What do you think of yourself?
What can you think when it was lost? What was found was already lost and will be lost, again. And what was lost is may never be found ever. We all know that.
But loss is something you'll never get used to, even if it eats your memories, corrupting your feelings, and devouring your perspective to what it is like to gain something again—when they'll just be lost in the matter of time. What worth does anything hold when they'll just be lost deep in your memories? Or what about when your memories was nowhere to be found at all?
It started when the memories were not there anymore.
It was a darkness.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
Blind.
But it became more.
There was a light.
And there's colors.
Yellow. Red. Blue. Yellow again.
Then, it became white. All-consuming, blank, yet full.
Until his eyes opened, they met the sky.
A pale gray expanse stretched above him, clouds moving slowly, as if unconcerned with the passage of time. They veiled the sun, allowing only a weak, muted light to filter through. Around the sky, he saw leaves shifting with the wind, their branches creaking softly in a rhythm that felt both unfamiliar and eternal.
"Where am I?" The words left his lips unbidden, quiet and tired, as if weighed down by the question itself.
He sat up, pushing the damp earth beneath his fingers cool and slightly soft. Grass brushed against his skin, grounding him in a place he did not recognize. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, feeling the disheveled strands of his black short hair sway with the gentle breeze.
Looking down, he noticed the shirt he was wearing. It was striking—a long-sleeved patchwork of macaron pastel colors, soft blues, yellows, pinks, and greens, stitched together in square patches in a way that felt deliberate yet fragmented. The fabric felt sturdy, well-made, even comforting, though he couldn't remember why he wore it or where it came from.
"It's nice," he softly murmured, running a hand over the material. "But… why?"
The question wasn't just about the shirt. It was about everything as he noticed the pants, simple and white, were clean yet worn at the edges, as if they had seen a long journey. His sneakers, also a squares of pastel patchwork, mirrored the vibrant yet strange design of his shirt. Every part of his attire seemed chosen with care, yet he couldn't recall who had chosen it or why, but it's nice, even with the confusion of the unknown situation he's in, he knows he likes it.
His eyes drifted to his hands, the faint glow of his light brown skin catching the muted sunlight. Smooth and unmarked, they looked as though they had done little hard labor. Yet they trembled slightly, as if carrying the weight of an invisible burden.
He touched his face, fingers brushing over its familiar unfamiliarity. A small mole near his left eye. Soft lips. Young skin unmarred by scars or weather. He is slowly touching his own flesh as the realization is daunting on him, that he cannot remember anything.
He stood, slowly, as if testing the strength of his legs. The wind tugged at his hair, cool against his skin, carrying the scent of earth and leaves. Around him, the world was quiet, but not silent. The rustling of trees, the distant call of unseen birds—they were reminders of life. A life he wasn't sure he belonged to anymore.
The pastel shirt, the pristine white pants, the sneakers—they felt like remnants of someone else. A person who had chosen them with care. A person fond of the myriads of soft colors. A person who knew who they were. How could that person be him? How could such colors fit him?
The colors to be worried about was not just his shirt, his white pants, the faint light of the sky, but the darkness lingering at the back of his mind, the emptiness of his knowledge that bought him here. He is full of colors, and yet his soul might only be a clash of the light and the darkness. A person who he was was out of reach. A person he is yet to find again.
But that person was gone, scattered like the memories he couldn't find. He finally looked in front of him, and around, and his eyes were met by the trees, and then on the grass, where he finds the thing that will add to his confusion.
"What? Where the hell am I?" a voice of a woman was heard, it was stern that cut through the natural sounds of the forest, and it came from an adult pale woman wearing a blue nurse uniform, standing up with the other people.
People who are strangers, unfamiliar faces, wearing their distinct clothing, colors and uniforms with a unified face of confusion despite the difference of their age. They are now standing up in their different composure, several meters away from him, looking around, and seemingly strangers to each other as well.
