The day was like any other in Tievel. Farmers worked their fields, soldiers clashed in the distance, and children raced through the streets, their burlap sacks swishing as they competed for leadership in the group. In the heart of the forest near the village lay a swamp—a still, murky pool of blackness. It wasn’t dangerous, just unnervingly dark, and most people avoided it.

  The area around the pool was lush and vibrant, untouched by human hand, a stark contrast to the pit of inky liquid. But even here, the trees trembled, animals fled, and the flowers turned away, as though recoiling from something unseen. The wind picked up, and the air grew thick with a foreboding silence. The world seemed to hold its breath.

  Then, the pool stirred.

  A boy rose from the depths, his ivory skin slick with the black liquid, which recoiled at his gaze as though obeying his silent command. His eyes—clear, with iridescent patterns like fractured glass—glowed unnaturally. Long black hair cascaded down his back, absorbing the light around him, casting the world in a duller hue as he stepped from the pool.

  The air grew colder. The vibrant colors of the world seemed to drain away. The earth itself was wilting at its touch. The boy was beautiful—unnervingly so. A deadly poison cloaked in the guise of sweetness.

  The ground beneath him cracked, and with each step, the land turned barren, flat, and colorless.

  The place was soon called ‘Death’s Gait’

  ***

  Somewhere far away at the same time, a woman’s scream echoed through the air, her words scrawled in blood across the walls.

  “IT’S HERE, IT’S HERE! MURDERS OF CROWS GATHER AROUND HIM! THE RIVERS WILL TURN RED, THE AIR WILL STINK OF DECAY, AND DISEASE WILL SPREAD AS HE RISES. THE UNITED WILL FALL, AND THE WRAITHS WILL RISE AT HIS COMMAND. UNLESS THE LUMINOUS ONE IS DESTROYED, NO ONE WILL ESCAPE THE WRATH OF THE PEN THAT RECORDS OUR LIVES.”

  “

  Once pristine, the temple walls now dripped with blood—a grotesque testament to its desecration.

  The revelation was hidden and forgotten.

  ***

  On the streets of Tievel, Camus and Odessa walked together, their faces heavy with the weight of unfulfilled hopes. Camus, tall and broad-shouldered, with windswept dark brown hair and the deeply tanned skin of a man accustomed to the sun, carried himself with a quiet resilience. His green eyes sparkled with a mix of tenderness and determination, though shadows of worry lingered at their corners.

  Odessa, slender and graceful, with auburn hair that spilled like molten copper down her back, had a delicate beauty. Her pale skin was touched with freckles, and her amber eyes held a warmth that belied her weariness. She moved with a careful poise, carrying an invisible weight too precious to let slip.

  They’d visited countless physicians, but there was no sign of a child coming into their lives. Odessa’s face was pale, her eyes dull, and though she still tried to smile, the fatigue was undeniable.

  “Odessa,” Camus said softly, trying to break the silence, “How about a detour? There’s a sweet shop nearby.”

  Odessa gave a faint smile. “Yes, let's go.”

  As they passed a clothing stall, Camus stopped. In the shadow of the shop, a boy sat, his wide, unblinking eyes fixed on him. No older than nine, he was covered in dirt, his clothes tattered, but his skin was pale, almost glowing.

  Camus couldn’t look away. The boy’s eyes, shimmering with fractured patterns, glinted like cracked jewels, and his long, dark hair seemed to move of its own accord, coiling around him with an unearthly presence.

  “Camus?” Odessa’s voice broke the trance. She turned, gasped, and knelt in front of the boy. “Do you know where your mother is?”

  The boy shook his head, silent.

  “Would you like to come with me?” Odessa offered gently, holding out her hand.

  The boy smiled—a knowing smile—and took her hand. As he stumbled, Odessa caught him and lifted him into her arms.

  He was terribly thin.

  “Camus,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “Should we go to the hospital? The police?”

  Camus looked at the boy, then at Odessa. “Let’s ask around first. See if anyone knows him.”

  ***

  As the day ended, Camus found an elderly woman who recalled the boy. “He’s been here a week, maybe more. People tried to help him, but when they did, he’d vanish. They’d come back alone, but he’d just sit there, staring off, waiting for them to return. No one dares go near him now.”

  Camus, disturbed, rushed back to Odessa. She was sitting with the boy, who looked up at Camus with those impossibly strange eyes.

  Without a word, the boy reached for him, smiling as he embraced Camus. His eyes sparkled with an intensity, shifting with the colors of the setting sun—purple, orange, pink, and blue. His gaze held the entire cosmos inside them.

