The wind carried a low, hollow whistle through the streets of Mournveil.
*Whooooosh... wooooo...*
It sounded almost alive, like a voice calling through the empty alleys.
Kean stood in the middle of a stone road, still unsure if he was dreaming or trapped inside one of his own games. His breath came out as a white mist.
The sky above him was a strange color, dark blue mixed with silver smoke, as if the stars had drowned, and it looked like it was about to rain.
The city around him looked endless. Tall towers leaned together like praying giants, their walls carved with faces of crying angels and masks of demons. Chains hung between rooftops. Some carried small bells that jingled softly whenever the wind passed by.
*Ching... ching... ching...*
Kean slowly walked forward. His steps echoed.
*Tap... tap... tap...*
Every person he passed had tired eyes. Some wore long coats that hid weapons made of light and shadows. Others carried small crystal bottles filled with glowing liquid; the liquid was tears of sadness in its purest form. He could feel the emotion in the air. Every sigh, every tear, every trembling smile was a kind of energy.
He stopped at a broken sign on a corner. The words were carved in dark stone:
MOURNVEIL - Where Fear Becomes Strength
He read it aloud quietly. "Fear... becomes strength?"
The idea felt wrong and familiar. Like the mechanic of a horror survival game he once designed.
He turned a corner and found a small market square. Instead of vegetables or meat, the stalls sold strange glass orbs filled with faint blue smoke. One merchant shouted, "Fresh despair! Just five tears a drop!"
People handed over small silver coins that shimmered like frozen water. Kean realized they were made from human sadness.
He clenched his fists.
'They really trade... pain.'
An old man behind one of the stalls noticed him staring. "You new here, boy?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
Kean nodded carefully. "Yes. I just... arrived."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Then remember this, here in Mournveil, your fear is your power. But use too much of it... and the Abyss will eat your soul."
Kean froze. "The Abyss?"
The old man pointed to the distant horizon. Beyond the fog stood a massive crack in the sky, wide and endless, glowing with dark blue light. From it, shadows flowed like rivers.
"That," the man said while pointing in that direction, "is the wound of the world. The Abyss never sleeps."
After speaking with the old man, Kean wandered on, his mind racing. Fear as power. Sadness as money. The Abyss as a god.
It all sounded like something he would've designed for a game. But now, he was living inside it.
A faint bell rang from a tower above.
*Ding... ding...*
The sound was calm yet cold. The people around him stopped what they were doing. Some knelt while others whispered prayers.
Then, suddenly, the fog moved. A dark figure walked through it, a tall man wearing a mask with hollow eyes. He carried a staff covered in symbols that glowed red.
"Fear Collectors," someone whispered beside Kean.
The masked man stopped in front of a crying child. He held his staff forward, and the tears floating from the child's face turned into tiny sparks. He caught them in a glass vial.
Kean felt anger rise inside him. "Hey! That's-"
Before he could finish, the masked man's head turned sharply toward him. Even though he couldn't see his eyes, Kean felt them pierce through his skin.
"Do not waste your sorrow, outsider," the man said in a slow, deep tone. "It feeds the city. It keeps us alive."
Kean took a step back, speechless. The man turned away, disappearing into the fog as if he'd melted into it.
Kean leaned against a wall, trying to calm down. His heart was beating fast.
*Thump... thump...*
He looked at his trembling hands. "What is this place... really?"
A sudden voice answered him, calm and familiar.
"Mournveil is the first layer. The City of Fear and Sorrow. You must be one of the new reborn."
Kean turned and saw a man sitting on a bench nearby. He wore a long gray coat and a blindfold covering his eyes. Despite that, he seemed to look straight at Kean.
"Reborn?" Kean asked.
The man nodded slowly. "Souls who died in despair return here. Some remember their past. Some don't. You... still remember, don't you?"
Kean hesitated. "I do. I was... a game designer."
The man smiled faintly. "Ah, then your mind is dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"Yes. The Abyss loves creators. It whispers to them, tempts them. Many like you have shaped this world's nightmares."
Kean felt a chill crawling up his back. "So this... this isn't just random. I was brought here."
"Maybe by the Abyss," the man said softly. "Maybe by your own guilt."
As night came, the fog thickened until the lamps on the street turned into blurry stars. Kean found an empty bench and sat down. His thoughts twisted like the mist itself.
Then, from the shadows, came a familiar whisper, a thin, sharp, and cold voice.
"You don't belong here..."
Kean's head snapped up. The same ghostly creature from before slithered out of the fog. It hovered above the ground, its face stretched into a hollow grin.
He stood quickly. His fear rose again, hot and fast. The creature's form flickered. Its mouth opened wide, releasing a scream that sounded like a nail screeching on the chalkboard.
*SCREEEEEEEEEE!*
Kean's hands shook. His chest burned. The air around him began to ripple. Then- *BOOM!*
A burst of blue light exploded from his palms. The ground changed beneath him, forming square tiles like the floor of a virtual arena. Walls of mist grew, turning into a hallway shaped like a level from one of his games.
The creature stopped, confused. Kean gasped. His fear wasn't just protecting him; it was building something. He heard that voice again inside his head.
ARCHITECT OF DREAD - SYSTEM REBOOT
The monster lunged, but Kean raised his hand instinctively. Spikes of light shot from the tiles and pierced the creature's body.
*CRASH!*
It screamed once more, melting into black dust.
The barrier faded. The world returned to normal. Kean fell to his knees, panting, sweat dripping down his face.
"I... made that," he whispered.
He stared at his hands, still glowing faintly blue. He could shape fear into form. He could build worlds again, only this time, from raw emotion.
The next morning, the air was colder. The fog hid the sun. Kean wandered to the edge of the city, where the streets ended and the ruins began. There, carved into a large wall, were words written in blood-red paint:
Only those who master fear can face the Abyss.
He reached out to touch the letters, his mind spinning. A soft voice came from behind him.
"You survived a Wraith alone. That's rare."
He turned. It was the woman before. The one with black armor and glowing blue eyes. The small black creature floated beside her again, nibbling on the last bits of dust in the air.
She studied him carefully. "What are you, stranger?"
Kean stood straight. "I don't know. I just... woke up here."
She nodded slowly. "Then listen. My name is Jerni Veyne. I'm a spirit warrior. You're lucky I found you before the Nightborne Oath did."
"The Nightborne... what?"
"They're the law of fear. They control who can use it... and who dies for abusing it."
Kean's chest tightened. "Then what about me?"
Jerni gave a small smile. "You? You're already breaking their rules."
Her small beast let out a purr... like a cloud sighing.
"Come with me," Jerni said. "If you want to live, you'll need to learn what you've become."
Kean looked around the fog-filled streets one more time, the quiet city built on sadness, the people trading their emotions like money, and the whispering sky that called his name.
He took a deep breath. "Alright... I'll come."
The woman turned, her armor shining faintly under the pale light. Together, they disappeared into the mist.