Whispers slithered through the slums like a plague, passed in hurried murmurs between the desperate and the wary. No one knew exactly what had happened in the mines—only that the manager, the one who held dominion over the light, had fallen. And worse, that there is a possibility that someone from the slums had wielded Wave.
That was impossible. The slums were where the powerless rotted, scraping by under the flickering glow of borrowed illumination. If one among them had somehow harnessed Wave, it threatened to shatter the unspoken law that bound them beneath the heel of the higher districts.
Rumors reached the Length District quickly. They took on new forms with each telling—some claimed a miner had torn the manager apart with raw energy, others swore a shadow had devoured him whole. The truth didn't matter; only the fear it sowed. If the slums could produce Wave users, then the rigid hierarchy of the city was at risk.
The response was swift.
From the Length District, the Lemmings Household was dispatched to investigate. The name alone sent ripples of unease through those who heard it. The Lemmings were the blade of the Length District, enforcers of order and the highest standard of military might. Wherever they set foot, silence followed, and those who opposed them vanished like smoke.
Their arrival in the slums was not announced with words but with the rhythmic march of boots against stone. They marched bearing their signature blue, and the bird crest of the Lemmings Household. The air grew heavier, charged with the unspoken promise of violence. The slums had always belonged to the desperate, but now, for the first time in decades, they belonged to the hunted.
And somewhere in the dark, Samael knew his time was running out.
At the forefront of the march strode the master of the Lemmings Household, a figure clad in the cold authority of the Length District. His presence alone was enough to part the gathering crowds, the sheer weight of his reputation pressing down on those who dared to look upon him. His uniform, lined with the insignia of military dominance, was immaculate despite the filth of the slums beneath his boots. A living testament to the unshaken power of the Length District.
Beside him, walking with a controlled yet undeniable energy, was the young master of the household—his heir. Though younger, his gaze carried the same unwavering discipline, his steps measured and precise, a reflection of the power he had been raised to inherit. Where his father commanded through experience, the young master wielded ambition like a sharpened blade, his presence exuding both arrogance and promise.
Everywhere they marched, the temperature dropped, they exuded the power of a named household, and no one dared to step in their way.
As the Lemmings Household spread through the slums, their soldiers moved with calculated efficiency, pushing aside those who lingered too close. The master's command was silent yet absolute—his mere presence was enough to make the slum dwellers retreat into the shadows of crumbling alleyways.
But while their subordinates searched with force, the master and his heir relied on something far more precise.
Wave left traces. Even after it had been unleashed, its energy clung to the air, the ground—like faint embers of a long-dead fire. Those attuned to it could feel its echoes, the lingering disturbance in the natural order. And what had happened in the mines had not been subtle.
The master halted, his gaze sharp as he inhaled deeply, the crisp bite of energy still faintly present in the ruined space. The young master followed, eyes narrowing as he reached out—not physically, but through his own attunement to Wave. The sensation was undeniable.
"Here," the young master murmured. "It was used here."
His father gave a single nod. "And not just any Wave. This was… red Wave—fire Wave, to be exact." His voice carried a growl that sent shivers to the nearest guards as the temperature dropped to a freezing degree.
The Lemming Household was not very fond of the Graham Household. They were another named household in the Length District. They specialized in red Wave, making anything that appeared red, their jurisdiction. They're also known to be rivals to the Lemmings and have caused small-scale wars with them on countless occasions.
The young master's fingers twitched slightly at his side, eager. "Whoever did this," he said, his voice laced with something close to intrigue, "They're more adept than we thought."
The master turned his gaze toward the filth-ridden streets, to the hunched figures watching from a safe distance. Someone in these slums had wielded power they should not have possessed. And he would find them.
The master and his heir stood in the heart of the slums, the air thick with the scent of dust and decay, as the murmurs of their soldiers moved in the distance. The young master's eyes remained fixed on the faint traces of red Wave still lingering in the cracks of the broken streets. His fingers twitched with barely-contained energy, as though itching to track down the source of the power that had disrupted this place.
