Darkness pressed in from every side. Heavy, suffocating, like a damp cloth pulled over his face. No light. No sound. Not even the faintest sense of which way was up or down.

  He took a breath—or at least he thought he did. The air didn’t feel right. Too thick, too cold. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice didn’t carry. It cracked, swallowed up before it could go anywhere.

  For a moment, it was just him and the silence.

  Then, something shifted. The darkness moved—not like a curtain lifting, but like water rippling after a drop. He froze. Faint pinpricks of light emerged from the black, trembling and unstable, as if they were afraid to fully appear.

  They grew brighter, sharper, forming scattered patterns in the void. Constellations. One cluster stood out—pulsing, faint but rhythmic. He stared at it, drawn closer, though his feet didn’t move.

  It throbbed again. Slow. Insistent. Like a heartbeat.

  And then it stopped.

  The constellation dimmed, fading into the black. In its place, something new emerged—a window. Its edges flickered, fragile and uneven, as if carved from light itself. It glowed faintly, floating in the void like a shard of glass untethered by gravity.

  Words appeared across its smooth surface, forming slowly, like they were being written in real time:

  [Title: Keeper of the Unseen Chains

  Mission: Forge Your Own Path.]

  His brow furrowed. “What…”

  The words hovered there, unchanging. His curiosity stirred. Hesitant, he reached out, his fingers brushing the glowing surface—or so he thought. His hand passed through it, as though it weren’t really there.

  “What is this?” he muttered under his breath. “Is this a dream?”

  The screen shimmered in response, and a line of text scrawled itself into existence:

  [This is not a dream, sadly.]

  Suddenly, a voice echoed in the silence. Looking around, there was no one—only the endless darkness surrounding him. He wanted to panic, but for some reason, he felt calm.

  "What... what do you mean? Who are you, talking to me?"

  "Where are you?" he asked, his voice steady despite the confusion inside him.

  Though countless questions raced through his mind, he felt strangely calm, as if a part of him had already accepted this new reality.

  [I am the screen in front of you.]

  "...What do you mean, you're the screen?" He stared at the glowing window, trying to comprehend.

  [It's hard to explain.] The voice seemed to hesitate.

  [But to put it simply, you remember dying, right?]

  "Yeah... how could I forget?" His voice was quieter now, as he recalled the helplessness, the fading of life. "It felt like I had no control, nothing I could do."

  [That sensation is gone now.] The voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. [You're in a state of higher awareness. Your emotions, the panic, the fear—they won't overwhelm you anymore.]

  "So... I'm not feeling what I should be?" He paused, processing. "It's like I've been meditating for years, and now I can think clearly."

  [Meditation is a way to calm the mind, a way to elevate your state of being. And that's where you are now.]

  "A higher state of mind, huh?" he muttered to himself.

  [Exactly. You are now a Constellation, beyond the limits of mortal beings. Emotions still exist, but they don't have the same grip on you. Panic, fear—they're much less powerful.]

  "Oh..." He absorbed this new information, trying to make sense of it.

  [Now, let me show you your powers.]

  The window shifted, revealing a list:

  Powers Overview:

  - Authority of Absolute Nullification: Nullify anything—be it physical, magical, or even emotional.

  - Authority of Unseen Chains: Control chains that bind the body, mind, and even concepts themselves.

  He read the words, still trying to grasp the magnitude of it all.

  "This... This feels unreal," he whispered, his mind reeling.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He then stared at his hands, turning them over slowly. His fingers flexed, the warmth of his skin still present, still human. But if he was something else now, something greater, why did he still feel so… ordinary?

  Before he could voice his question, a voice interrupted the silence, as though it had been waiting for him to speak.

  [What you are is what you need. Your soul is bound to a Constellation, but your body remains the same—shaped by the comforts your mind craves.]

  He blinked, trying to process it. "So… I’m still human?"

  [In a way, yes. But your soul is no longer tethered to mortality. Your form exists only because your mind seeks stability.]

  His gaze fell back to his hands, clenching them tightly. "It doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel human, not anymore. But… at the same time, I do."

  A faint shimmer of light flickered on the screen before him, a subtle ripple in the void.

  [It is confusion, yes. Your mind, still bound to the mortal world, clings to the form it knows.]

  He frowned. "Then what am I? What… type of Constellation am I supposed to be?"

  The screen flickered again, as though searching for an answer.

  [I don't know. We were both born at the same time, you and I. I exist to assist you, but you… were born without a purpose.]

  His chest tightened at those words. Born without a purpose.

  "So where did we come from?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

  [We were born from the corpse of an unknown being.]

  His mind tried to wrap around the meaning, but it was like trying to hold smoke in his hands.

  "That… doesn’t make sense," he muttered, staring at the screen. "So, you’re like my brother?"

  [Kind of.]

