Illusion of Light

Time no longer moved in minutes or hours—it passed with each footstep of N.Step after step, he walked a silent path across scorched ground, the earth beneath him dark with soot, and the wind whispering memories he no longer remembered.

Then, he stopped.

Something wasn't right.

A chill traced his spine like a cold blade. He wasn't alone.

He didn't look back. Instead, he knelt, pressing a hand to the dirt. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

Full Sensory Perception—Activated.

The world bled into him.The rustle of leaves, the hum of air, the pulse beneath the soil—everything became one. Even his own breath sounded like thunder.

There… behind him… high on a ridge.A faint heartbeat. Quick. Hidden.

He opened his eyes.

In a flash, he leapt to the highest point nearby, landing on a jagged rock with precision. His body turned mid-air, and his hand fell to the hilt of his blade.

A blur shot toward him.Black. Fast. Deadly.

The sword came out like lightning—silent, swift.

Clash.

The two collided with a sound like steel meeting thunder.The stranger fought with twin blades—relentless and surgical.

But N was no ordinary target.He didn't just move—he vanished and reappeared. One moment he was below, the next he was above, gliding like a shadow.

The dance of blades continued. Blood was drawn. Breath was lost.

From the distance, beyond the fog, a village began to reveal itself.

The pursuer hesitated.N didn't.

He closed in and, with a single calculated strike, cut deep into his attacker's shoulder.The man collapsed, trembling, breath ragged.

N stood over him.His eyes were empty. His blade was still.

"Why were you following me?"

The dying man rasped:"We all... return you to the beginning…"

Then silence.

Turning his back, N walked toward the emerging village. The air reeked of burnt blood now. He could taste the iron in it.

He entered.Dead quiet.Not a soul alive.

Charred homes. Ash-stained walls.The sky had turned from crimson to ash-gray.

Bodies everywhere.Children. Women. The elderly.

A child still held a scorched doll.The doll didn't cry, but somehow… it stared.

At the heart of the village stood a large building. A broken chapel or perhaps an abandoned hall.Its doors were shattered. Walls cracked. Symbols faded.

N stopped at its threshold. He didn't enter.

Something else called to him—from the village center.

He turned.

There, at the center of the square…An old man, long dead, slumped over.

And beside him—a torn book.

N approached.He knelt. Picked it up.

The first page was almost gone.The second read:

"He who has no face shall read the words…And he whose soul is forgotten shall rise from ash."

He didn't understand.

But something inside him moved.

A flicker. A shadow of something buried.

He closed the book.And looked up to the ash-colored sky.