Prologue The first thing I remember is the silence. Not the kind that soothes. Not the kind that means peace. No—this silence is absolute. The kind that exists only when something has been erased. I stand at the edge of oblivion. Above me, the sky is shattered—a canvas of bck and gold, where time itself fractures and bleeds into the void. The stars have fallen. The sun is gone. Below, the world is a graveyard of memories, crumbling into dust, swallowed by the dark. And at the center of it all, there is a throne. Ancient. Cracked. Built from the bones of forgotten gods. It stands atop a ruin that once held a name—my name—but now it is nothing. Just another lost fragment buried beneath the weight of all that came before. A figure sits upon it. A reflection of myself, yet not myself. His eyes are empty. His form flickers, dissolving like mist. His presence devours everything around him, a gravity so immense that even reality bends beneath it. The final remnants of existence colpse into his grasp—reduced to grains of light that swirl at his fingertips. And still, he stares at me. "…You came all this way." His voice is yered, overpping, as if spoken by a thousand versions of him that no longer exist. "Did you find what you were looking for?" I don't answer. Because I don't know if I have. Because I don't even remember what I was searching for. All I know is that everything—everything—has led to this moment. The countless lives. The shattered timelines. The cycle that has spun and spun, over and over, devouring itself until only we remain. The weight of it presses down on me. A thousand choices. A thousand regrets. A thousand battles fought and lost, fought and won—only to bring me here, to this moment, where none of it matters. Where I stand before the end of everything, and the only thing left to do— —is choose. A step forward. A hand reaching. A final breath. And then— Everything colpses. A rewind. A sky of fire and ruin. A battlefield where gods and monsters fell. A world consumed by shadows, then rebuilt again. A boy standing alone, watching the sky as something unseen begins to stir. A story beginning where it should have ended. And the first words spoken into the void— "…This time will be different."Chapter 1: A Quiet World A beep. Then another. Then another. My phone arm drills into my skull, sharp and relentless. I grope for it on the bedside table, swiping blindly until silence returns. For a moment, I just lie there. I exhale. Another day. A weak glow filters through the curtains, painting the dust motes in pale gold. I watch them drift, weightless and aimless. They seem more alive than I feel. I reach for my phone. No messages. Just news feeds cluttered with talk about some meteor shower happening tonight. People are already posting blurry photos of the sky. Once-in-a-century cosmic event, the headlines cim. I toss the phone aside and drag myself through the morning routine—brushing my teeth, throwing on a wrinkled uniform, half-listening to my parents argue in the kitchen. Their voices rise and fall, circling the same unspoken concern. Me. I slip out before they can start the daily interrogation. "Are you okay?""Why don't you go out more?""You should try having fun like other kids." Outside, the city hums with its usual noise—cars, conversations, distant construction. Life moves forward, indifferent. I try to pinpoint when I stopped caring about all the commotion, but I can't. Somewhere along the way, everything just faded into background static. I keep my head down as I walk to school. Other students pass in clusters, talking, ughing, glued to their screens. I blend into the crowd without effort, just another shape in the flow. At the gates, I catch snippets of conversation. "Are you staying up to watch?""They say it might be huge—like once-in-a-lifetime huge.""Some people think it's an omen." I don't make pns. Don't see the point. First period is literature. The teacher drones on about poetic symbolism. My gaze drifts to the window, where the sky is stark and clear. Even the birds look more focused than I feel. By lunch, the buzz has grown. The meteor shower is on every screen, every tongue. Scientists say it's bigger than expected—an unusually dense celestial cluster. People are hyped. But me? I'm caught on the same thought I have every day. Why does it feel like something's off, even when nothing is happening? I push it aside and focus on finishing my meal. No sense in getting lost in cosmic mysteries. School ends without fanfare. I pack my things, slip on my headphones, and head home under a sky shifting toward dusk. A note from my parents waits on the counter—We'll be out te. Good. No awkward questions tonight. I drop my bag in the corner of my room and gnce at the clock. The meteor shower is still hours away. Normally, I'd scroll through my phone until I fell asleep. But tonight, I just stare at the ceiling—the same grey expanse I wake up to every morning. The air feels different. Not heavy, not charged. Just… waiting. Like the world is holding its breath. I exhale, tell myself it's just another night. Nothing's going to change. I wish I could believe that. But deep down, something whispers—quiet but certain. This night won't end the way it's supposed to. And for the first time in a long while, I don't know if that thought terrifies me— —or if I've been waiting for it. The night deepens. The city's distant hum fades, swallowed by the stillness pressing in from all sides. Outside my window, the first stars flicker to life, scattered across an endless void. And somewhere beyond them—something stirs. I try to ignore the thought. I lie still, staring at the ceiling, my mind drifting in that hazy space between awareness and sleep. A soft vibration pulls me back. My phone. A message. A group chat I forgot to leave. [8:23 PM] Lukas: You guys seeing this? This is insane.[8:24 PM] Emilia: Bro, it's just starting Chill.[8:25 PM] Lukas: No, I mean the sky looks weird. Like… really weird.[8:26 PM] Noah: tf u talking about A pause. Then, almost on instinct, I push the curtains aside. And the breath leaves my lungs. The sky is alive. The meteors don't arc gently like falling stars. They carve through the heavens in jagged, erratic paths—sharp, deliberate, wrong. Some vanish midair, blinking out like a glitch in reality. Others linger too long, their trails burning, searing into the night like scars. A weight settles in my chest. I step back. My pulse is steady, too steady, but my body feels… wrong. Like I've stepped into a dream just moments before it colpses. Another buzz. [8:31 PM] Lukas: Okay, no, seriously. wtf is happening.[8:31 PM] Emilia: wdym? looks fine to me[8:32 PM] Lukas: Look at the moon.[8:32 PM] Noah: … I don't want to look. But I do. And my breath catches. The moon is wrong. Not just slightly off—completely, impossibly wrong. It's too rge. Too close. Its surface flickers between crity and distortion, like a reflection on disturbed water. As if it isn't real. As if something else is pressing through it, using it as a mask. And then— The sky splits. Not from a meteor. Not from an explosion. Something else. The night peels away, a tear unraveling in the fabric of the world. Beneath it, there is no light, no void—just an absence so absolute it feels alive. I can't move. Can't breathe. The whole world holds its breath. And then, in the silence—something whispers. Not from the sky. Not from my phone. Not from the city. From inside me. A voice I don't recognize. A voice that has always been there. "You remember, don't you?" My vision blurs. A wave of nausea grips me, like my body is rejecting something buried deep within. Fshes of something old—something vast and impossible—flicker at the edges of my mind. A throne.A battlefield.A hand reaching into the void. No. No, no, no. The memories aren't mine. They can't be mine. My hands tremble. My head pounds. The room bends and warps. The whispers rise. "You remember." My legs give out. Darkness crashes over me. And in the st moments before it takes me, I realize— This night will not end the way it's supposed to. It will not end at all.