  A shiver ran down his spine at the implication. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure whether he should feel comforted or disturbed. "Great," he sighed, standing up straight. "Alright, then. What now?"

  [Constellations require influence to thrive. Influence comes from the belief, reverence, or fear of mortals. Their acknowledgment strengthens you.]

  "Influence?" He rubbed his forehead, more out of habit than anything. "So, you want me to get followers? People who worship me?"

  [Not necessarily worship. Their belief can take many forms. Some Constellations inspire loyalty, others command fear. The method is yours to decide, but without influence, your existence will weaken. Without it, you will fade.]

  "So, it’s either survive or disappear," he muttered, more to himself than to the voice. His eyes drifted up to the stars scattered across the dark void. "And if I disappear…?"

  [Then you will cease to be.]

  The finality in those words sent a cold chill through him. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. "So, I’ve got to make people believe in me, or… I die again."

  The screen remained silent, its glow steady and unblinking.

  [It is a hard truth, is it not? A person pulled from death, only to be thrust into a world so alien.]

  "Yeah, you could say that." The calm from before had begun to slip away, replaced by a sense of panic. He couldn’t help but remember the helplessness of his death, the sense of being nothing at all.

  And the thought of that happening again—it terrified him.

  A sudden disturbance broke through his thoughts.

  [Warning: Disturbance Detected.]

  The stars around him flickered erratically, their light dimming before suddenly bursting with an unnatural brilliance.

  The void hummed, vibrating with an eerie resonance that rattled his very bones.

  "What’s happening?" he asked, his voice betraying a flicker of panic.

  Before he could move, the stars twisted, unraveling into a vortex.

  The colors warped and merged, chaotic and impossible. His surroundings dissolved, the world around him breaking apart like shattered glass.

  He tried to grasp onto something, anything, but his feet found no ground. He was falling—no, being pulled—into the unknown.

  The next moment, the universe around him settled into an unsettling stillness. He couldn’t make sense of it—colors shifted like liquid, swirling and bending without reason. Reality felt… wrong, like it had been twisted beyond recognition.

  "What is this place?" His voice was a mere whisper, swallowed by the vastness of the space.

  "Why am I here?"

  [...No reasons. Reality has been disturbed. You were suddenly transported here, perhaps because of an anomaly…]

  The words echoed in his mind, unsettling and distant. The atmosphere felt wrong, stretched thin, as though the very fabric of existence was unraveling.

  [...From the energy here, it appears this place lies outside of reality. Be warned... The beings from beyond are far worse than anything within.]

  A cold shiver ran down his spine, his body tensing. He scanned his surroundings again. The shifting colors—unnatural, fluid—seemed to constrict, pushing in around him. It was as though the air itself was alive, a weight pressing against him, suffocating him with its alien presence.

  Then, the sensation struck. A presence—not sight, not sound, but something that permeated the air itself. It was everywhere, an overwhelming force, like a shadow looming behind him, drawing closer with every passing second.

  He turned slowly, dread crawling up his back. His eyes locked onto a shape, a vast and incomprehensible mass. It was impossible to discern its true form. Darkness, endless tendrils, swirled around it, twisting and shifting in ways that defied any rational thought. The very shape of it seemed to resist being known, like something that was there yet not there at all.

  Where a face should have been, there was nothing—just a yawning, black void. Then, the eyes appeared. Countless, pale eyes, emerging from the darkness. They stared directly at him, unblinking, cold. When they blinked, it was slow, deliberate, and each motion sent a ripple of unease through his chest.

  Its arms stretched impossibly long, writhing like strands of smoke, drifting through the air. It didn’t need to move. The presence of it, the mere fact of it, felt like it was closing in on him from every direction, trapping him in its grasp.

  "Thou art not meant to be here."

  The words didn’t come from its form. They vibrated the air itself, a deep, rumbling sound that permeated his body and rattled his bones.

  He froze, his mind racing to process the impossible. His heart hammered in his chest, a primal fear gripping him. But as he stood there, paralyzed, that terror began to ebb away. It didn’t disappear, but something else took its place—an odd, unnerving sense of acceptance.

  "Fear not, little one. I mean thee no harm."

  The voice was strangely soothing, its calmness almost too much to bear.

  It wasn’t mocking, nor cruel—just unsettling in its tranquil certainty.

  The very air seemed to hum with its presence, as if the creature had wrapped the world itself around its words.

  "I am Ith'kal," the voice continued, a haunting melody that reverberated in his soul.

  "I am known by many names: The Formless Death, The Endless Mist of Woe and Ruin. And this, little one, is my domain—the Abyssal Threshold."

  His breath hitched in his throat. His mind screamed for answers, but no words came. He was paralyzed, a creature of flesh before something incomprehensible, a mere speck in the vastness of this space.

  But somehow, despite the terror, despite the overwhelming presence, words slipped from his lips.

  "...Hello."