The wind howled, a mournful, hollow sound that tore through the thin fabric of Kaelen's shirt. He stood on the rusted railing of the bridge, his heels hanging over the black abyss of the flowing river.
He had always been a bright kid, no matter how much life tested his waters. His mind allowed him to navigate and suppress the things that would aim to hurt him, easily finding the most appropriate ways to deal with the issues.
It was why so many things didn't bother him: too much responsibility—fine; bullying—fine; the death of his mother... well, that one had to be suppressed, but otherwise he was fine too.
But then why... was he thinking of such things?
He was calculating the height, the velocity of the wind, and the exact percentage chance that the impact would snap his neck instantly.
"98.4%," he whispered.
He dropped the water bottle he got from the library... - 'Those people were nice.'
He thought of the memory of how they saw his condition and gave him water—he truly did look homeless now. That was because he was
For a few months now, or has it been a year... 'Isn't my 16th birthday somewhere around this time?'
The thoughts seemingly dissipated along with the soft howl of the wind and into the shadows of the night.
This truly was a perfect place to die. The street lamps provided a lot of light, and the woods right behind him held deep shadows. It was such a picturesque setting...
'But what is that annoying sound?'
"Kaelen! Stop! Please!"
The voice was familiar, as it was a voice he knew all too well despite trying to forget it.
The voice was his father's, cracked with a desperation that felt decades too late despite only a single year passing.
Perhaps that's how it felt for those who grew up in luxury and were then kicked to the streets.
"Please, Kael..." - He didn't need to turn his head; that voice belonged to his sister.
"Come down from there, please..."—That one was his brother.
It had been a year since that girl accused him of... well, he'd rather not think about the accusations. The actual hurtful part was that this so-called family threw him under the bus; well, they threw him on the street, but the message still stands. He was thrown out with nothing but the clothes on his back—left with nothing; after being disowned, even his surname was gone.
'It's fine... I liked Mom's better anyway.'
"We found footage of the day she accused you, Kael. We know you didn't, and that she lied!" his brother screamed over the wind. "It was her. We know you were framed. We know the truth now! We're here to take you home. We can fix everything! Please!..."
Kaelen turned his head slightly. His eyes were vacant, like a house with the lights turned off. He looked at the family that had thrown him to the wolves the moment someone from a more powerful family asked, and for the first time in his life, his mind found no data to process. There was no "fixing" a mirror once it had been ground into dust.
"Home?" Kaelen's voice was a raspy whisper; perhaps he should have drunk the water first. "You didn't want me when I was innocent. Why would I want you now that you're sorry?"
"Kaelen, please!" his father took a step forward.
"The part of me that cared about your apology broke a long time ago," Kaelen said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "I don't think I want to be in this world anymore."
Killing them would not bring any peace. He would remember their words, what they said, what they did, and what he had to do during these one and a half years on the streets.
He would remember it all and have to suppress it and not be able to do anything about it.
No, killing himself would bring an end and also be a prevention method against all that.
And so he did.
A single step on the rusty railing, and then he was falling just like the bottle. He turned his body around in the air to avoid the winds hitting his face and actually be able to see in his last moments; it was beautiful, honestly.
The sky was bathed in a midnight black with the stars and moon shining brightly, the trees and bridge were becoming smaller and smaller, and the sound of the flowing water was becoming louder, drowning the screams and wails of those above.
'This is it, huh... how boring it has been.'
But then something happened.
'Shouldn't I have hit the water by now?'
No, maybe he was still falling; the sky was still there after all. Boundless and black with the stars, but then where were the trees and bridge? Where was the wind making his hair fly too? Where was the sound of the water?
'What the hell is happening?'
He stood on a ground that was not really a ground; below him looked the same as above; it was just that he could stand here.
"What... where am I?" he choked out, his mind spinning out of control. He felt a bit woozy.
He immediately focused and worried about the most important things now; whatever was next would wait.
He had a very unyielding mind, and after swaying for a few seconds, he was back to being fully conscious, and so he looked around. Nothing.
It was the same empty, star-full sky everywhere.
"Is this... some kind of afterlife?"
[Soul from beyond the Veil]
He jumped back as his eyes widened and body stiffened, as did the hairs on his hand—"Who the fuck is there?"
Panic was flooding in—'What is that?'
Was this hell? If so, he was definitely going to at least rip a demon's horns out before they took him to bathe in the hellish flames.
The cold, emotionless voice spoke again as if his ramblings and confusion were not a concern, as if it existed to speak nothing but the facts, and maybe it was that tone that sent a shiver down Kaelen's spine again.
A cold voice spoke; it seemed ancient and unbothered by anything, as if it existed to speak only the facts of existence, and that cold, genderless voice sent a shiver down Kaelen's spine as if he somehow knew it.
Or maybe it was the fact that some part of his mind recognized what was happening before he did. He had heard descriptions of this voice before.
[A human born from beyond, chosen and marked by the...]
The voice seemed to buffer momentarily as if information unknown to it was forcing itself through but failing.
[... You are the heir of the world's first and only pure Voidborn. The first essence to escape]
[A variable that should not exist but does. Heir to something that should not have existed but did.]
Kaelen's blood ran cold. Transmigrator? He knew that word. He knew the runes were beginning to manifest in the air.
He knew the voice speaking to him.
And he knew where he was.
This was the world of Shadow Slave.
A brutal, unforgiving story even to the main character
"No," he whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "No, this is a dream. I'm dying. This is a hallucination before the brain shuts down. I liked the story a lot; maybe this is my mind's way of finding peace."
[Do you accept the Mantle as the heir to the ...?]
The spell didn't care about his denial. It loomed over him, a cosmic pressure demanding an answer.
Kaelen's mind raced. If this was real, he was about to be dropped into a hellscape. He needed power. He thought of a new life. one he can forge as he wants...
if he could survive
But was there any reason to hesitate? He was already dead after all.
"I choose to accept," Kaelen stammered, his survival instinct finally overriding his confusion. "I want to build my life up by my own will!"
A long, heavy silence followed. The runes flared with a terrifying, almost approving brilliance.
[A Wise Choice.]
[Find yourself within the Trials and emerge from the Hells prepared by ...]
[The Nameless King]
"Wait!" Kaelen cried out, reaching into the sky of midnight stars. "I don't know how to fight! I'm a student, not a soldier! Aren't I supposed to be given some ability? I don't even have a weapon—"
[Aspirant, Welcome to the Nightmare Spell...]
[Prepare for the First Trial...]
He was no longer there in the darkness of the spell's inner linings.
But he was in another kind of endless space. Pure white everywhere, like the rooms of sensory deprivation torture, but there was a difference.
In front of him was a door. It was white too, but it was still visible. The only thing in this place was that door with the black handle.
And so he did the only thing he could do.
He opened it.