[Date: 21st April, 2021]
[Location: Eryndor]
The screen ripples — not unlike the surface of a dream — and the story begins.
The projection shifts from cosmic mystery to something startlingly human.
We see a modest neighborhood lit by the warm gold of indoor lights. One home, nestled in a quiet lane, stands at the center of it all. Inside, laughter echoes faintly through the stairwell. Someone descends.
He's young — barely seventeen. Echo Pendragon, 5'11", with a lean frame built more by accident than design. His blonde hair juts up in natural spikes, as if defying gravity just to match the spark in his eyes — eyes that shimmer a rare emerald green with a bluish hue, the kind that look like they've seen dreams more vivid than reality.
He wears his usual — a plain white shirt under a long black hooded jacket, the kind with neither buttons nor zippers, always left open. Black cargo pants with deep side pockets and simple black and white shoes complete the look. A wanderer's uniform for a boy who never quite belongs in one place for too long.
This is him.
The one Zyrah spoke of.
The destined, the doomed, the unknown.
Echo Pendragon. Age: 17.
He hops the last two stairs, slippers thudding on the tiled floor.
In the kitchen, his mother — Castella — is busy fussing over something that smells faintly herbal. Her brown hair, streaked with the first whispers of gray, is tied in a loose bun. Her frame is bony and brisk, as if shaped by years of movement and motherly momentum.
In the lounge, his father Ronric sits deep in the couch, eyes locked onto a football match. He's got the solid build of someone who once trained hard and never really stopped, though these days, it's the TV remote and newspaper that get most of his energy. Caring to his core, but so often lost in the blur of background noise — until, of course, something truly matters.
From a nearby room, the faint sound of a child giggling drifts out. His eldest sister Ashley is mid-call with her husband, laughter in her voice. Her short brown hair, the kind that turned brown from blonde naturally over the years, has just been cut — freshly styled, a little messy in a deliberate sort of way. Her bluish eyes flicker with quiet focus as she balances conversation and baby wrangling at once.
At the far end of the hallway, the familiar voices of his two brothers echo like a ritual.
Arian, the eldest of the two, has a build that leans toward muscular — the kind of man who doesn't just enter a room, he's noticed in it. He wears a baseball cap tilted back, and sports a uniquely sculpted moustache that somehow suits him more than it should. His hair is the same faded brown-blonde as Ashley's, and his tone always carries the authority of an older sibling who listens more than he speaks.
Talon, the youngest, darts into view just as Echo walks past. Short blonde hair, bright with mischief. He's got a wiry, energetic frame, not built for strength but wired for motion, like a spring constantly tensed. He's laughing and accusing Arian of stealing his shampoo, again.
"Heading to Cassian's?" Arian asks, one brow raised.
Echo nods, sliding on his hoodie. "Yup. He's hosting the entire gang tonight. Probably planning to roast Jarek into retirement."
Ashley chuckles from the other room. "Tell Jarek I said he should just give up and marry a sandwich."
More laughter follows.
8:03 PM. He steps out into the night.
The streets are quiet. Orange lamps buzz faintly overhead. The apartment complex where Cassian lives looms nearby — towering buildings, all alike, 25 floors each. He makes his way up to the 8th floor.
The door opens before he knocks.
Inside, chaos reigns.
Jarek, 26, tallest and oldest in the room at 6'1", sits on the couch looking utterly betrayed. Built like he never skips a day at the gym, his broad shoulders and confident frame clash hilariously with the pout on his face.
"I just said I like mayo more than ketchup and suddenly I'm the villain?" he protests.
Cassian, 19 , Echo's height and build, leans casually against the kitchen counter, sipping a soda. His black hair falls across his forehead in light waves, eyes glinting with sarcasm and wisdom beyond his years.
"Bro, that wasn't an opinion," he says smoothly. "That was a cry for help."
Zayden, 18 , not the tallest but definitely the loudest, chimes in. He's white, wiry, always wrapped in a suspended winter cap that hides his black hair, and a tattoo boldly curves along the side of his neck: "DO IT!!"
"And this man puts ketchup on rice. I rest my case."
Thorne, 18 , a bit muscular and strikingly calm, mockingly gasps. His newly dyed pink hair catches the ceiling light as he stares at Jarek like he just committed a crime. "You monster."
In the corner, Lior, 17 ,round and muscular with deep brown skin and a teddy bear's warmth, snorts soda out of his nose laughing. "Let's not forget Jarek's idea of romance is texting 'ssuupp' to his own reflection."
Echo steps into the noise like he's returning to a second home. He grabs a soda, takes a quick sip, then aims his roast like a missile. "Jarek's dating life is like Area 51 — people know it exists, but no one's ever seen it."
The room erupts.
Jarek holds up a slipper like a ceremonial weapon. "Say one more word and I'm calling your mom."
It goes on for hours.
Inside that apartment, time forgets itself. Jokes fly. Snacks disappear. The ordinary, beautiful rhythm of friendship beats strong.
Until…
10:13 PM.
Echo glances at his phone. "I should head back. Wedding house and all — gotta pretend to be useful. My brothers about to get married in 2 months can you believe"
He opens the door to leave. His friends rise, still laughing, to see him off. A friendly ritual.
But something's… wrong.
As the door swings open and the corridor comes into view — the laughter dies.
Darkness.
Not the ordinary kind. Not a power outage, not a moonless night.
This is void.
Thick. Absolute. As if the very concept of "outside" has been erased.
They step out slowly. The hallway lights behind them flicker but stay on — the only source of light in an otherwise erased world.
Jarek blinks, looking out the window. "Where's the city?"
No stars. No buildings. No noise. Just a great, swallowing silence.
Cassian, unsettled, takes a soda can and tosses it out the window.
They wait.
One second. Two. Ten.
Nothing.
No clang. No thud. No sound at all.
It never hits the ground.
"Is this… a blackout?" Zayden whispers.
Thorne's voice is low. "This ain't no blackout, bro."
Echo's heartbeat kicks up. Something deep in his bones screams wrong.
"We need to get to the roof," Lior says. "Now."
They run.
Up the stairwell, skipping steps. Floor 9, 10, 11… 25.
The rooftop door creaks open — and what they see steals the breath from their lungs.
Buildings stretch around them in all directions… but they're like islands in a sea of nothing. The inky blackness has swallowed the world. Not even the horizon exists anymore.
It's as if reality ends just beyond their reach.
And then — without sound or warning — something appears.
A figure.
Tall. Drenched in shadow.
He stands at the edge of the roof on the next building, black cloak whipping in invisible wind. His presence presses down on them like gravity inverted.
They don't move. Can't.
He doesn't look at them — and yet, they know he sees them.
When he speaks, his voice is not a voice — it's something that crawls into the ears and vibrates in the soul.
"To leave this place… you must play a game."
The world — the void — listens.
And thus begins something far more terrifying than anyone could have imagined.