"Father," the young master began, his voice low but heavy with unspoken tension. "The traces of red Wave here—it's too precise to be a coincidence. What if someone from the Graham Household is involved, or at the very least, they've been meddling in these slums."
The master didn't respond immediately, his gaze sweeping the area as though measuring the implications of his son's words. His mind was already in motion, calculating the risks of every move. "I don't doubt it," he said, his tone cold, like the steel of his resolve. "The Grahams have always seen the slums as a playground, a place to experiment without consequence. If they've been here... it won't end well."
The young master's lips curled into a thin smile, both sharp and calculating. "I've heard rumors. Whispers of deals with the desperate, promises of power in exchange for obedience. It would be just like them to use the slums to test the boundaries of their control."
The master's eyes narrowed, his mind already processing the next steps. "We've tolerated their insufferable arrogance for too long. Their influence in the Length District is growing, and now they think they can spread their filth here." He paused, his gaze falling on his son, who stood with an almost eager anticipation. "But you're right. We can't ignore this."
The young master's expression sharpened further. "What are we going to do about it?"
For a moment, the master said nothing, his thoughts flickering between consequences and opportunities. Finally, he spoke, his voice ice-cold. "We'll send someone to the Graham Household. We need answers. If they've been involved in the slums, they won't be able to hide it. We'll force their hand."
The young master's eyes gleamed with intrigue, but also with a knowing thrill. "And if they refuse to cooperate?"
"Then we make sure they regret it," the master replied, his voice hard. "The longer they lie, the worse it will be for them."
"Father, there's no denying that sending someone to their doorstep will escalate things between us. A confrontation could provoke an open war, and the Graham Household has resources we can't ignore. Are we prepared for the consequences?"
The master's lips curled into a grim smile. "We've been at war with them for years, in every way you name. A direct confrontation is inevitable. If we expose their meddling now, it will fracture their power, even if it causes turmoil. It's the only way to show them that we will no longer tolerate their games. The sooner they know the price of defying us, the sooner they'll learn to fear it."
The young master nodded, understanding the weight of his father's words. The gambit was dangerous, but it was the only way forward. The Grahams would not back down easily, but neither would the Lemmings.
"I'll have someone discreetly sent to their estate," the young master said, already turning toward the men waiting in the shadows. "If they won't answer us willingly, we'll make sure they answer with blood."
The master's gaze followed his son, a flicker of pride in his eyes despite the coldness of his expression. "Make sure your messenger knows the stakes. We're no longer playing a game of diplomacy. If the Grahams are involved in this, the cost of their silence will be steep."
With that, the young master turned, signaling to one of their trusted soldiers to prepare for the mission. The master remained still, his gaze fixed on the horizon, knowing that once the message was sent, there would be no going back. The delicate balance between the Lemmings and the Grahams was about to shatter—no matter the cost.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was dark—I was falling in an empty void for what felt like hours. I could not breath, I could not hear, and I could not see—but suddenly there was a light. A light so bright that the void disappeared behind me. I reached for it, I wanted to see more, I wanted to know what was beyond it.
Suddenly I jolted out of my cot with a sharp breath.
I force my eyes open, or at least, I try. The blindfold is still tied tightly around my head, its familiar weight pressing down on my skin, blocking out the world. I don't need to see it, but I can sense it—the silence is thick, oppressive.
How long have I been asleep?
I reach out, my fingers brushing the familiar wear and tear of the cot as I slowly sit up. My limbs feel heavy, stiff, like I've been lying here far too long. The air is colder than usual, and there's an unfamiliar stillness to it. I push myself to my feet, my legs wobbling under the unfamiliar weight of exhaustion.
Then I hear it—the sound of hurried footsteps. Too close.
Before I can brace myself, a blur of movement tackles me back into my laying position. I grunt as I hit the cot, the breath knocked out of me, and then I feel a small, insistent weight pinning me down.
