Pralaya stared up at the ceiling, eyes tracing the swirling symbols inscribed above, until his vision blurred and fatigue took over. Slowly, the world faded.
Darkness.
But this wasn't just sleep. He didn't drift — he fell.
He awoke standing. Or rather, floating. The world around him wasn't black… it was something deeper. A void, yes, but not empty. It pulsed with something ancient. The ground beneath him shimmered like water, dark and glassy, rippling gently with every step he took. And yet, it didn't feel wet.
"Where... am I?" Pralaya muttered, his voice swallowed by the vast silence around him.
He began to walk. Or float. It was hard to tell.
Time stretched unnaturally. Minutes felt like hours. Maybe days. The sky above, if it could be called that, was an ocean of swirling black mist, with fragments of light trapped within — like broken stars trying to escape.
Then, up ahead, a silhouette.
A lone figure stood amidst the dark sea, unmoving, waiting.
Pralaya's breath hitched. His body instinctively tensed.
"What the hell is that?" he whispered, eyes narrowing.
The figure looked human… but not. Its body was like liquid darkness, constantly shifting, like smoke trapped in a human form. It had no face, no eyes, and yet Pralaya felt its gaze pierce straight into his soul. He should have run, screamed, anything — but something deep within urged him forward. It felt... familiar. Like something calling to a part of him he didn't know existed.
Step by step, he approached.
The closer he got, the louder the whispers became. Not in his ears — in his head. Dozens of overlapping voices, some weeping, others chanting, a few screaming in sorrow, despair and grief? He clutched his head, but the voices kept pouring in, clawing at his sanity.
And then, silence.
He stood just a breath away from the figure.
It slowly raised its head. No eyes. No mouth. But Pralaya knew it was looking at him. Not his body, but him. Deep within.
"Why… why is it looking at me like that?" he thought, paralyzed.
The figure lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, and extended a single finger toward him.
"No—" Pralaya tried to move, to back away, but his body wouldn't listen. He was frozen, like time itself had bent its will against him.
The finger touched his forehead.
And the world shattered.
And then a vision.
A burning city. The sky was ablaze with crimson flames. Screams filled the air — raw, desperate, human. Corpses littered the ground, piled high, limbs twisted, eyes hollow. Children. Mothers. Warriors.
And above it all, floating in the red sky like a god of death — the figure of darkness.
The same figure.
It stood unmoving, arms outstretched, its body absorbing the light and flame around it. And for the first time, Pralaya noticed something different. This time, the figure didn't look at him.
Then — silence.
The vision ended.
He was back in the void-sea, staring once more at the shadowy entity. Heart pounding. Breath shallow.
"Who… who are you?" he asked, voice shaking. "Why are you showing me this?" "and what do you want from me ".
No answer. Not a word. Not a gesture.
It only bowed its head again, returning to the same position as before.
And then—
The void sea imploded.
Everything collapsed inwards like a vacuum, dragging light, time, and space into itself.
And with a gasp, Pralaya shot awake in bed, drenched in sweat.
He sat up, breathing heavily. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the bedsheets were soaked. The warmth of the room now felt stifling, like it was closing in on him.
He stumbled to the bathroom, flicked the light on, and stared into the mirror.
A boy stared back — no, a stranger.
Black hair, messy and damp. Deep, haunting purple eyes that held the weight of something ancient.
"Calm down…" he whispered, splashing cold water on his face.
Again.
And again.
"Calm down, Pralaya… it was just a dream. Just a dream…"
Knock knock.
He froze.
A soft knock came from the door.
He opened it cautiously.
A girl stood there, her hair a deep ocean blue that shimmered under the room's soft lights. She wore a black tunic-style robe with subtle red embroidery and held a tray of food: a bowl of steamed rice, rich meat soup, and a slice of fruit that glowed faintly.
"I'm Bailey," she said, her voice calm and composed. "Commander Astrid sent me to bring you food."
Pralaya blinked, then nodded with a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Oh… thanks. That's very kind of you."
He reached out and took the tray. Just as he was about to close the door, Bailey spoke again.
"Um… if you don't mind… can I ask you something?"
He paused. "Sure?"
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Did you come to join the Seven Scriptures?"
"I guess I did," he replied casually.
Her expression shifted. The warmth in her eyes faded, replaced by something colder. Sharper.
"I hope you survive the test… and come out alive," she said.
Before Pralaya could even react, she turned and walked away quickly.
"Wait—!" he called, but she didn't stop.
He stood there for a moment, tray in hand, frowning.
"Test?" he whispered. "What kind of test?"
He shut the door and sat down to eat, but the food tasted like ash in his mouth.
Something wasn't right.
---
Elsewhere…
Far above, on the highest floating island, Arun walked calmly along a skybridge carved from translucent crystal. Stars swirled above him like a living galaxy, and ethereal lights danced beneath the transparent floor. This was the Sanctum of the Seven — the heart of the Seven Scriptures.
The castle ahead was unlike anything in the imaginary space. It shimmered with radiant silver and white-blue glass, tall spires stretching into the heavens. Massive golden statues floated around it, depicting seven cloaked figures standing in a circle. An aura of divinity and power emanated from every brick, every breeze.
Members in elegant robes lined the path, bowing respectfully.
"Lord Arun, welcome back," they greeted.
He gave them a nod but didn't stop.
The main gate opened on its own. Arun stepped inside, into a hall that defied physics. Gravity bent here. Trees grew upside-down from the ceiling, floating books danced mid-air, and paintings shifted as if alive. A dome above displayed the cosmos — stars being born and dying in real time.
He passed corridors carved from singing stone, staircases that looped in impossible spirals, until he reached an open courtyard — the Garden of Origins.
It was serene.
Flowers bloomed in impossible colors, some transparent, some glowing. A stream of silver water flowed in a perfect circle, surrounding a single obsidian chair at its center.
And seated on it—
A man.
He wore a long robe of silver threads that shimmered like liquid starlight. His hair was as white as moonlight, flowing gently despite the still air. His eyes — silver like mirrors — reflected everything, yet revealed nothing.
He radiated calm. Power. Timelessness.
As Arun approached, the man did not turn. Instead, he spoke softly, voice like wind through leaves.
"So, Arun… you've finally returned."
He stood, graceful and composed, turning to face him fully.
"Tell me. How was your trip to Gaia?"
Arun exhaled.
One word escaped his lips:
"Michael."