"Are we possibly... dead?" he uttered, a random idea he had thought of the moment, he looked at his right hand, and touched it with the other.
"Is this heaven?" he added as he turned his body to his side and saw more of the people around him.
They are also wearing different clothing, some are uniforms again of a known profession, some are casual clothing, and some are even wearing just a piece of cloth.
"What in the fuck happened? Can someone tell me?" a deep disgruntled voice of a man who is wearing an athletic red and white shorts.
"Shit. I was just promoted and now this?" a young man in a black office attire exclaimed.
"Or hell?" he said to myself and chuckled to this idea after hearing the people curse.
"YES! Those fucking ass-kissing cops thinking they'll catch me huh." said by an middle-aged man in a rugged jacket.
"Hey you fucker! Come with me let's have some fun in a big bush here somewhere!"
"Stay away from me you motherfucker I'll beat your ass!"
It was all... surreal. But the realization dawns at him, this is humanity, this is them. And then he remembered, the colors he had seen before waking up before the darkness, it was all yellow.
Then turned oranged.
Then a fire.
Then turned red.
There was blood.
It was different from the captivating view of the forest in front of him.
There must be something different from here, a change, he thought.
Beside him, a louder voice of woman was heard, "W-Where's dad? I need my medicine now!" and it was a panicking young woman wearing a hospital gown who then fell to her knees.
He noticed her as she fell near his foot.
"Can I help you-"
"Who are you? Get away!" the woman cut him off and stood up again to walk away from him.
"Oh." he uttered as she walks away. Now I feel like I should regret that, but this is confusing. What's really happening right now?
He looked around again as the voices of the people around him are getting louder. He asked himself, they seem to remember everything, why can't I?
He looked at his both hands raised to his chest, then his palms, then looked at the sky.
"Is this a joke? A prank?" he whispers to himself.
"Or a game? An isekai?" he said as he looked around again where the people around him are now walking, some are talking, some are heard screaming at each other.
"Or a novel? A simulation? The Matrix?" he asked himself, but his eyes widened, I know that movie and yet I don't know how I know that movie and I don't even know how I am here, he thought to himself.
But I know who I am, do I? Or I don't? Maybe this is a dream, a weird dream where I can't remember anything that happened to me.
His left hand touched his right hand again and pinched its wrist. "And yet I can feel this. And I can see them clearly", he whispered to himself as he looked around.
"And the sky is not that weird for a weird dream", he added as he gaze at the sky.
But the gray sky had a changed color, it was darker, no, it is getting darker and darker rapidly that the clouds are nowhere to be seen, not even any stars to be expected, as if the sky was suddenly turned into night.
"Or I spoke too soon?" he joked but his face says otherwise as the situation is becoming serious as the place is darkening with little light left from the dark skies with its red moon.
"Red?" he muttered as he noticed how the moon was glowing with its faint red color.
The air thickened with an unnatural stillness, silencing the murmurs and footsteps of those gathered below. Heads tilted upward, their gazes drawn to the ominous red moon that hung low in the ink-black sky, pulsating faintly like a dying ember.
Then, it appeared.
A shape—formless at first, like a wisp of smoke rising from the abyss—began to solidify against the crimson glow. The shadow stretched and twisted unnaturally, defying the laws of the world, until it took the form of a man. No, not a man—a figure too tall, too gaunt, its presence oppressive like the weight of a thousand storms.
And then they saw its eyes.
Two smoldering orbs of molten red pierced through the darkness, locking onto the crowd as if each glowing gaze bore into every soul at once. A collective shiver rippled through the onlookers, their breaths catching in unison. It wasn't just looking at them—it knew them. Their fears, their secrets, their regrets.
The air grew colder. Some swore they felt a faint pressure against their chests, as though invisible fingers were grasping at their hearts. No one dared speak. No one dared move.
The silhouette remained still, yet its presence loomed larger with every passing moment, the tension growing unbearable. Was it a man? A beast? A herald of something far worse?
