Part One — The Fall of Dammy
The rain over Deacon always came without warning. It wasn't peaceful. It felt like punishment — the kind that made the streets shine and the sky look tired of existing.
Dammy stood at the edge of his window, watching cars slide through puddles, their headlights blurring like ghosts running late. The city below was alive, but he wasn't sure he was part of it anymore.
Deacon had a strange way of swallowing people whole. You could live here for years and still feel invisible. The noise, the lights, the endless rush — it all looked like movement, but nobody ever really went anywhere.
Dammy was twenty-one, broke, tired, and done pretending he had it figured out. Every day was the same — wake up, go out, wear a mask, come home, repeat.
He'd stopped talking to most people. It wasn't even loneliness anymore — just silence. The kind that didn't feel empty… it felt watchful.
His phone buzzed once. A message from Lance:
"Bro we outside tonight, pull up 😎"
He stared at it for a while, then locked his phone. Not tonight.
He didn't have the strength to fake smiles again. Something in his chest felt heavy, like a storm building behind his ribs. He couldn't explain it, but he knew something was about to change.
The light flickered. Once. Twice. Then it went out completely.
The room went silent — the kind of silence that presses against your skin. Outside, the rain slowed until each drop seemed to hang in the air, frozen.
And then, from the corner of the room, came a voice. Soft. Calm. Deep.
"Dammy."
He turned around quickly. Nothing.
His chest tightened. "Who's there?"
The voice spoke again, closer this time. "You've been pretending too long."
He backed up, eyes scanning the darkness. "I don't understand."
"Oh, you do." The voice wasn't echoing. It was inside him. "You've hidden the real you for years. The one who doesn't bow. The one who doesn't break."
The lights flickered again, and for a moment, Dammy saw something in the reflection of his window — a figure standing right behind him.
He spun around — empty. But when he looked back at the glass, the reflection was still there. It looked just like him. Same eyes, same face. But colder. Smiling faintly.
"Who are you?" Dammy whispered.
The reflection tilted its head. "Who do you think?"
His breathing got faster. "This isn't real."
"It's real enough," the reflection replied. "You've been asking for power. Purpose. You've wanted the world to notice. I'm the part of you that can make it happen."
Dammy's voice shook. "What are you saying?"
The reflection smiled wider, eyes glowing faintly silver. "I'm saying you've suffered enough pretending to be small. You don't belong beneath anyone. You belong above."
For a long moment, neither moved. Then the reflection leaned closer to the glass and whispered one word:
"Emrys."
The sound of it hit him like a shock — not painful, but awakening. It felt like his body had been waiting to hear that word all his life.
The lights burst back on. The air rippled. He gasped, clutching his chest as a wave of energy rushed through him — cold, electric, alive. The rain outside began to move backward, as if the world itself was glitching.
He fell to his knees. His reflection flickered, glitching between two faces — the Dammy he was, and the Emrys he was becoming.
He felt power crawl through his veins like lightning under skin. His heartbeat steadied, deeper, slower. And when he looked up again, his eyes were silver.
He stood. Calm now. The air around him moved differently — thicker, heavier, almost bowing.
He looked at his reflection again. The face staring back wasn't scared anymore. It was confident. Untouchable. Dammy was gone. Only Emrys remained.
He walked out into the night, barefoot, rain soaking the streets. The water didn't touch him; it split and flowed around his feet like it recognized something greater.
People passed by, umbrellas up, too caught in their world to notice the shift in the air. But those who did glance at him froze — their instincts screamed without knowing why.
A man brushed past him, muttering something under his breath. Emrys stopped.
The man turned around, uneasy. "Hey, watch where you—"
Emrys' gaze met his, calm and slow. The man's words died in his throat. He felt something grip him — not his body, but his spirit. His knees almost buckled.
Emrys stepped closer, eyes glowing faintly in the rain. "Apologies aren't necessary," he said quietly. "Just don't forget what it feels like to stand before something greater than you."
The man stumbled back, shaking, unable to speak. Emrys walked past him, unbothered, the sound of his steps echoing louder than the rain.
Lightning split the sky, casting silver light across the street. In that flash, for a second, it looked like the city itself bowed.
He stopped in the middle of the road and looked up. The storm roared, but his voice was steady.
"They thought I was weak." He smirked faintly. "They mistook patience for peace."
Thunder rolled like an answer. He closed his eyes.
"Deacon belongs to me now."
The air around him pulsed. The streetlights dimmed. And as he disappeared into the rain, the city whispered a new name in fear and awe —
Emrys.