Nalan Arche—or more commonly known as Nalan—was a 27-year-old man whose life, at least in the eyes of others, was nothing more than ordinary. His hair was always neatly combed, yet without any sense of style. His face was clean, unmarred by the scars of life, but his eyes held something unresolved—a spark that had yet to ignite.
He worked in a mid-level government office, a job sufficient to cover rent, meals, and day-to-day survival in a life that seemed unchanging. No spotlight. No tragedy. No miracle.
That evening was no different.
The office wall clock pointed to 5:05 PM. The city sky had begun to change color, spilling shades of orange and deep red across the horizon like wounds in the heavens. As Nalan walked along the sidewalk, the rush hour crowd formed a current of busy people—seemingly alive, yet not truly living.
The city air stung his nose—a mixture of carbon toxins and heavy metals from vehicles and factory chimneys that never stopped spewing. The sky was murky, devoid of stars. Even the sun seemed to struggle just to set.
The government called it an "ecological transition," with megastructure reforestation projects and green city campaigns. But from Nalan's point of view, it was like patching a bleeding wound with tea leaves. It never touched the root, nor those responsible.
But that wasn't his concern today.
By 5:25 PM, the western sky had darkened, as if devoured by something unseen.
Nalan followed his usual path—a narrow alley between rows of old buildings, where human voices faded as dusk approached. He walked briskly, eager to return to his rented home three blocks from the office. It wasn't luxurious, but it was enough—for himself and his solitude.
The building was narrow, wedged between two newer high-rises. The stairs to the third floor creaked with every step, groaning under the weight of age and time.
As he reached the third floor, a soft click echoed—a door opening. He turned and saw a woman around his age, a neighbor he had known since childhood, now living in the room next to his.
Nalan gave a small nod and a hesitant, thin smile. She returned only a blank look and a slight nod, then entered her room wordlessly and closed the door.
Nalan's smile faded halfway. How strange time changes people. They used to talk for hours in the university cafeteria; now even a "hi" felt burdensome. He didn't blame anyone. Perhaps this was simply the face of life after ideals were crushed by reality.
He took a breath, exhaled slowly, and began searching for his key inside his shoulder bag. His fingers touched cold metal. Found it. He inserted it into the lock—then turned it with a click that echoed through the quiet corridor.
But as he pushed the door and opened the old wooden panel, Nalan froze.
The room... wasn't as usual.
Not the bed, not the tiny sink, not the worn-out wooden table, not the small wardrobe... but total darkness.
Not just darkness from a dead light bulb—this was blackness that devoured light. The sunset glow from the hallway failed to cross the threshold. As if something inside—something—was rejecting the existence of light.
A coldness seeped from beyond the doorway, like vapor from an ancient cave sealed for thousands of years.
Nalan stepped back, his brows furrowed. "What...?"
Suddenly, something moved within the darkness. Not a form, but a presence. An aura. As if something ancient had awakened and sensed Nalan's presence. And in the next moment…
A shadow tentacle—formless yet full of pressure—emerged from the blackness and gripped his chest.
Nalan staggered. He tried to grab the doorframe, his body resisting, his breath choking from a primal fear he couldn't explain. But the force from within was stronger—older—hungrier.
His breath became the only sound left, before his body was pulled into the absolute void.
As the door shut with a soft thud behind him, the last light from the old world vanished—leaving only silence and a darkness that waited.