The night had always been Aryan's enemy. The cold moonlight filtering through the broken blinds cast jagged shadows across his bedroom. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the echoes of his parents' screams still ringing in his ears. The world outside was silent—too silent for a world that had stolen everything from him.
It had been two years since they died, but it felt like it was only yesterday. The pain of their loss never dulled, never faded. It lingered like a shadow, dark and oppressive, suffocating him every waking moment.
He could still remember it all—the sound of the door crashing down, the way his mother had screamed, the fire in his father's eyes as he fought back. But in the end, it was useless. They were taken from him just like that—like a fleeting dream.
Who were they? Who had done this? The questions haunted him every day. The World Government never offered answers. No one knew who the perpetrators were. They had simply vanished into the night, leaving nothing but the wreckage of his life. His heart tightened at the thought.
It didn't matter. No one cared. The world didn't care about a boy who had no Pluse, no power.
Aryan's mind wandered back to that day—when the silence of the night was shattered by the chaos that had ripped through his life. His parents' screams had still echoed in his ears when the authorities had arrived, but by then it was too late. He had seen the looks in their eyes. Sympathy? Pity? Perhaps, but more than that, there had been fear—fear of something they didn't understand. Fear of what his parents had known, of the forces they had crossed.
He had no Pluse, no ability like the others around him. Everyone in this cursed world was born with a power—a Pluse—that defined who they were. It could be anything: the ability to heal, to control fire, to read minds. But Aryan had none of that. He had nothing. His life was a black hole in a universe full of stars. The world around him seemed to glow with power while he remained in the dark.
He had hoped, prayed, for some miracle. Some sign that he wasn't just an ordinary boy in a world of extraordinary people. But there was nothing. Just emptiness. No Pluse. No future. No purpose.
His grandfather, a grizzled old man with a constant scowl on his face, was the only one who had taken him in after the death of his parents. But even Grandpa's tough love couldn't heal the wounds that ran so deep inside Aryan. Grandpa never spoke of his parents. It was as if they never existed. But Aryan knew better. He knew they had been part of something bigger, something dangerous. And that danger had come for him.
His life with Grandpa was nothing like the life he'd once known. They lived in small, rundown house at the edge of the city. The walls were thin, and the air always smelled of stale tobacco. Aryan had grown used to the constant hum of the world around him __cars racing by people shouting in the streets, but in his house , it was always quiet. So quiet that the silence would crawl under his skin and twist inside him. It was the only sound that never stopped, even when he closed his eyes.
At school, Aryan was invisible. Kids with their flashy Pluses would boast about their abilities—how they could summon fire or control the wind. He stayed to the shadows, the kid who was never noticed, the one who never mattered. The teachers never paid him any mind. The other kids were too busy with their powers to care.
But tonight, something was different.
It had started as a whisper, a flicker of movement in the darkened corner of his room. Aryan had tried to ignore it. After all, what was the point of worrying about something that didn't exist? His life was already a curse. But the air felt… thick. There was something else in the room with him, something watching. He could feel it, a presence that made his skin crawl.
Then, he saw it—an object, small and black, nestled among the shadows near his window. It was a symbol—an old, faded mark that resembled a cube. The same symbol he had seen in the stories his parents used to tell him before their deaths. The stories about the God Cube.
His heart skipped a beat. The Cube—was it real? Was this just some dream or a trick of his mind? The symbol seemed to glow faintly in the darkness. It was as if it was calling to him, pulling him in.
The God Cube. A mysterious artifact said to hold the power to grant any wish. But there was a price—a terrible price. Those who sought the Cube were often consumed by greed, and when greed took hold, the Cube would absorb them, twisting them into something… monstrous.
It was forbidden, hidden away by the World Government. No one was allowed to speak of it. They feared what it could do. But Aryan was too curious. He couldn't ignore it. Not now, not when it felt like the Cube was speaking to him, beckoning him toward a fate he wasn't ready for.
It was only a whisper now—a shadow in the corner of his mind—but it would grow louder, stronger, until he could no longer ignore it. Aryan wasn't just a nobody. He wasn't just a powerless boy in a world of giants.
There was something in him. Something dangerous. Something that would change the course of the world.
But for now, all Aryan could do was wait.