"Eda," I groan, recognizing the relentless pressure of her tiny body on top of mine.
"You slept for three days!" she says, her voice a mixture of concern and annoyance. "I thought you were dead, you idiot!" Her hands are practically shaking as she grips my shoulders, her voice high-pitched with the kind of panic she never lets show.
I blink, trying to process her words, but the dizziness in my head clouds everything.
Three days?
"Get off," I mutter, pushing her off me with far more effort than usual. She scrambles to her feet, her face flushed with a mixture of relief and frustration.
"You're lucky I didn't drag you out of bed myself!" she snaps, but there's a softness to it. "What the hell's wrong with you? You didn't even wake up to eat, and the Lemmings were here!"
The words hit me like a slap. My body tenses, a sick feeling coiling in my gut. The Lemmings? Were they here for me? Did they get word that I had used Wave? If so, how have they not found me yet, and what should I do before they do find me?
"You missed them," Eda continues, oblivious to the coldness that's crept into my expression. "They were here for days, searching the slums, asking about the red Wave. I... I didn't know what to do, Samael. It's bad."
I'm already standing, pushing past the fog of sleep and the weight of her words. "The Lemmings… they were here? What did they want?"
She hesitates, looking at me with wide, concerned eyes. "They're looking for you! You idiot! They're blaming the Grahams, but I think…they are still suspicious and scared of the possibility someone from the slums could have used Wave."
I'm barely listening. My mind is already racing, my pulse quickening as I try to grasp what this all means. The Lemmings in the slums. Red Wave. The Grahams. Me.
If they think someone from here wielded Wave, then the hunt is on. And I'm caught in the middle of it.
"I have to go," I mutter, pulling my blindfold tight, pushing past her before she can protest.
"Go where?" she demands, but I don't answer.
"I don't know, somewhere away from here. Because if they decide to come looking again and find me, then you and my uncle could be in danger." I grunt as I sit myself up, my arms and legs still weak from days of not eating.
The tension in my chest tightens as I stumble to my feet, the sudden realization of just how much danger we're in crashing over me like a wave. Eda's frantic voice lingers in the air, but it doesn't matter. The Lemmings are here. They know about the red Wave. They're looking for me.
"I won't let them find you," she says, her voice soft but determined. "I'll help you hide. I—"
I shake my head, cutting her off. "No, Eda. You don't get it. If they come looking again and they find me... it won't just be me they'll take." My words are cold, distant, as I tie my blindfold more securely, my fingers brushing against the fabric, trying to steady myself in this overwhelming moment.
She's quiet for a moment, and I can hear her shifting on the cot beside me. "But... but you can't just leave. Not now. We don't even know what the Lemmings are going to do next, or—"
I don't wait for her to finish. I'm already moving, pushing through the haze of exhaustion, my legs shaky beneath me. There's a deep, gnawing instinct in my gut telling me that I need to be gone—away from the slums, away from Eda, away from everything that might put her and my uncle at risk.
"I have to go now," I say, my voice low, almost as if to convince myself. I pause for a moment, glancing at her one last time. Her eyes are wide with worry, and I can see the hesitation in her gaze. She's about to protest, to try and talk me out of it, but I don't give her the chance. "They'll be looking for anyone who could've used Wave. If they find me—if they find out I'm the one they're hunting—there's no way they'll leave us alone."
Her face falls, the fight fading from her features. I hate doing this, but there's no other choice. The Lemmings won't stop until they find me. I have to disappear, before they tear through the slums looking for a ghost.
"Take care of yourself, Eda," I mutter, already moving towards the crumbling alleyway outside.
I hear her shout after me, but I don't look back. I can't. There's no time for goodbyes.
I sink into the familiar vibrations of the mines, the steady hum of the lights vibrating through the air like a second heartbeat. The red Wave lights flicker above, casting their ominous glow, but I don't need to see them. The energy around me shifts in a way I've come to recognize, each wave a pulse in the dense, oppressive air.