  ***

  That evening, the three of them made their way back to their home, a cozy wooden cabin on the outskirts of the village. The air smelled of applewood and cinnamon, and the soft creak of the floorboards welcomed them.

  The boy, now asleep in Camus' arms, was gently placed into the bed in a room prepared for a child who never came—an empty space where dreams and hopes still lingered.

  ***

  The next morning, Camus went to check on the boy. Casimir, as he now called him, was sitting up in bed, his long black hair spilling over the edges of the mattress.

  “Come on,” Camus said. “We’re going to give you a bath.”

  Casimir nodded, following Camus to the bathroom, his hair trailing behind him like a shadow. The warm water filled the tub with a soft squeak. As Camus undressed the boy, he noticed a strange vial around his neck—dark liquid suspended inside it.

  “What’s this?” Camus asked, reaching to remove the vial.

  Casimir’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t resist. “Do I have to take it off?”

  Camus nodded. “Yes. I’ll replace the string with something stronger. We need to clean you.”

  The boy agreed, and Camus set the vial aside, watching as the water darkened with the grime that had built up on Casimir’s skin. He was thin—far too thin. It was clear he hadn’t eaten in days, maybe longer.

  After the bath, Camus dressed the boy in simple clothes, a white silk shirt and black pants, and led him back to Odessa. The boy’s eyes shimmered, constantly changing, never quite still.

  The next day at breakfast, Odessa served pancakes in the shape of a bear, topped with strawberries, powdered sugar, and warm chocolate milk. She set the plate before Casimir, smiling warmly.

  “Good morning, Casimir,” she said. “Is it alright if we call you that?”

  He nodded eagerly, his face lighting up as he dug into the food.

  Camus and Odessa exchanged a silent look—a shared understanding.

  “Do you want to stay with us?” Odessa asked softly.

  Casimir’s eyes brightened even more, and he nodded vigorously.

  “Yes,” he said in a quiet, almost pleading voice, “Can’t I stay here?”

  Odessa smiled, her heart swelling. “Of course, you can.”

  ***

  Days passed, each one stretching into the next, the family settling into a quiet rhythm. The seasons came and went.

  And as time moved forward, seven winters had passed.

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  In the first winter, the snow came late, covering the ground in a frosty blanket. Cold seeps through the windows and through the walls. Casimir stayed warm and sat on the floor, legs stretched out with flushed cheeks reading a book without a thick jacket. Casimir asked why the blankets were there. Odessa replied that it’s for the cold. He said he didn’t feel it but instead felt warm. Odessa and Camus laughed at the response, saying that it was thanks to those blankets.

  In second winter, a branch laden with snow, snapped and fell directly above Casimir while he was shoveling snow. Odessa screamed and Camus sprinted to their son but only to find that the boy was unharmed. Snow riddled his coat, hair and eyelashes and dead branches stuck in his hair. Startled, Casimir clung to Camus like a lifeline. Hugging him tightly around the neck as he was carried off inside.

  The third wasn’t turbulent but instead filled with motes of disease. Neighbors knocked door to door for broth ingredients and herbs to use for medicine. Eventually, Odessa fell ill. She looked gaunt and was expected to not live through the week.

  With Odessa lying on the bed with a deathly pallor, labored breaths, and an occasional scratchy cough. The only color on her face was her flushed cheeks from the fever. Casimir sat by her bedside, attending her every need. He never caught it despite being in contact with infected fluids. Odessa makes a full recovery. They called it a miracle.

  The fourth winter passed by leisurely. Odessa sat by the porch of the house giggling while Camus struggled to shovel snow and eventually slipped. Casimir played in the snow and found something. Clenching his fist, he ran over to Odessa, calling her affectionately. “Look what I found for you mom!”

  Finally reaching her, he opens his small palms and shows a branch so smooth and rich in color that it seems crafted. Additionally, he had a piece of colorful glass that had a sharp edge.

  Camus looms over and peeks as the items in his hand. Casimir’s eyes curved as he smiled brightly and held his head high in pride. Camus quickly reaches for his hand to check for injuries but there were none.

  The fifth winter contained a shortage of food. Markets were closed due to the lack of produce. As a last resort, the adults went to find plants and bark. Casimir played with the other kids, taking turns tagging each other and hiding. While hiding, he strayed a little too far and found himself kicking the snow, bored of waiting for someone to find him. In the pristine snow, was a dark red dot.

