In a world abandoned by gods, humanity teeters on the brink of extinction. The dead do not rest—they rise, ravenous, consuming memory, life, and hope. Cities have fallen, and the survivors cling to ashes, praying for salvation that never comes.

Kael is a boy marked by fate. Gifted—or cursed—with the ability to see and consume souls, he discovers power beyond any mortal comprehension. Each soul he devours strengthens him, yet strips away a piece of his humanity. With every heartbeat, he walks a thin line between savior and monster, and by nightfall, no one can say which he will become.

Beside him stands Mira, a fierce and uncompromising survivor, whose compassion and courage anchor him to what he has left of his humanity. Against the backdrop of ruined keeps, marauding undead, and whispers of a hunger older than the world itself, Kael must confront not only the Dead but the growing darkness within.

And in the shadows, Vael watches. The embodiment of hunger and temptation, the whispers of this ancient force promise unimaginable power—but at a cost Kael may not be able to bear.

In a world where hope is a flickering ember, every choice carries a price, every act of strength comes with sacrifice, and every soul consumed brings him closer to the edge: the edge of salvation… or damnation.

Collected through oral tradition, songs, and wandering storytellers. Their truth is uncertain, but their fear is not.


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"The harvest rotted in the fields before we could cut it. The dead came crawling out from the soil, as if the very land had turned against us. My wife prayed, my children cried. Then he came — a boy, no older than my eldest. He touched the air and the dead fell silent. We thought it was a miracle. But when he turned, his eyes… they looked like the dead were staring through him. I thanked him, yet I feared him. We left that night and never returned."


Tale II – The Child's Rhyme (recited in broken voices around campfires !)


The dead are crawling, seeking to find.


If the boy with black eyes comes your way,


"I carried iron, salt, and old scrolls. Nothing of worth to the dead, yet they chased me down the empty roads. I ran until my legs gave way. That's when I saw him — the one they call Fractured. He did not fight with sword or fire. He breathed them in. They screamed as their souls left their bodies. I was saved, yes… but when I offered him thanks, he only stared. I swear I heard another voice answer me, one that was not his."


But worse than death, worse than decay,


Are the ones who walk the Fractured way.


They save, they kill, they take, they give,


"We fought the dead at the broken walls. They rose faster than we cut them down. Then the boy arrived. His power was fire and shadow, both. But I saw his hands tremble, his lips murmur names I could not hear. Was he asking for forgiveness… or feeding on us all? I no longer know whom we should fear more: the dead outside the walls, or the saviors who walk within them."


To live is to carry fear. To speak is to pass it on. The tales of survivors may differ, but their tone remains the same: awe and dread, hope and despair interwoven. And at the center of it all, the Fractured are no longer myths — they are the stories the world whispers at night.


Chapter 12 - Survivor's Tales