand realms straight to you."
Ariv's voice broke. "Disappeared? You told me he was dead."
Her lips quivered. She turned away for a heartbeat, blinking back tears.
"I never said he was dead. I said he never came back. He left to fight a battle no mortal could imagine. A battle that mattered more than his life. And then… nothing. No word. No sign." Her voice shook now, grief spilling into every syllable. "I don't know if he lives, Ariv. All I know is that he vanished… protecting you."
The words tore through him like jagged glass. His fingers gripped the locket so tightly it dug into his skin. His breath came in short, harsh bursts.
"And you never told me?"
Her eyes met his again, blazing with pain.
"I couldn't. Telling you would have painted a target on your back bigger than the sun. You weren't ready, Ariv. You're still not ready."
His anger flared, but it wasn't directed at her—it was at the storm swallowing his life.
"Then make me ready. Tell me everything. No more secrets."
She hesitated only for a breath, then nodded. Her voice was iron now, cutting through the night like a blade.
"There are seven Veils, Ariv. They're not barriers. They're beings—protectors born from the Creator's World. They hold the three realms in balance. If even one falls, creation unravels."
He swallowed hard, every word heavy as stone. "And these Kalarak… they want to destroy them?"
"They want chaos," she said. "And the Seven Veils are the last defense against it. But the Kalarak aren't alone. There are the Soul Transferers, the Shadows of the Flow, creatures who live for nothing but unmaking. Together, they gather strength for the day the Veils fall."
Ariv's heart pounded like war drums in his chest. "And the gods?"
Her gaze darkened.
"The world worships Eryon. But there are two others the world has forgotten—Noxian of the Abyssal Veil and Kaviara of the Eternal Flow. Three gods, three realms. Together, they form the Trivara, the axis upon which existence spins."
His voice was low, steady, but carried the weight of steel.
"And my father fought to protect all this?"
"Yes," she whispered. "And now, whether you want it or not… it falls to you."
The silence that followed was heavier than iron. Ariv stared at the floor, his fists trembling as the storm inside him raged. For a moment, he felt like a boy again—small, powerless, lost. But beneath that, something else stirred. Something ancient. Something unyielding.
Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes like shards of gold under the dim light.
"I'll fight." His voice was calm now, but sharp as a blade drawn for war. "No matter what stands in my way."
Tears welled in her eyes, pride and fear entwining like vines around her heart. Her lips curved into a broken smile.
"I didn't tell you before because I wanted to protect you," she whispered. "But maybe… maybe you were born to protect all of us."
Ariv closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of his destiny anchoring deep within him. His hand curled around the locket—his father's last gift, his mother's last shield.
When he opened them again, they blazed with a light that promised storms. His voice carried a vow that would shake gods themselves.
"Then I'll fight… and I'll find my father."
The air seemed to still, the silence echoing like a prophecy fulfilled. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, though the skies were clear.
The war had already begun.