Endless Reverie
Chapter 1: Return
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05/18/2025
A/N: lemme repeat what I said in the last chapter, zis is my first time writing a novel. I am undecided whether I build the world now or flesh it out, so guide me.
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Zairon and his beloved were settled amidst the wreckage of a broken world, cradled in the embrace of silence. His beloved, now finally asleep and rested, even with exhaustion stuttering her pained breaths. Only once her breathing softened β calm and steadyβdid he ease to the ground. With legs crossed in acceptance, he rested her gently on his lap, brushing the ash that clung to her like death's embrace.
Around them, it was obvious that the world was dead. It truly was a spectacle to see β a world that once was blooming, now left to rot.
Ash and snow fell through the colorless sky. Fog thick, yet smoke thicker. It blended with the cold mist that whispered fire, ruin, and something far older.
Aetheria.
The name of this world. Once was a world of wonder, abundance, and beauty. Woven from magic and miracles, pulsing with ethereal life. Now, it was barren β no longer emanating the pure aura that it once pulsed.
Zairon stared into the horizon. Lifeless bodies, towering corpses or husks that were from ashborne or monsterborne creation, large mechs and floating fragments of collapsed monumentsβ indescribable to what it was originally.
The world had not healed. It had merely stopped.
"... I wonder how I-I could make you a nice home in this land," Zairon murmured as he took a small glance towards his beloved. Smiling as he kissed the top of her head before continuing to gaze upon her.
Zairon's armour stood like a specter β once feared for its intricate design and how elegant it showcased the dark coldness, now blackened and broken by time and war. His cloak, tattered and feathered with ash, swayed in silence. His prized ensemble, now battered. The armour had long abandoned hope for repair, save for the one he still raised his blade: her.
What about her? She had once been radiant, a vision in pale silver and soft hues of blue β armour dashing, like catching the dawn's first breath. But now, the ash of a ruined world clung to her like a serpent. The fabric and steel at her shoulders were frayed, breastplate nowhere to be found β save for its fragments scattered somewhere. Her armour tells a tale of once radiance turned hollowed and traumatized.
A low rumble in the distance reminded him: it wouldn't be long. The land groaned under the weight of what it could no longer hold. Aetheria had given them everything β and taken everything in return.
He looked back down at her.
"If this is where it ends, then let's end it with you in my arms," Zairon paused, his voice cracked as he drew her closer. "A-at least, I can do that much."
Zairon looked at the scythe at the floor, its mechanisms can let it turn into multiple forms β yet, it's too broken to make one more change. He thought about itβ
Until...
*Thud*
*Woosh*
A breeze shifted, the ground shook. It was not of natural causes β but of presence.
Eight figures stood, surrounding them in a circle β cloaked in silence. Four cast in fractured light, four cloaked in withering shadows. No steps had been heard, not even a slight change of the surroundings.
Zairon didn't move, his eyes only followed them.
They were not enemies. Not even saviours.
They were something else. They were once revered β now fractured remnants of divinity.
They didn't speak β not yet. Their presence was overwhelming, ancient, and familiar in ways that Zairon could not place.
He stood slowly, scythe in hand, knees buckling. His essence was almost gone, yet he persevered. But she stirred.
"... Z-Zaironβ" she whispered, eyes lidded with exhaustion, but aware. "βw-what is that..?"
He didn't answer at first, he doesn't want to worry her. Yet as he thought of that β the eight beings drew closer, circling them. No hostility felt, only... finality.
"... I don't know," he murmured, voice low and bitter. "Maybe the ones who led us to this graveyard."
The air grew heavier.
A voice β not just one, but all β echoed across the hollowed land.
"You. Have. Survived. You... Have. Seen. The. End."
One by one, the beings dissolved, their forms being unraveling until it's siphoned to something anew.
*Hizz*
What emerged was something indescribable β a figure made of unstable essence, neither light nor dark. It had no face, no voice.
Yet it spoke.
"Fade with us... or... accomplish what we could not."
A cold hand reached for Zairon's forehead.
*Slice*
Instinctively, he struck with the fragment of his scythe β cleaving it clean off with one motion of his blade.
"... You don't get to touch me," his voice was raspy and exhausted. He held her close, stepping back.
The hand reformed.
"This world is broken. But not beyond return. Y-you must return, before the climax, to the beginning β or let it all fade."
Zairon's heart clenched. Rage stirred inside him β not from the war, but from the sheer pointlessness of it.
"What return?"
He first asked, calm.
"What beginning?"
His voice slowly rose as his right hand gripped the fractured blade too hard, piercing his skin and flesh as drops of blood fell.
"The world is gone! It is gone!"
Then he froze, he felt fingers crawling on his neck as she wrapped her arms around him. Calming him down while muttering intangible words.
Zairon let his arm droop down while dropping the blade altogether. He just stared daggers at the figure.
But the figure was patient, continuing.
"You have survived. You have witnessed the end... Return β or be forgotten."
As he was about to retaliate with more words, the figure suddenly appeared before him. And even before he could struggle, he felt a pang.
A surge of golden combined dark essence tore through him β not with pain, but with power. It did not sear; it awakened. His body that was once broken and weary, drank in the pouring essence like a parched earth tasting rain. Strength returned, deeper, purer, and laced with danger.
He felt it. The lifeblood of a dying world, faint and flickering, the final ember of Aetheria's once-vast heart. The final thread, though little. It was enough, enough to overpower his former self and emerge as a new being.
Enough to stand once more.
And as he came back to reality, he realized that the figure was gone. He held his guard up β until hearing a whisper: gentle, calm, and delicate.
"... Choose wisely... You have the chance..."
The voice echoed β until it finally faded away.