The rain that morning was silver — falling through a city that no longer knew its name.Broken towers glowed faintly red beneath ash-laden clouds, and the scent of charred stone clung to every breath, mingling with the metallic tang of soot.
Draven Veyl walked alone through the ruins, boots sinking into mud streaked with ash and blood. Behind him, the world burned quietly — not with rage, but with remembrance.Each ember drifting past carried whispers — voices of those he had known, lives he had failed to save. He did not flinch. Pain did not fade; it transformed, becoming a tool, a memory, a guide.
A flicker of a memory appeared — a woman laughing beneath golden light, her voice drowned by the crackle of fire. He reached instinctively, but it dissolved into smoke between his fingers.
Draven knelt, pressing his palm to the charred earth.Crimson fire flared beneath his skin — sculpted, precise, controlled. From the ashes, he drew fleeting faces of those he had lost. They shimmered for a heartbeat before dissolving into sparks."Rest," he murmured, low and steady. "I'll carry what you couldn't."
The wind howled, tugging at the edges of the ruins, carrying distant echoes of thunder. For a brief moment, the world glowed brighter, before dimming again.He rose, coat heavy with soot, eyes reflecting the dying flame.
Through the haze, something shimmered faintly violet — a memory refusing to die. The storm above parted slightly, revealing a pale moon haloed in silver.He cast one last glance at the ruins."Goodbye," he whispered — not to a place, but to a promise.
Soft crimson trails licked at his heels as he walked toward the horizon. Tiny embers rose, glowing higher, until one broke free — blazing gold against the night sky.It soared beyond mountains, across frozen seas, through storms and silence — carrying warmth, carrying memory.
And somewhere beyond all light, it found her.
Night had no edges. It stretched endlessly — a calm sea of ink shimmering with faint, unreal reflections.
In the center floated a girl — eyes closed, hair drifting like smoke, skin pale as moonlit glass.Her name was Nyra Vale.
No one in the living world remembered her. Not because she had died, but because she had never fully existed. Born of shadow, her color had been erased from memory before the fall of the Spectrum. Her world was made of echoes: forgotten dreams, unspoken words, lights that faded too soon.
For as long as she could remember, she had drifted here — between silence and sleep.
Until tonight.
The air trembled.Ripples spread across the darkness as a thin silver thread cut through the void, humming softly — calling her.
Her eyes opened. Violet light burned within them — deep, infinite, like twilight before dawn.
"The others have awakened…" a whisper breathed through the void."It is time, Nyra."
She turned, though there was no direction here, glimpsing fragments of other worlds: ruins, storms, fire, frost, forests of light.A faint ember drifted toward her — fragile, golden. When it touched her palm, the shadow around her shivered. The ember flared once, then sank into her skin.
A crescent mark appeared across her hand, glowing violet and gold. Her breath hitched."The fire remembers me…" she whispered.
The thread pulled tighter, guiding her to the edge of the void — to where dawn waited."Why me?" she murmured. "I am shadow. I am what they forgot."
The voice answered, soft as a heartbeat:"Because even shadow is a color."
The darkness shattered. Shards of dreamlight spiraled upward, dissolving into silver mist. Beneath her feet, the ground took form — soft, luminous, real.
Above, the horizon shimmered — dawn bleeding into night.For the first time in centuries, Nyra smiled. Not from joy, but recognition."So it's true," she whispered. "The world wants its colors back."
She lifted her gaze. Across the void, thousands of faint hues shimmered like stars trying to remember themselves."Then I'll return," she said softly. "Let the forgotten color of shadows awaken."
The void erupted in radiance. When it faded, she was gone.
Only an echo remained, whispering across dream and reality alike:"The Sixth has awakened. The circle is complete."
A faint pulse, almost imperceptible, hummed in the distance — a resonance she did not yet understand. Somewhere, someone watched — their spark kindling as hers awakened. The dance of fate had begun, threads intertwining across shadows and light, unseen yet inevitable.