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Chapter 2 - Chapter 1: The Nameless One

When the Gods Fall, I Will Rise

Chapter 1: The Nameless One

The voice still lingered in the air as I stirred from the depths of sleep.

It wasn't merely a question posed to my conscious mind this time; rather, it was an echo, a soft yet insistent hum that reverberated through the labyrinth of my thoughts. It felt as if the very void itself, that insatiable abyss of darkness, still clung to me with its icy fingers, unwilling to release its grip. I had already made my choice; I had cast my lot and resolved to tread the Path laid out before me.

As I blinked against the encroaching brightness of the day, the sunlight streaming through my window should have enveloped me in warmth and solace, but instead, it filled me with a sense of dread and discomfort. Those golden rays that once felt soothing and nurturing now had an alien quality, as if they had become reminders that this existence was a fleeting gift, a world borrowed but never truly earned. Outside, I could hear the melodic cheer of birds flitting about, the joyous laughter of children playing in the streets, and the calls of eager vendors advertising their wares with enthusiastic shouts, as though life itself had never faced any tribulation. Yet beneath this vibrant facade, I sensed it: a palpable fracture in the very fabric of the sky and the heavy inevitability that pressed relentlessly upon my shoulders.

Seven days.

I had experienced those days once before. I had ultimately ended my existence at the close of that cycle.

And here I was again, standing at the precipice of a new beginning, while the world around me continued in its blissful ignorance of the impending doom.

My gaze dropped to my forearm. There it was, the mark, a mysterious sigil that glimmered faintly in the daylight, a circlet woven from shadows and silence. Unlike the painful brands that adorned the arms of others, a testament to their past choices, mine did not sear like fire. Instead, it held a steady pulse, a rhythmic thrum that resonated with an arcane power I struggled to fathom. When I brushed my fingers against it, I felt the whisper of something vast and ancient, something that belonged neither to the gods who occupied their Nine Thrones nor to the fleeting beings trapped beneath their oppressive rule.

The Nameless Throne.

The very thought of it sent a tremor of unease coursing through my body.

With a sense of grim determination, I pulled on my clothes, simple yet worn, frayed at the hems from years of use, and stepped into the bustling street. The world outside was alive with all its vibrant chaos. Merchants shouted from their stalls, their voices cutting through the air as they hawked fruits harvested fresh from the orchards, their colors vibrant and enticing. The inviting aroma wafting from the baker's oven filled my senses, warm and nostalgic, making my stomach rumble in protest. Musicians filled the corners of the street, plucking strings and creating intoxicating melodies that danced joyfully above the clamor of the passersby. For all those around me, this day represented just another ordinary segment of life. For me, however, it marked the very beginning of the world's final week, a countdown to an impending darkness.

Every laugh that rang out, every carefree smile exchanged, every casual stride taken, they all harbored a secret sorrow bound to vanish when the sky ultimately succumbed to shadow and despair. I had borne witness to that end; I had lived it, tasted its bitterness, and withered beneath its might. My throat tightened as I caught sight of a child careening between market stalls, his mother chasing after him, her voice a frustrated but affectionate reprimand. Would she still be able to scold him tenderly when he turned to ashes before her very eyes?

I clenched my fist tightly, feeling my nails press against my palm.

Not this time.

The gods may believe they had me tethered by their cruel decree, but they were woefully mistaken. I had been granted a second chance, a throne forged of resilience unlike any other, pulsing beneath my skin with every beat of my heart. I could not allow fate to bind me in the same way it had done before.

As I meandered through the streets, my thoughts swam with fragmented memories swirling like leaves caught in a tempest. I recalled the day the gods descended upon us, their feet hitting the ground with a force that shattered the earth beneath, leaving fissures and chaos in their wake. I remembered the mountains crumbling like sandcastles before the tide, vast oceans parting as if the very laws of nature had shattered, cities ablaze with a wildfire that could consume even the bravest among us. No matter how valiantly we fought back, even the fiercest warriors were crushed effortlessly beneath the sole of their divine boots, reduced to little more than mere insects.

And I remembered my own deep-seated cowardice.

While others fought gallantly, I had hidden in the shadows, retreating into the recesses of fear. When fellow souls raised their weapons to stand against tyranny, I cowered in the dim light, waiting, helpless and dispassionate, for the inevitable decree that whispered of a god's death.

Yet the Nameless Throne was a different matter altogether. I could sense its resonance deep within me, not as a void, but as an expanse rich with untapped potential. It stirred in the hidden corners of my heart, a voice urging me to seize the power others had overlooked.

If I was to confront the gods, I would require more than mere strength; I would need steadfast allies who could rally by my side. And more than anything, I would need unyielding resolve.

The thought sent a shiver of apprehension crawling through my veins. Could I truly summon the courage to face them? Could I rise where billions had succumbed?

As I glanced at my reflection in the glass window of a nearby shop, my heart quickened. The pale strands of my hair, resembling moonlight itself, framed my visage, and my eyes, once merely vessels of fear, now glimmered faintly with the mark's resonance. At that moment, I appeared less like prey, and more like something formidable, something even the gods themselves might find reason to fear.

"Seven days," I murmured to myself, voice steady with renewed determination. "This time, I will not falter and fall."

But as the joyous sounds of festival bells reverberated through the air, their chimes ringing bright and celebratory, I was sharply reminded that the clock had already begun to count down.

The first day had returned.

And so had I.

To be continued...

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