"In the beginning, there was silence.And within that silence, a man tried to name himself."
The sky was not a sky — it was a dying memory stretched across the ruins of time.Stars flickered like faint thoughts, their light bending into whispers that no living tongue could translate.And beneath that endless decay sat a throne — ancient, cracked, and bleeding light.
Upon it, He stirred.
A man wrapped in robes woven from the shadows of extinct worlds. His eyes reflected constellations that no longer existed. His breath carried the echo of forgotten gods.
He looked at his trembling hands — translucent, unreal — and spoke to the void.
"What… am I?"
No answer came. Only the hum of a collapsing horizon.
He rose slowly, every motion heavy, as if the air itself resisted his existence.The throne behind him pulsed once — a dying heart recognizing its lost master — then dimmed into dust.
The ground cracked. The ruins of a nameless kingdom spread endlessly, carved in marble that shimmered between reality and dream.Pillars leaned toward him, as though still worshipping their fallen emperor.
And yet, he felt nothing.No memory. No name.Only a hollow echo within his soul, repeating endlessly: You were… something.
He took one step forward — and the world responded. The skies convulsed, clouds twisting like wounded beasts. Fragments of stars fell like ash.
Then, a voice — soft, crystalline — cut through the decay.
"You are the Emperor who killed his own name."
He turned sharply.Amid the swirling debris stood a woman of light — Lyra, the Astral Witness.Her form wavered, flickering between substance and illusion. Her eyes shimmered with galaxies that remembered their birth.
"I don't remember," he said. His voice cracked like old stone. "Not my name. Not my world. Nothing."
Lyra's lips curved into a faint, melancholic smile.
"Names are fragile things," she said. "Even gods forget them when they try to become more than what they were."
He gazed down at the ground — but the reflection in the shattered marble wasn't his own.It was a thousand versions of himself — crowned, burning, screaming, dissolving into ash.
He stumbled backward, clutching his head.Fragments of voices screamed within him.
'Your Majesty— the frequency— stop before—''He's rewriting the laws—''The Emperor has become—'
Then silence again.A silence deeper than death.
"What did I do?" he whispered.
Lyra's glow dimmed slightly. "You reached beyond creation, searching for the First Word. You found it… and spoke it wrong."
He raised his eyes — wide, hollow, glimmering with fragments of light.
"The First Word?"
Lyra stepped closer. "The sound that birthed existence itself. The original frequency that separated nothing from everything. You tried to control it, to name it… but instead, it unmade you."
Wind howled through the ruins. The stars trembled.Something ancient shifted within the void — as if the universe flinched at her words.
The Emperor clenched his fists.
"If I truly killed my own name… then why am I still alive?"
Lyra tilted her head, studying him as one might study a dying star.
"Because existence can't decide whether you belong to it… or not."
He fell silent.Somewhere in the horizon, the sun imploded — light folding in on itself like a dying thought.
Then came a sound — faint, rhythmic, echoing in the distance.Like a pulse.Like a heart.Calling to him.
He turned toward it, feeling something awaken inside his chest — something cold, vast, and endless.
"That sound," he murmured. "What is it?"
Lyra smiled faintly, her voice barely a whisper.
"The next layer is calling you. The Spiral awaits."
As she spoke, the ground fractured into glowing runes, reality bleeding away.The Emperor felt his body unravel — not dying, but being rewritten into another form of existence.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To where your name first died," Lyra said softly. "And where it might be born again."
The ruins dissolved into light. The sky inverted.And the Nameless Emperor stepped into the first Spiral — unaware that each layer would drag him closer not to remembrance...…but to the truth he once destroyed.
"He was never nameless. The universe simply forgot how to pronounce him."