I close my eyes behind the blindfold, letting the vibrations take over. They carry the weight of the whole place—solid, unyielding stone, the hum of machinery, and the faintest pulse of light energy that makes the walls feel alive. I try to quiet my mind, to feel the Wave in the air, the energy that permeates this place. My hands pulse faintly with my own Wave, the only way I can connect with the world around me.
For a moment, there is nothing—just the low, constant hum. I focus on my breathing, forcing my thoughts to still, letting the vibrations guide me, until I sense a subtle change. The energy in the air grows dense, sharper, and the ground beneath me hums with a low, uneasy tremor. My heartbeat picks up, and I feel it then—something unfamiliar, something stirring, a presence within the Wave that wasn't there before.
Suddenly, the lights flicker—then they go out entirely.
I freeze, the absence of the red glow disorienting me more than the darkness itself. The vibrations around me shift in ways I don't understand, a ripple in the steady pulse of the Wave. My heartbeat quickens as the absence of light fills the air, replaced by something far more unsettling.
I take a step forward, hesitant, feeling the slight pressure in the air as the Wave around me responds, twisting. It's as if something is trying to break free—my own Wave stirs, hungry for the connection, but something about it feels... off.
My pulse echoes louder in my ears as the trembling grows stronger, almost as though the mines themselves are responding to the disruption in the energy. And then, in the distance, I feel it—a surge of heat, sharp and violent, like a flicker of flame.
Red Wave.
I can feel the heat before the rest of the vibrations catch up, a subtle warmth crawling up the back of my neck. The energy seems to throb with a mind of its own, and my body reacts instinctively. It feels as though the Wave has found me, or rather, I've found it.
A force gathers in my chest, I feel it—a sudden rush of power, sharp and untamed. If the Red Wave from the lights were now inside of me then maybe I can release it—just like before with the mine manager.
I take a breath, trying to steady myself as the raw, untamed power swirls around me. The red Wave, the same energy that flickered through the mines, pulses with heat, a violent, almost uncontrollable force. It's close now—too close. The ground beneath me vibrates with a hum, deeper and heavier than anything I've felt before.
My pulse quickens in sync with the rising heat, the urge to release it growing with every second. I've felt the power before, the way it can burn and destroy, but this... this feels different. More alive. More potent. The energy has an insistent hunger to it, as though it wants to break free, to tear through everything in its path. It's pulling me forward, urging me to let it loose, to wield it like a weapon.
But can I control it? The last time I tried to tap into this power, the mine manager had died. I couldn't let that happen again. My hands tremble at my sides, the vibrations of my Wave shifting in response, but I have to find a way to tame it.
I focus on the vibrations around me, grounding myself. The air is thick with energy, charged with potential, and yet I have to remain calm.
I close my eyes behind the blindfold, centering myself, and then I reach into the vibrations. I feel the red Wave, its warmth curling around me like a flame, but I push back. I have to control it—have to make it mine.
The ground trembles again, the energy threatening to explode. The walls of the mines hum in response, the vibrations reverberating like a tuning fork. I can feel it now, the delicate balance between control and chaos. It's on the edge of breaking free.
Suddenly, the heat intensifies, and I feel it surge into me—uncontrolled, a raw, burning power that overwhelms everything else. The air around me warps, the ground beneath my feet cracks with a pulse of energy. The pressure builds in my chest, and I can feel the heat crawling over my skin like fire, burning away the faintest remnants of control. I stumble, barely able to breathe as the heat presses in from every direction.
This isn't just the red Wave anymore. It's as if the Wave itself has swallowed me whole.
The world spins out of focus. My pulse thunders in my ears as the air around me grows suffocatingly hot. Sweat beads on my forehead, my skin stinging from the unbearable temperature. I try to resist, but the power has a mind of its own, and the more I struggle, the more the heat builds, scorching through every inch of my body. It feels like I'm burning alive. The world goes hazy.
And then—everything stops.
The heat evaporates in an instant, leaving nothing but a suffocating silence.