  Intrigued by the color, he reached for it. Bringing it to his face with wide eyes, he saw a bead the size of a glass marble. It had delicate lace engravings with white in the grooves. The lace was intricate but continued to get more frayed once it strayed from the center. And covered the sphere entirely.

  A loud call vibrated in the air and some snow fell from the trees. Upon hearing his name, he quickly put the marble in his pocket, ran in that direction and arrived with the group of kids. After some time passed, he put the marble in his mouth out of curiosity. It tasted quite good, and he felt energy coming to him like chewing on a sugar cube.

  By the sixth winter, the frost seemed sharper by the blowing winds. Odessa bundled Casimir tightly before sending him out to play, but he always returned with rosy cheeks and a faint smile. "He’s built for this weather," Camus said proudly.

  In the seventh winter, it was wet, and rain fell often, encasing the floor in a crystalline slippery shell. The family of three stayed indoors all day in a drowsy manner.

  ***

  My mother sits in the rocking chair as she writes in her journal. Her pen scratches across the paper, recording my day, the moments that matter.

  Casimir pretends to sleep, watching her through half-closed eyes. When she finishes, she gets up, and the sound of the shower follows. He rises with his long hair spilling across the floor while walking to the window.

  A circular, dome-like window took up one side of the room, its ledge wide enough to sit on.

  Sunlight streamed through, warming the wood and casting soft patterns on the wooden floor, which was covered by a braided rug in earthy tones.

  Casimir climbed onto the ledge, letting his long black hair cascade around him like a cloak. The light seemed to struggle against the darkness of his hair, creating an eerie contrast.

  From the ledge, he could see the forest beyond the house—the trees swaying gently in the morning breeze, birds darting between branches, singing the first notes of spring and the faint shimmer of dew clinging to the grass.

  The world outside looked vibrant and alive, a stark contrast to the stillness that often-followed him.

  ***

  A bellow from the hallway came with urgency. “Cas, you’re going to be late!”

  Mother rushed around the house, scrambling to put herself together after having been awoken from her sleep prematurely.

  Casimir shuffled in the living room gathering shoes and picking up bags. Straining his voice he said “Mother, I’m going first! I set your shoes at the entrance!”

  With a thud, the door closed, and creaking of wood could be heard along with steady, confident steps.

  The breeze caressed his face and revealed a somber expression. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he gradually fixed his face into a cheerful expression and rather lighthearted. Bringing a hand over his features, as if checking that his expression was perfect, he begins to walk. The steps that were rather silent and steady became airy.

  Along the journey to school, one of Casimir’s friends could be seen.

  The first was a boy.

  Nevan could be seen shining from a mile away. Like a brilliant fragment of light that had been stolen from the heavens or liberated from the depths. It was a beauty that could only exist in those two extremes.

  Silvery grey straight hair barely reached past his nape with bangs that curtained slightly over his face. It was half tied up in a small bun, likely to be able to see.

  With cream skin and a tall lean frame, he took slow and assured steps with his hands in his pant pockets. Upon hearing footsteps, he turned his head. His green eyes with flecks of gold meet Casimir’s multifaceted ones.

  Nevan’s drowsy demeanor lit up at the sight of his friend and he quickly ran over to his side. A smell of warm vanilla with a smoky undertone and pure lavender wafted in the air

  For a moment, his chest filled with warmth, and he curved his eyes slightly.

  “Cas, wait up!” He said with a wide smile. His smile slowly faded and turned into a mischievous grin.

  “Didn’t think I’d see you this early.”

  Casimir lips cracked into a smirk “Hah! How ironic when you are always rushing into the class before the bell rings.”

  Nevan pretended to stagger and pouted. “Ouch, hitting me where it hurts, huh? Wanna walk with me?”

  He said “Sure, as long as you don’t talk my ears off about those crazy dreams of yours.” then rolled his eyes.

  Nevan gasps in a dramatic way “Me? I would never think of hurting you and your delicate ears! No, but like seriously, what do you have in your backpack. It’s literally bulging.”

  Casimir chuckles “Oh here? Nothing much, just an item for the intelligent called schoolbooks. I’m sure you’ve never seen one.”

  Laughing loudly, Nevan’s tone became sarcastic. “Oh, I know what books are. I just don’t carry an entire sack of them.”

  Shooting back, “Because you don’t carry them at all.” Casimir begins to walk a little faster.

  “Well played.” Nevan spoke in a lower volume, seemingly submissive.

  Arriving at the school gates, we went up the steps and walked into the halls.

