The ashes that fell that night weren't black.
They were gold.
I didn't know what that meant, of course. In that moment, all I felt was warmth - the bonfire crackling in the center of my small village, my father's loud laugh cutting through the noise, my mother's hand squeezing my shoulder as she passed behind me with another skewered fish.
"Raizen, you're going to burn it!" someone shouted from across the fire, pointing at the stick in my hand where dinner was starting to char.
I jerked it back, grinning. "It's called flavor."
"You're just incinerating it" an older woman clicked her tongue, shaking her head.
Laughter rippled around the circle - the kind that only comes when everyone's full and the night feels safe.
I tilted my head up.
The sky was there, technically. I knew it was there.
But I'd never actually seen it.
Only the strange clouds, always covering whatever was beyond. Thick and unmoving, like someone didn't want us to see what was beyond.
My father sat near the fire's edge, his fishing spear resting across his knees. His hands were scarred from years of work, rough and cracked, but steady as he gestured while telling some exaggerated story about the huge fish that got away.
He wasn't even trying to make it believable. That was the point, people groaned and laughed anyway. Someone tossed a pebble at him. He caught it without looking, like he'd done it a thousand times, and flicked it back.
My mother rolled her eyes as she returned to the circle, careful with the tray of fish so it wouldn't spill. She set it down, then brushed some cold ash from my hair like it was nothing.
"Take a bite, does it need more seasoning?" she asked softly.
I smiled and took a small bite. It was too hot, but I nodded in approval.
That was my whole world.
Fishing. Firelight. Warm faces. The sound of my father's laugh.
I should've remembered it like that.
Instead, I remember the moment everything shattered.
The far wall exploded.
Stone and dust burst inward, and lantern light scattered like dying fireflies. The ground shook hard enough to knock bowls off laps.
My body stood up on its own.
For a heartbeat, I couldn't understand what I was seeing. The wall wasn't cracked.
It was just... Gone.
A massive hole opened where stone had been, jagged edges bleeding dust into the air.
And through it, something seeped.
Not smoke. Not shadow.
Something darker than night itself, as if the darkness had a form and was slowly pouring in.
The laughter died so fast it felt like it had never existed.
Sound dulled. The bonfire still crackled, but it came from far away. Panicked voices sounded like underwater noises.
My throat tightened. My hands went numb around my stick.
And through the dust -
I saw them.
They weren't animals. They weren't people.
They were shaped like ruined humans, but their bodies looked like they were made of.... Just darkness. Like someone had carved a monster out of a place where light couldn't survive.
Their eyes - if they were eyes - glowed faintly white. Cold. Flat. Emotionless. Watching us the way a predator watches its prey.
Nyxes.
The word didn't feel real in my head. It belonged in whispered stories, in forgotten prayers and horror stories.
Not here.
Not in my village.
Not in front of me.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. The Nyxes stepped forward, slow and deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world.
Panic hit like a wave.
Men scrambled for anything that could be held like a weapon - rusted blades, hunting spears, even burning firewood ripped from the flames. Someone shoved a child behind them with shaking hands.
A spear flew.
It hit one of the Nyxes. For a split second, it looked like it went in, piercing.
Then the darkness rippled and destroyed the shaft like it was simply a stick.
A torch was thrust toward another Nyx's chest. The flame flickered, then went out.
The Nyx didn't even flinch.
Nothing touched them. Nothing mattered.
But across the village, through the chaos and screams, two figures moved in the opposite direction.
My parents.
My father's hand gripped his precious fishing spear, knuckles white. My mother stood beside him with a cleaver in her hand. The knife looked too small. Her shoulders looked too thin.
They stepped forward anyway.
Not because they thought they'd win.
Because they knew I was behind them.
Because someone had to make the choice first.
My father lunged.
The spear drove straight into a Nyx.
For one bright, stupid second, hope sparked in my chest. The tip met resistance. It looked like it passed through.
Then the darkness coiled around the shaft like smoke given form, twisting tighter and tighter.
With a sickening crack, the wood splintered.
Hundreds of shards exploded outward, spinning through the air and falling uselessly to the ground.
My father's eyes widened - not in fear.
In understanding.
The Nyx's hand lashed out and wrapped around his throat.
It lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
His feet dangled, fingers clawed at the grip, frantic and desperate, but the Nyx's hand didn't move.
"Dad!" The cry tore out of me before I could think. My legs finally moved, carrying me forward, blind and reckless.
Beside him, my mother screamed his name and rushed in.
Her blade flashed in lantern light.
She stabbed. She slashed. She struck again and again.
Every cut tore through the dark mass.
And every time, it knitted itself back together instantly, as if her rage was a joke.
No matter how weak, no matter how small, I had to do something. I had to reach them. I had to help.
But my body betrayed me.
A crushing weight pressed down out of nowhere. I was too scared. My knees slammed into the ground. My hands sank into cold soil. I tried to crawl, tried to drag myself forward, but my arms shook and refused.
"Please" I choked out, not even sure who I was begging. "Please, no -!"
The hand around my father's throat tightened. His eyes flicked toward me, and there was still something there - warm and scolding, encouraging and stubborn.
The light that held my world.
That very light went out.
His body hung limp, like a puppet with the strings cut.
My throat ripped open in a sound I didn't recognize as mine.
But my mother didn't stop.
Her hands shook, her breath came in broken gasps, yet she lifted the knife again.
She swung with everything she had left.
The Nyx answered with its other hand.
It moved faster than my eyes could see.
A sharp strike - a simple, cruel motion - and its fingers pierced her chest.
There was a dreadful sound, and scream cut off.
The knife slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground, stainless and clean, like it had never even touched a Nyx.
She turned her head slowly.
Her eyes found me through the smoke.
They were wide, watery, terrified - yet still full of love.
Her lips moved.
Her voice barely reached me, torn by pain.
"Raizen… Run…"
In that same moment, something whispered inside my skull.
Too close.
Too cold to be human.
You'll suffice.
The words weren't heard with my ears.
They were gently placed in my head, like a decision that had already been made.
Suddenly, the Nyx turned toward me.
It stepped forward.
One slow motion.
Another.
Its hand lifted slightly, as if it was about to reach for me.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't even blink.
But then...
It froze.
Mid-motion.
Not hesitating or reconsidering.
Stopping.
And in those faint white eyes, I didn't see fear.
I saw recognition.
Like it had been about to do something on its deadly instinct, then a leash had snapped tight around its neck.
It hadn't paused because it was afraid.
It had paused because it had received a command.
As if I wasn't prey to be killed -
...But a puppet with a higher destiny.