No one could answer, but one thing was certain: the shadow is not something they've encountered before.
"After a millennia, the Goddess of Light finally made her move. Welcome to Terraldia, outworlders." a kind and calm voice of a man was heard, yet it's very clear and in a volume of seemingly talking to your face, it was a voice heard in their minds.
Everyone was bewildered, it's as if the man's voice was inside their head yet the man was far away and standing still in the skies. What surprised everyone too was the two words given; Terraldia and Outworlder, a word of this world and the other for them, and with the entity of the Goddess of Light. Their curiosity matched with confusion was cut short when the man spoke again.
"And welcome to my demon dominion, the tribunal of the damned."
The ground convulsed with an unnatural force, and the towering trees began sinking vertically, their trunks swallowed whole as if the earth itself was devouring them. One by one, they disappeared into the soil, their leaves vanishing beneath the surface like they were retreating to some hidden world below.
Screams filled the air as people fled in terror, the forest collapsing around them in a haunting display of nature's betrayal.
"This can't be real!" he cried out, his voice cracking as the ground's violent shudders brought him to his knees. The earth beneath him felt alive, ravenous, pulling everything down into its unseen depths.
The ground was chaos as the towering trees vanished into the earth, but it was the grass beneath their feet that truly betrayed them. It writhed unnaturally, slithering and coiling with a life of its own. Blades of green shot upward like serpents, tangling around ankles and legs, tightening with every desperate movement.
Screams filled the air, mingling with the frantic rustling of grass as they tore at it, ripping handfuls of green away only for more to sprout and ensnare them anew.
"You've gotta be kidding me! How's this happening... these grass wants to be my friend?! No!" he cried as he shaked his legs yet not touching them, if I touch these they might get into my hands too and consume me overall, he thought to himself.
"It seems you humans of Earth are not that different to other Terraldians, your first step to this beautiful world is already destruction of nature. With that, your resistance is worthless. The Goddess cannot help you in my ultimatum game. "
The dominion is a game of that demon. A demon who is an enemy of the Goddess who summoned us here? He'll kill us all, or worse. I can't think of anything possible from that.
With his thoughts spiraling, the others tried running, but the speed and force of the grass is overwhelming, holding down every single one of them.
"I doubt you'll be able to use the prophecied weapons of your souls, outworlders. I haven't even witnessed anyone from you to be using even the simplest magic right this instant. And for the strongest demonic magic ever known to this world, dominion, it ends with either the caster, I, die by the hands of you or the goal of the game is accomplished, which you all in the forest die. There's nothing in-between."
Everyone froze for seemingly an eternity for several seconds as the inevitable chilling of their spine was felt from the horror of hopelessly dying—just right after being summoned to this world.
"A slaughter? A massacre? A spawn kill? Some of these people have lives worth than anything you can think of, and yet you'll kill like an animal. Demon." he said to himself with a heavy tone and with his gaze sharper than before.
The demon with his echoing voice in their heads continued to speak, "Having accepted your fate now, to play my game, I only need you to do one thing."
"One thing for everyone's life?" he asked.
"I, Neroth Aconite, the Demon Lord of the Withered Souls, serving the God of Darkness, ask you all to answer this question."
"What do you think of the dark?"
Neroth's voice was calm, cold, and unnervingly resonant as his name's revealed. The question reverberates through their thoughts like a challenge, tearing through their mental defenses and forcing a response. The demon's dominion is established, the game has begun.
The forest is shrouded in oppressive silence, the summoned Outworlders stands frozen, not until the silhouette of Neroth with the red moon in the skies disappeared. The demon is now finally making his move. The people are loud, panicking, screaming, and their minds are like bees in a burning beehive as they feel the impending doom of being killed for the failure to answer the demon's question.
Is there a correct answer? It can be anything. Can we actually answer it?, he thinks to himself.
"I… I won't answer this! "It's terrifying! I don't want to die!" said the nurse who managed to remove all the entangling grass on her feet and ran.