  The morning buzz of students filled the air. Nevan stretched his arms over his head, yawning excessively loud.

  “You know” he said, glancing sideways at Casimir, “Me thinks, school starts too early. Who woke up one day and was like ‘Let’s begin school for children at nine when they can’t even function.’ It’s insanity”

  Casimir smirked but didn’t raise his head as he was adjusting the strap on his bag “Probably someone who knew you’d sleep through the rest of the day if it started later.”

  “Hey!” Nevan glared at Casimir with mirth. “For your information, I was resting my eyes for inspiration! You should be thanking me for keeping things entertaining.”

  Rolling his eyes, with a smile and the slight tremble of his shoulders at the absurdity of it all. “Sure. You’re a regular source of inspiration.”

  The two reached their classroom, the bustling noises from the inside slowly filtered out into the hallway. Nevan reached over for the handle but then paused. “Alright, Cas.”

  Turning to face him, he said his tone dripped with feigned gravity. “Time to bless the world with my presence. Try to keep up.”

  Rasing an eyebrow, Casimir smirked “Sure, Van. And I’ll try not to let your ‘greatness’ distract me from actually passing this class.”

  Nevan laughed pushing the door open. “Don’t worry— I’ll pass this class for the both of us.”

  “Good luck explaining that to Mr. Norden,” Casimir shot back as they walked in, their banter earning a few amused glances from their classmates.

  As they separated to get into their seats, the teacher walked in. A man with up-right posture but a slightly hunched neck, dark fluffy hair, and deep frown lines on his face entered. As he walked to his desk, the chatter of students trickled out and the shuffling of papers could soon be heard.

  He adjusted his glasses and called out roll. After confirming everyone was here, he walked up to the front of the class and began writing out something on the whiteboard. It said ‘Creation’ in big bold letters.

  A smooth baritone voice said “Today we will talk about creation. Why do you think we celebrate creation?’

  A high pitch voice said hesitantly. “...Do you mean the creation of humans?”

  Turning around to face the students, he said. “Yes and no. I’m talking about creation as in the sense of making a human being but I’m also speaking about things that we make that influence the world.”

  He continued, “Everything we do makes something new. But consider this— Creation isn’t just about adding something to the world. Take my hand for example.”

  He positioned his hand in the air with his index finger, thumb and middle finger up with the rest down.

  “I can add more fingers to my hand,” He gestured to his ring finger now standing. “But you can also destroy, making it entirely different.” He put down all his fingers except his pointer.

  “That is what’s at the center,” He added resolutely. “Can someone give me an example of this.”

  Confused expressions riddled the class.

  Casimir fiddled with the long vial shut tight with streaks of sliver around his neck that was filled with a black liquid, as he listened.

  Tentatively, Nevan raised his hand.

  The teacher nodded and told him to give it a go. Nevan stands next to his seat.

  With an inhale he spoke in a confident voice. “Destruction isn’t the opposite of creation. It’s the other side of the same coin. Every star born devours its surroundings.”

  Leaning forward slightly he continues. “Every death makes way for life. It’s balance.”

  The teacher nods and Nevan slumps down in his seat, seemingly exhausted of his mental power for the day.

  Another student raised their hand and spoke. “But what about doing nothing? Isn’t that just… neutral?”

  The teacher’s face creases into a smile and speaks with a hint of amusement in his tone. “That is a good question. Doing nothing seems passive or as if nothing is happening so it doesn’t create anything. But this assumption is wrong.”

  Walking closer towards the students and away from the board he continued, “The cosmos example was excellent, but it won’t make much sense with what you asked. Think of a garden. If you leave the garden alone, what happens?”

  The student responded, “You have weeds.”

  “Right. You allow nature to reclaim it, to make something entirely different and wild. Inaction changes outcomes. It’s still a form of creation—just one that looks different.”

  A female students ask with a bit of a delay, thinking. “So even destruction is part of creation, like clearing land to build something new.”

  With a bright smile, he points at the student. “Exactly. Every act of destruction creates space for something else to emerge. And every choice— action, inaction, creation, destruction— ripples outward, shaping the world in way that we might not fully understand.”

  The teacher flicks his wrist up and checks the time on his watch.

  “But here is something to think about as you go— if creation and destruction are always interconnected, can we ever truly create without destroying something else? And if not, what does that mean for how we live our lives?”

  At his last word, the bell rings and the shuffling of student bags and feet is heard.

  Casimir could be seen with a thoughtful expression. Nevan, still drowsy from boredom, met up with him.