I gasp for air, but it feels like my lungs have forgotten how to work. My body is paralyzed, my heart pounding against my ribs as I stand motionless in the darkness.
But this darkness is different. It's not just the absence of light—it's a void, a heavy, oppressive weight that presses in from all sides. I can no longer feel the vibrations of the Wave, the hum of the energy that once connected me to the world. It's as if everything I knew has slipped away into nothingness.
Then, I hear it—a distant, whispering voice, too far away to understand but close enough to make my skin crawl.
The air shifts, and I feel a sudden pull, like gravity itself has turned against me. I try to resist, to push back, but the pull only grows stronger. The darkness deepens, consuming me until all that remains is the sound of my own heartbeat, echoing like a drum in my ears. The weight of it presses down, suffocating, as though the very darkness is alive, intent on dragging me deeper into its depths.
I fall.
I don't know how long I've been falling—time feels distorted here. I can't sense the ground beneath me, can't feel the air around me. It's as if the world has forgotten my existence. But I know this isn't just some random void. This is... my Wave.
The voice grows louder now, swirling around me like an unseen storm. It's speaking to me—no, it's speaking through me. I can feel it in my bones, the weight of the words that seem to emanate from the very core of my being. It isn't just a voice; it's a presence.
"You cannot escape," it whispers. The sound is like a thousand voices merged into one, each dripping with disdain and mocking certainty. "You've run from it for too long. Your darkness is your truth, Samael. And now you must face it."
I try to push back, to say something, to do anything, but the words die on my tongue. The air around me vibrates with a power that I cannot control, a force that I can't even comprehend. It's my Wave—my darkness—but I've never faced it before. I've only hidden from it, buried it beneath the layer of a blindfold making the excuse that there was no point in seeing. But now it's here, and it wants me to face it head on.
The voice speaks again, more insistent now. "You are the darkness. You have always been the darkness. You are nothing without it."
I fight it, pushing against the pull, but it's useless. The words, the energy, they consume me. Everything fades into a deep, suffocating quiet.
The darkness around me shifts, twisting, folding in on itself, and suddenly, I feel it. The pressure of every element—every force—pounding on me all at once. It's like a storm ripping through my body, tearing apart everything I thought I understood.
First, fire. It consumes me with a ferocity I can't describe, as if the flames are being drawn directly from my soul, searing through every inch of my being. My skin blisters, my bones crack with the heat, and I feel like I'm burning from the inside out. But the fire doesn't stop—it shifts, twists, pulling the air from my lungs, leaving nothing but smoldering pain in its wake.
Then comes lightning, sharp and violent. I feel the electric shock race through my veins, the jolt of energy like a thousand volts coursing through me. It's as though every nerve in my body is firing at once, and my vision blurs with the searing intensity. My muscles seize, my heart skips, and I can't breathe as the currents tear through my chest. The raw power threatens to rip my body apart from within.
Water follows, icy and unrelenting. It crashes into me, a torrent of cold that freezes every bone in my body. My lungs scream for air, but it fills my mouth and throat, drowning me, crushing me beneath its weight. The freezing chill spreads through my limbs, and I can feel the blood in my veins turning sluggish as if the very life inside me is freezing.
Then, air—light, but no less oppressive. The wind howls around me, tearing at my flesh, pushing and pulling with such force that it feels like my body might shatter. My ears ring with the roar of gusts, my muscles straining against the invisible currents. The air is too thin, suffocating, but it whips around me with an unrelenting force, forcing me to bend to its will.
Earth comes next, and it's like the ground itself has turned against me. It's no longer solid beneath my feet; it shifts, cracks, and rips, pulling me into the very core of the world. I feel the weight of it, the pressure of the earth pressing against me, crushing me. It feels like the ground is alive, and it wants me to sink, to disappear into its depths. My limbs are trapped, my body sinking into an abyss of stone and dust, but I can't break free.