But she doesn't get far. A blur of crimson and black erupts, swiftly ending her life as Neroth's shadow engulfs her. His blade, a silent whisper of death, finds its mark. The body collapses, lifeless, a crimson stain blooming on the grass where her heart once beat. The demon's voice, a chilling whisper in her mind, echoes, "Fear only hastens your demise."
"People can answer that." He said to himself. After that first death, everyone's panic is worse, removing the grass, running away, their heads shaking on the unseen powerful force of the demon. He looked around him, "And it's not enough." he said to himself.
The man in athletic shorts staggered back, his voice breaking into a terrified scream. "It's scary… I hate it! Only God answers for me! Please don't!"
A shadow moved faster than sight. Neroth's glowing eyes narrowed, and his voice cut through the chaos, sharp and damning. "Those who fear it have no place in this world. And your God is ashamed of you."
The sound of metal slicing through flesh reverberated in the air, wet and unrelenting. The man's cries were silenced in an instant, his body crumpling into the dirt. Around him, others tried to flee, but the shadows hunted them down with merciless precision. One by one, their desperate attempts to escape ended in blood-soaked silence, their bodies falling like broken dolls into the earth.
A man in a corporate uniform stood trembling, his face pale, his hands clutching at his chest as though holding in his fear. "I… I don't know what to think! It can be a lot of things—I don't know!"
Neroth's gaze bore into him, the weight of his contempt pressing like an invisible force. "Confusion to that simplest matter is the reflection of your life's worth."
"No. No way. I'll die." He whispered as the demon moved, a blur of shadow and gleaming steel. The man didn't even have time to finish his breath. Blood sprayed into the darkness, and his lifeless form collapsed, swallowed by shadow.
"Darkness? I don't know what to think… it's just… nothing? It's meaningless. It's just the absence of light," muttered a woman in a hospital gown, her voice detached, like she had already resigned herself to the inevitable.
"And so is your existence," Neroth hissed, his voice colder than death. The blade pierced her heart with surgical precision, and her body crumpled as if the darkness itself had claimed her.
Another figure, an elderly woman dressed in vibrant, ceremonial robes of muted colors, clutched a jade talisman to her chest as her voice shook. "It's vile and destructive! The world doesn't need darkness!"
Neroth's shadow loomed over her. The talisman shattered beneath the weight of his presence. "The world does not need your foolish disgust either." His blade struck, her form sagging to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
In the chaos, this man in his colorful patchwork clothing watched, and one figure near him captivated him. A man in a military uniform, his face lit with an almost fanatical fervor, raised his hands to the sky. "Then darkness is just beauty. It is pure. It is power. It is our savior. It is eternal!"
"A savior?" he whispered to himself but his jaw dropped as the demon's shadow immediately appeared before the man in uniform.
The demon's shadowy form paused, tilting his head as though considering the man's words. For a fleeting moment, the silence was deafening. Then Neroth's voice came, low and venomous. "Flattery will not save you. It is hollow when it lacks truth."
The military man's chest was split open in a single strike, his lifeblood pooling around his boots as his body collapsed in a grotesque bow to the shadow. He covered his mouth in shock.
"Not even those who praise it can be saved?" He said to himself and looked around as more thumping sounds of bodies falling are heard.
An adult man in his golden tuxedo firmly answered, "Darkness means nothing to me! I don't care about your question. You're just an another man to kill!", his tone defiant and brave.
Yet it was the cause of his end, as Neroth's blade moves before he can react, "And your end is the darkness. Empty bravado has no place here." the demon replied.
"The darkness… it reminds me of what I've done. Of the pain I've caused." a young woman in a blue and white school uniform said, her eyes tearing up.
The blade struck true, yet her eyes was lifeless before it reached heart. "Regret will not cleanse you." Neroth spoke.
"No... that's just cruel." he spoke as he's still legs are on the ground and entangled by the grass.
