Then—
Boom.
Lightning struck him. In an instant, everything went dim.
No sound. No light. No sensation.
His mind went completely blank.
But in that emptiness, something appeared before his eyes. The light it orbited in was so bright that, even with all his senses blacked out, he still noticed it.
He began to feel a familiar aura around him—but couldn't place where he had felt it before. Before he could fully regain his senses, something pierced through the light.
It was massive—so vast that its shadow overtook the entire environment.
Everything around him seemed to bend to that shadow.
Then, Oliver slowly raised his head, opened his eyes, and narrowed them. In that moment, he remembered something Nyxara had told him.
It was right in front of him, like it had always been there.
A person.
A god.
A demon.
What stood before him embodied all three—except one. But its shadow held all three, as though it had been disjoined from the body and given its own soul.
Oliver felt something coil around him as the figure drew closer.
The closer it came, the more a memory stirred—something from a dream he'd had earlier.
But this time, it wasn't wrapped in a golden blaze, nor was it seated in a lotus position.
Still, its eyes were half-open—unchanged from how he had once seen and felt it.
It didn't speak, yet Oliver heard words flowing in and out of its lips—carried on a soft wind that vibrated across them.
Instantly, Oliver was pulled toward it.
There was no clear meaning in the words, yet somehow—somehow—he understood them. Not fully. But enough.
As the pull stopped, his feet touched a glass-like golden surface.
Then—he began moving toward the being before him. But no matter how far he walked, the figure moved backward, always maintaining distance.
No matter how hard he tried, he could never reach it.
Then suddenly, he felt something watching him from behind.
This time, it wasn't the same aura as the being ahead.
When he turned to his left, he saw smoke—thick, dark, unnatural. It shouldn't have been there.
Shock overtook him. In that instant, he forgot what he had just seen.
As his eyes remained locked on the smoke, the ground beneath him began to shimmer.
He couldn't stand still. The ground was vanishing, block by block—until only a few golden platforms remained beneath his feet.
He turned back toward the figure—but now it was farther than ever before.
Then something else appeared—something he had seen, felt, even interacted with.
"Warning! The percentage has decreased by five percent.
Choose one person to take the charges."
Oliver shoved the message aside, thinking it was nothing more than a strange illusion. But it returned—hovering in front of him once more.
This time, it brought faces.
Not strangers.
People he knew.
People he had walked with, lived with.
In that moment, confusion surged through his mind. He couldn't decide. But now the message came with a timer.
"Five minutes left."
And just as he lowered his eyes, he saw a caution beneath it:
"If the time is up, everyone will die."
Without thinking, in panic, he pressed his brother's image.
As soon as he did, the message box vanished.
Instantly, the ground returned to normal.
The smoke disappeared.
The distant figure was gone—without a trace.
Even the swirling light that had looked like a door faded.
Then—
Something shook the ground.
Oliver's eyes snapped open.
None of the dream remained.
Only the broken wardrobe, the scattered furniture, and the dim room filled his vision.
"NoO!"
His gaze fell on the mirror fixed between the wardrobe doors—
And then, a scream rang out.
Not just a scream.
The sky rumbled, echoing the cry.
All the lights in the building began to flicker, as though lightning had sparked an electrical breakdown.
Everything wired or powered failed—phones, lights, the music player.
Just as he was about to check the source of the scream, Oliver heard another voice—
Soft. Low.
Sorrowful, like someone grieving deeply.
Instantly, he rushed toward his brother's room.
What he saw was something he was never prepared to see.
Arms. Legs. Head—
All torn from the body.
Each part lay exactly where the warning had first shown them.
Oliver vomited.
Blood was splattered across the walls, the floor, the bed—
A sight unbearable to the eyes.
Even his mother couldn't look.
She stumbled backward, crying as she fled the room.
But his father—
He stood still.
Not a single tear fell.
He only stared—stared at Oliver with eyes so dreadful, they seemed to peer straight into the truth.
It was as if he had seen what Oliver had done.
What he had chosen.
But he said nothing.
He walked to his wife as she approached him,
Held her shoulders,
Caressed her,
And kissed her forehead to calm her.
Meanwhile, Oliver remained frozen in the doorway.
Nowhere to go.
Nowhere to sit.
Nowhere to turn.
He just stood there—
Lost.
Then, in that instant, the message box reappeared.
But this time, it wasn't a warning.
Instead, it congratulated him:
"Progress: 85% complete. Well done."
At that moment, Oliver's father descended to his brother's room. Without laying a finger on the mutilated body, he simply stretched out his hand—and the corpse rose.
He guided it silently toward their family cemetery, which was housed within the building itself.
This wasn't a typical graveyard.
Each body lay encased in glass.
Every glass coffin glowed in its own distinct color, and inside, water floated around the remains.
Each family member had their own sealed room—
But not all were occupied.
Some of the glass coffins appeared shattered from within. Those bodies were missing, though the date of their deaths still burned visibly—like sunlight carved into stone.
Have I killed my own brother?
Am I a murderer?
Why—why did that kill him?
Would it really have killed all of them if I hadn't chosen someone?
What kind of legacy am I part of?
What did the first version of me actually do?
His thoughts screamed louder than his breath.
Tears streamed down his face, but his mind refused to rest.
His inner voice grew so loud it nearly burst from his lips, threatening to fill the entire house.
As Oliver's father exited the glowing cemetery, his eyes shimmered with a reddish-grey hue.
And with a single motion—
everything around him began to melt.
Metal.
Wood.
Glass.
Even the walls bled downward like wax.
Wherever he stepped, the floor burned with his footmarks.
Outside, the night birds in the trees scattered, bursting into the air as soon as he roared.
His voice was so powerful, so piercing, that even the distant trees trembled in response.
Then—
Just as Oliver laid his head on the bed—
Nyxara appeared.
Not from the door.
Not from the window.
From nowhere.
She simply was.
She sat beside him on the bed and gently brushed her palm across his forehead.
And just as she began to vanish, Oliver's eyes opened wide.
Her gaze locked with his,
and though her body was nearly gone,
her eyes remained—staring—until they, too, faded into nothing.
For nearly two hours after, Oliver couldn't unsee his brother's mutilated body.
Nor could he forget the eyes—hers—that had looked into his.
But then—
The sky turned bright.
Birds swirled in the morning air, humming softly to the tune of the wind.
The world resumed its noise—the familiar clamor of a new day.
But this time, someone was missing.
Still, everything carried on.
His father went about his daily quests.
His mother marched to the tower, as she always did.
His other siblings continued their routines.
Only Oliver—the forsaken—
was left to witness the change,
fail to understand the change,
and bear the full weight of it.
When he tried to leave his room,
he noticed something strange.
The door—
which was never locked,
not even at night—
was now chained.
Not with a common lock—
But with a heavy iron chain,
the kind used to bind felled trees.
Shocked, he tried to reach out through the small window at the top of the door.
But the moment his hand crossed the threshold—
a blast of searing pain tore through his skin.
He jerked his hand back in a cry of agony.
Then leaned closer, trying to see what had struck him.
And that's when he realized—
It wasn't just a whip.
He was being treated like a beast in a cage.
Every attempt to tamper with the chain was met with pain—
a punishment delivered without warning.
Defeated, he slumped back onto his bed,
his thoughts spiraling.
What now?
What am I supposed to do?
Then—
Clang.
A metallic object was thrown into the room.
It hit the ground and began spinning.
As it slowed, liquid spilled from the bowl—
spreading across the floor in thick, erratic streams.
Then—
a chunk of foamy bread followed,
tossed carelessly through the same gap.
It hit the floor beside the bowl,
and the room went silent again.