The darkness deepened.
Varyan drifted farther into the void, until even the sense of floating began to fade. The silence thickened—then suddenly shifted.
The void trembled.
Light bled through the darkness.
Rain.
Cold, relentless rain.
Varyan felt himself pulled toward the light, the darkness peeling away like a curtain. The void dissolved, replaced by a different world—one that felt distant, fragile, and strangely… familiar.
He stood on a city street.
Neon lights flickered through the rain, reflecting off wet asphalt. Tall buildings loomed on either side, their windows glowing dimly in the storm. Cars passed by, their tires hissing against the road.
This world was loud.
Alive.
Modern.
And standing beneath a flickering streetlight was him.
Not armored.
Not blood‑stained.
Not a warrior.
Just a man in dark clothes, soaked by rain, a bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was shorter. His eyes duller. Tired.
He was walking home from work.
Varyan watched from nowhere and everywhere at once, a silent observer trapped within the memory.
The man stopped at a crosswalk, rain dripping from his eyelashes. His shoulders sagged—not from wounds, but from exhaustion. The kind that came from endless days repeating themselves.
So this is…
The memory tightened.
A low rumble echoed overhead.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
The man looked up instinctively, rain blurring his vision. For a brief moment, the world slowed—each drop of water hanging in the air, each sound stretching thin.
Then—
A blinding flash split the sky.
Lightning tore downward like a divine spear.
There was no time to react.
No scream.
No warning.
The lightning struck.
White light swallowed everything.
The street vanished.
The rain evaporated.
The world shattered into pure brilliance.
And in that instant—
As the memory burned away—
Varyan felt something snap into place.
The void rushed back in.
Darkness closed around him once more.
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