Gravity takes hold next. A sudden, crushing weight pins me to the ground. Every atom in my body feels heavier, as though the very forces of the universe are pressing down on me, squeezing every ounce of life out of me. The world tilts, shifts, and everything is being pulled into a singularity, a black hole that draws everything in. The crushing weight of it makes it impossible to breathe, impossible to think.
Then, everything changes. I thought the previous I was put through were bad, but no—this was worse.
Time itself begins to warp, fold, and bend in impossible ways. Moments stretch, snap, twist into infinite loops. I feel myself disintegrating, becoming part of the fabric of time, my existence no longer linear. I am everywhere and nowhere at once. I'm torn between past, present, and future, the boundaries between them evaporating. My consciousness is splintered, shattered into countless fragments, each experiencing a different moment, a different reality, all at once.
The black hole grows larger, swallowing everything in its path. The pressure increases, as if the very fabric of space is collapsing in on itself. My body is bent, stretched, torn apart by forces I can't comprehend. My molecules break apart, unraveling, stretching, disintegrating. Nothing has meaning anymore. There's no sense of time, no sense of self. It's just chaos—pure, unfiltered chaos—and I'm caught in the center of it, unable to escape, unable to comprehend the destruction of everything I am.
I can feel myself being consumed. My atoms, my essence, being torn apart, the very concept of me fading away into the void. There is no pain, no relief—just an overwhelming sense of nothingness. I am being undone, unmade, and I cannot stop it. My Wave, my power, has turned against me. Everything that makes me... me... is collapsing into the void.
And then, just as I think I can't take it anymore, it stops.
The destruction, the tearing apart, the bending of reality—everything halts in an instant. I am left in a place that doesn't exist, a space where there is no time, no energy, no self. I am nothing.
And yet, in the stillness, I feel something—an echo of my own presence. A flicker of something deep inside me that refuses to be erased.
In that moment, amidst the chaos of everything unraveling, something shifted inside of me. The storm of elements, the crushing force of every color, every element, every force of the universe, all of it seemed to melt away, like the harshness of reality had been suspended in time. And then, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt something different.
It was as if I were born again, pulled from the infinite destruction of the black hole, drawn back into existence. I remembered—no, I felt—the first moment of my life.
Light.
When I was born, I could have sworn I saw light—pure, unbroken, endless light. A brilliance so intense that not a single shadow dared to exist within it. It was so vivid, so real, that for a fleeting second, it felt like the world had never known darkness. It was the first memory of my feeble life, yet it burned so deeply in my soul that it felt more like a truth, something that could never be forgotten.
Then, the light was gone. And with it, the world shifted—darkness swallowed me whole.
I was cast adrift, lost in an emptiness so vast, so crushing, that I felt I had no beginning and no end. There was nothing to see, nothing to feel but the overwhelming sensation of being alone. Fear gripped me, small and fragile, in a space where nothing existed. I cried—helpless, desperate for anything, anyone, to bring me back into the warmth of existence.
And then, warmth.
It wrapped around me like a quiet promise. It didn't crush or suffocate me. It was firm, steady, a presence that comforted me in the midst of nothingness. It was as though I was held, embraced by something real and constant. The warmth whispered into the silence, telling me that I wasn't alone. I wasn't abandoned in the darkness. I was alive. And in that instant, even in the absence of light, I felt as if I was meant to be here. I was wanted.
I wasn't lost anymore.
In that moment, the trial—the endless black hole of destruction—faded. The forces that tore at me, bent me, stretched me—they were gone. What replaced them was the simplest and most profound truth of all: Light. Warmth. The essence of life.
This was no longer just a trial of my Wave. It was a trial of my existence. A reminder that no matter how far I fell into the void, no matter how much I was torn apart, there was something deep inside of me that refused to vanish into the darkness.
I was not a victim of the universe's chaos. I was a part of it, and that light—my light—was waiting to be found again. It had never truly gone away; it was inside me, always.
I wasn't just surviving—I was remembering what it meant to truly live.