  Nevan rubs his face and staggers slightly while walking. “So basically, me sleeping makes a contribution to society.”

  “Sure, whatever you say, Dopey.” Casimir retorted.

  Nevan frowned. “Well, whatever. I’ll see you at lunch. Good luck in your next class!”

  Casimir waved with his back already turned. His face relaxed and looked ahead while standing still.

  Chatter filled his ears. The blurs of people moving, rushing to the next class, moved busily.

  Shifting his gaze to the ceiling, he paused and then looked ahead to walk forward. Arriving to the next period, he took his seat towards the middle of the auditorium like a classroom.

  After the kids settle the teacher speaks.

  “Hello kids, this is Environmental Observation. My name is Cindy White and today is an easy day since I really don’t want to be awake.”

  Stifled giggles pass through the class. The children watch their teacher shuffle around to find papers and situate themselves.

  After passing around papers, she settled down in her seat on her desk and leaned back.

  “Alright, so the packet I passed has information about different observed monsters and phenomena.”

  The students looked at the packet and she continued to speak while turning on the projector.

  “Let’s start with monsters. Usually, weaker ones can be destroyed by regular people. Slimes are a great example as people use their byproducts for all sorts of things, mainly for insulation.”

  She paused and nodded to the screen that showed a massive grotesque dog with dark red fur and finger long teeth. “Higher ranking ones, like Cusiths, or maybe you know them as hellhounds, need to be taken down by specialists.”

  Smiling, she said as she stood up.

  “There is a type of monster that has been nearly fatal to human beings. During the Doomed Era, nearly 400 years ago, we had a run in with a certain type of monster.”

  The screen flickered and showcased a human being. But there was something wrong about the appearance. It wasn’t obvious like she had extra fingers or toes but just exuded danger. A sort of sixth sense told them that this isn’t a person.

  “This is a chimera. We have only seen this creature appear once in history. It was said that this creature formed through water and born through the Earth. They outwardly have a humanoid appearance and act exactly like us. They even can mimic our abilities.”

  The teacher, previously filled with energy, suddenly spoke in a subdued and grim tone.

  “By mimicking a human, it obviously formed coherent thoughts and had its own opinions. The monster no longer thought like a monster. In fact, the creature manipulated itself to believe that it wasn’t a monster.”

  “By the time the creature learned of its biology, it was half crazy, denying itself and developed a sort of fractured mind and later killed a priest while seeking advice and being denied. The chimera, who was unstable, was being chased by authorities and eventually was found. When found, it was treated brutally and its shell shattered.”

  Her eyes glassed over, looking into a place unseen.

  “The shell acted like a container and when it broke, everything inside poured out. This would start the razing of villages and cities as the creature killed over forty percent of our population. This was over the course of three weeks.”

  Various images of bodies scattered and leveled houses flickered through the presentation slide like some grotesque movie. The bodies, some whole and others incomplete had one common thing to them. A whitish ashy substance on them and the ground.

  Faces paled and groans of nausea spread.

  “The chalky powder was poisonous to humans. That was the main cause of death of the people instead of an actual physical impact. Thus, the name Nuir was formed. Nuir was never captured but instead disappeared, just as fast it had come, with a message written in stone on a slab near the last sighting.”

  In the next photo was a white marble slab. In human language was written ‘To the next’ in a bright red liquid. The rest was in an unintelligible chaotic text.

  “Only one sentence was readable on this slab, and it is the first one that says, ‘To the next’. The rest isn’t something we can translate yet.”

  A male and sickly voice asked a question. “Where was the slab found?”

  Turning her head the teacher responded. “It was found in a city that was named Brishin. We don’t know exactly where that was in today’s terms as a strange phenomenon that we call ‘The Forgetting’.”

  “The exact location of the slab was made obscure in memories as soon as it was moved. We couldn’t hold onto the idea of where the slab was found, and the believed residents could not remember where their home was. It’s believed that this was also caused by the chimera.”

  A deep frown contorted her features.

  “Only the generation that was alive at the time experienced a memory fluctuation and effectively wiped the location. All documentation about where the city was located and reports surrounding the area were also destroyed.”

  She shifted and the lighting of the projector created deep shadows in the grooves of her face.

  “Their strength is beyond anything you’ve faced, and they won’t hesitate to attack if threatened. Every second you stay, you grow closer to your end. The only way to survive is to get as far away as possible, fast.”

  And with that the bell rang, signifying the start of lunch. Walking out of the classroom, Casimir was greeted by Nevan’s face.