Another caught his attention. A man in rugged overalls, his hands clenched into fists as he stared down with defiant resolve. "Darkness is a test. It's an enemy. It's there to make us stronger, to prove our worth to the light!"
The words hung in the air like a final plea for redemption, and Neroth lingered, studying the man as though dissecting his very soul. Finally, the demon spoke, his voice like a cold wind through a graveyard. "Faith is a fragile shield against inevitability."
With a flourish, the blade struck, the man's body crumpling like all the others. Yet his words remained, echoing louder than the screams around him.
"Not a savior, nor an enemy. Connecting all of this, what really is the dark?" he asked himself as he looks down to his colorful clothing contrary to the darkness he's questions.
A very young girl in her pajamas answered while looking at the skies, "Darkness? It's where dreams come from, right? It's where stars are born!"
For a moment, Neroth's shadow seems to pause in front of her, but then his voice cuts through. "Naïveté is not innocence, and it's ignorance to your core. Take this as mercy." And her body fell with the other outworlders.
"It's an observable phenomenon. A natural part of the universe, isn't it? Our studies can tell us all of it." a man wearing nothing but his glasses and a towel wrapped in his waist spoke.
Neroth's remains impassive as his blade strikes and the naked man is now on the ground, "You reduce it to something you cannot even comprehend." his cold voice heard through their minds.
A young man in his same age wearing a gray hoodie stepped forward and answered coldly, "Darkness, light—it's all the same. None of it matters in the end."
But that young man's body froze then fell with the same wounds of the others. "Your apathy is an insult to existence." Neroth replied.
With all the outworlders around him are heard dying, he knows he is running out of time, no time to comprehend death, to question life's worth, to reflect on the instant demise of people with their distinct identities, memories, and everything that defined them—everything that he's lacking. Looking at himself, his clothing of different colors of light, his pants being white, his legs entangled, it was all a juxtaposition of colors to the darkness around him and the grim reality of dying. But with death right around such small seconds, his face now is not clouded of confusion nor fear, it's calm of the possibility of death and the embrace of the darkness. He closed his eyes like meeting the emptiness of life, takes a trembling breath among the chaos, words piling up his head, ideas and its connection forming like a web of what the darkness is and what he can think of it, what he feels for it, and what he can make it out to be.
A reflection.
A savior.
An enemy.
And what the darkness means to him at this second, or perhaps beyond time, beyond the past and the future, beyond the bravery and belief, of what the darkness is as he feels it kindly. For all its irony, it's all freeing.
Words clashing yet seen as part of its grand entirety, the bigger picture beyond of the different perspectives. With no memories of himself, yet only the words heard before, numerous sentences formed in his mind, he speaks softly, almost as if to himself:
"It's madness. It's nothingness yet it's everything. It's a lost cause but it's freeing."
"But darkness… it's not a savior nor an enemy. It's a mirror, showing us what we're too afraid to face. Without it, and without its light, we are all blind minds and would never be the minds that we are now."
The air was still, unnaturally so, as though the world itself held its breath.
A soft, small smile crept onto his lips—a smile not born of defiance, nor of triumph, but of quiet acceptance. This was his end. He welcomed it as he welcomes the words he spoke—welcoming the darkness. The thought was not bitter but serene, as if in these final moments, he had unraveled a truth that gave meaning to his unknown existence, of the emptiness of his memories, and the darkness of his past.
Seconds passed, or perhaps it was seemingly an eternity. He felt the coldness of the air brushing against his skin, yet it didn't bite as he expected. It was softer now, gentler, like a whisper of something familiar and long forgotten. The silence deepened, expanding like a chasm, swallowing every trace of sound—the screams, the cries, even the omnipresent hum of dread.
He noticed it then.
The absence.
The silence wasn't simply quiet; it was deliberate, growing heavier, pressing against his chest. It was true. The anticipation of death felt stretched thin, like the seconds were pulling apart the fabric of time itself. He waited, breathing steadily, his trembling breath subsiding into stillness.
But it didn't come.
