The room was dark, and a dim light hung loosely from the ceiling above. It was so faint that shadows crept easily along the rough brick walls. Two silhouettes emerged: one, a boy, was kneeling—his body trembling uncontrollably. The other, a woman, stood with her head lifted, her posture eerily still.
Weeping echoed softly, its source unclear. Blood pooled on the floor, slowly making its way toward the shadows on the wall.
Then, a single word broke through the sobs—a cry so raw and piercing it could chill the marrow of anyone who heard it.
"Mother!"
Years later...
A young man stood on the corner, his grey hood pulled low over his face, ripped jeans brushing against worn sneakers. His eyes—an unsettling shade of red—glinted faintly beneath the dim streetlight. His name was Felis, and he was waiting for someone.
"When is this guy gonna get here?" Felis thought, irritation creeping in.
But he didn't have to wonder much longer.
Another man, roughly the same age—early twenties—approached from the opposite end of the street. Something about him immediately felt wrong. Felis's eyes locked onto a glowing insignia emblazoned on the man's shirt. A clan symbol. A high clan.
Panic surged in Felis's chest.
This isn't the usual guy.
The regular contact wasn't part of any clan—definitely not one with glowing skin and that kind of aura. And anyone from the slums who somehow survived the Rift? They didn't come back like this.
Felis didn't wait to ask questions. He ran.
Ran like his life depended on it.
because deep down, he knew something was very, very wrong.
His instincts were right.
The hooded man suddenly shot into the air, his body lifting effortlessly as if gravity had simply let him go. Sparks of radiant light crackled around him, swirling with eerie precision before forming a bow in his hands—sleek, glowing, and deadly.
Damn, Felis thought, heart hammering. He's a ranged user.
The man pulled the glowing bowstring back, and an arrow of pure light materialized—silent, elegant, and full of menace. It was like watching a cruel magic trick designed solely for death.
Felis's breath caught in his throat.
He'd been set up. And now, it might cost him his life.
Felis was only at that meeting because he had no choice.
He'd gotten into serious trouble with a gang—people you don't just say no to. His only shot at walking away alive was to trade an artifact. Someone had given it to him with strict instructions: deliver it, make the trade, and you live.
Simple. Supposedly.
In Felis's world, things were never simple.
A rift curse plagued the land—a twisted anomaly that snatched people from their lives and hurled them into other worlds. Most came back broken... if they came back at all. Out there, you could find powerful items by killing otherworldly creatures—rare relics called Lineage Stones. Felis hadn't been claimed by the rift, not fully. He wasn't cursed like some others.
But fate clearly had other plans.
The artifact he carried was supposed to be his ticket out of this mess. Instead, it had only made things worse.
Much worse.
High above, the man with glowing skin and a clan insignia took aim. Light crackled as he drew back a radiant bowstring, an arrow of energy forming like a cruel trick.
Then—release.
The arrow screamed through the air with a high-pitched whistle, barely missing Felis. It sliced through the air so close it cut a strand of his hair.
Heart pounding, Felis realized he had only two options.
The cold, endless ocean to his left.
The exposed, dangerous street to his right.
He stood at the edge of the harbour—cornered, hunted, and holding something he never should've touched.
And the next arrow wouldn't miss.
Felis chose the streets.
Without looking back, he bolted into traffic, weaving between roaring vehicles and blaring horns. Engines howled, tires screeched, but he kept moving—dodging the ocean of cars like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
Then, suddenly—he felt it.
An invisible force tugged at his body, sharp and unnatural, like the air itself had gripped his spine.
He stumbled. Just for a second.
But it was enough.
A speeding car slammed into him with a bone-rattling impact, hurling him through the air like a ragdoll. Before he could process the pain, another vehicle struck him mid-fall—metal against flesh, glass shattering on contact.
The world spun. His body crumpled to the ground, still and broken.
A hot, metallic taste filled his mouth. Blood.
His vision blurred, colours smearing together like wet paint. His breath came in shallow gasps. Everything hurt—or maybe nothing did. It was hard to tell now.
Is this it? he wondered. Am I dying here... over something that was never even mine?
And then—she appeared.
A flash in his mind, or maybe right in front of him. A woman. Beautiful. Ethereal. Her crimson eyes mirrored his own—a haunting, otherworldly red.
She looked right at him.
Calm. Knowing.
Felis's heart slowed. The pain dulled. The world dimmed.
And for a moment… he felt like something far bigger had just begun.
light covered his vision a red light in fact and just in seconds he fell unconcious
a couple of hours later...
Felis stirred.
His body ached, but not like before. The sharp, gut-wrenching pain from the crash had dulled to a lingering throb. He was being carried—slung over someone's shoulder, his arms limp, his head bouncing slightly with each step.
What's happening...? he thought, still foggy.
He didn't dare move too suddenly. Something inside him told him not to freak out—not yet. Instead, he stayed still and tried to think it through.
The last thing he remembered was the street... the cars... the impact.
He should be dead.
But he wasn't.
Somehow, his body was... healed. Not completely, but enough that he was conscious. A dull pang still haunted his ribs, but his limbs responded, and his vision had cleared.
Felis narrowed his eyes, thinking fast.
There hadn't been one attacker—there were two.
The obvious one was the man with the glowing skin and the radiant bow—the one who could fly. But now, it seemed there was another. Hidden. Silent. Also with the power of flight—or something like it. Whoever was carrying him now had retrieved him from that mess without leaving a trace.
He was caught.
Pinned in a game he didn't even know he was playing.
Felis knew what came next. He'd have to talk—negotiate. Maybe he could bargain the artifact for his life. It wasn't worth dying over. It was never even his.
Play it smart, he told himself. Play it calm.
And maybe—maybe—he'd live to see tomorrow.