No piercing blade. No sharp flash of pain. No final, cold release.
Only the dark.
It enveloped him, clinging to his skin, pooling around his feet, filling every space with its quiet, unfathomable depth. It was not cruel or kind, not an enemy nor a savior—it simply was. His heartbeat slowed, each beat echoing faintly in the cavern of his chest, a lonely sound that reminded him he was still alive.
And then, curiosity crept in, subtle and persistent, nudging against his calm demeanor. He realized the ground beneath his feet didn't feel as solid as before. The air carried no scent of blood or earth. The weight of all he had seen, the terror, the desperation—it seemed to hang somewhere far behind him, inaccessible and faint, like a half-remembered dream.
With growing awareness, he noticed something else: the silence wasn't empty. It wasn't lifeless. It hummed softly, like a low, unseen vibration, carrying something he couldn't quite understand. It wasn't threatening; it was waiting.
And so was he.
His breath lingered in the oppressive silence, his eyes still closed, his mind caught in the strange stillness around him. And then, breaking through, the voice came again, "You, rainbow."
It was cold, deep, and resonant, like the first crack of ice splitting a frozen lake. Yet something was different. It wasn't distant anymore, wasn't the echo of something disembodied. It was near. Close. Real.
"What is your name?" the faimiliar voice intoned, heavy with intrigue.
The words hung in the air, the weight of them tangible. His breath caught, the hairs on his arms rising. This wasn't a voice in his head—it was in the space around him, vibrating in the stillness, pressing against his ears. Slowly, his trembling lids parted, and his eyes opened to the world he had dreaded to see.
The first thing he saw was him.
Not his black form of a shadow but a figure stood before him, tall and unmoving, bathed in the dim, unnatural light that barely illuminated the dominion. His skin was pale as frost, smooth and cold, with an otherworldly glow that seemed to radiate from within. White hair cascaded to his waist, loosely tied yet framing his angular face, a haunting symmetry etched into every feature.
Eyes—white, bright, piercing, and glowing with the intensity of a winter storm—fixed upon him, unblinking. They seemed to strip away every pretense, every thought, every shield he could muster. His gaze was searing yet calm, inquisitive yet judgmental, as though weighing his existence against an unseen scale.
Above the man's brow, two black, curved horns emerged, short but sharp, the only feature on a face that otherwise seemed carved by divine hands. His lips, thin and pale, remained still, a faint trace of a frown giving his expression a hint of disdain—or perhaps curiosity.
The black, jagged crown atop his head shimmered faintly with embedded white jewels, as though capturing the remnants of starlight itself. His clothing, dark and regal, was a contradiction—tattered at the edges yet undeniably noble, etched with intricate silver runes that whispered of ancient power.
His arms hung loose at his sides, and the faint glint of twin daggers visible against the fabric of his dark trousers and the sleek boots that completed his unearthly appearance. But it wasn't the weapons that drew his focus.
It was the man's presence, like a force of nature, vast and inescapable. The very air seemed to bend around him, thick and heavy with an energy that hummed in his ears and chilled his bones.
The demon spoke again, "Speak. For I cannot see through you, your memories nor your soul.", his tone measured, his deep voice carrying a weight that seemed to ripple through the darkness.
The words coiled around him, sinking into his thoughts, pulling at the threads of his identity. The demon took a slow step forward, "And yet your fascinating and disconcerting answer stays true," the figure said, tilting his head slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing. "If you mean what you said, what is your name?"
The silence returned for a moment, thick and suffocating, as if waiting for something to break it. But his gaze remained fixed on the man before him, unable to look away, caught in the gravity of his presence.
What is his name? What is this demon doing here? What is it that he had before he woke up? He remembers it vaguely, fractured, and confusing. It was colors, of rainbow, of light, of yellow and white.
What do you think of yourself?
Milk and Yellow.
Gold and Darkness.
Words finally present themselves with only vague visions of his past.
"Millow Aurum."