Arslan stood still in the center of his room for a long time, breathing in the silence.
The dim glow from the crystal lamp above cast soft shadows across the gray stone walls, dancing faintly with every breath of wind that came through the narrow window slit. This base was quiet. Far too quiet for someone who'd lived in chaos.
He rolled his neck slowly, loosening the weight that sat heavy on his shoulders. The air in the room was still, untouched, almost like no one had ever truly lived here. He walked over to the window, placing a palm against the cold stone frame, and looked out. The cliffs were silent. Distant stars blinked beyond the soft shimmer of the city's outer barrier. And far in the distance, though barely visible, was the outline of the Bound Threshold—those massive sealed gates, chained and immovable.
He exhaled.
Reaching for his collar, Arslan pulled off his hoodie and dropped it over the chair near the window. His black hair fell over his brow, and for the first time all day, his guard lowered.
He moved toward the bed.
The sheets were neatly folded, untouched. Silver embroidery ran along the edges of the dark gray fabric. He sat, kicked off his boots, and let himself lie back slowly, one arm behind his head.
The silence was comforting. Too comforting.
His mind drifted, the quiet pulling him deeper into sleep.
And then, without transition, he was no longer in his bed.
He stood in a world without edges.
A cold mist blanketed everything, curling around his boots like restless breath. The ground beneath him felt damp, though he could see no puddles. No texture. No sound.
A gray world. Faded. Waiting.
Then, from the veil of fog ahead, a figure stepped forward—or rather, emerged. It didn't walk. It formed. A shadow among shadows, moving like smoke. Its body had no face, no limbs, no definition, and yet Arslan knew it was watching him. Deeply. Intimately.
Its presence made the air feel heavier.
The moment it appeared, a voice echoed in his head, low and sharp.
"Come to the Threshold."
Arslan narrowed his eyes. The voice didn't come from around him. It came within him—as if spoken in thought, not sound.
He took a step forward unconsciously, instinct pulling him toward the silhouette.
The shadow didn't move.
It just repeated, slower this time, quieter—but firm.
"Come... to the Threshold... You were seen."
"You were chosen."
"You have to awaken me"
Suddenly, in the far distance, through the shifting fog, Arslan saw them:
A massive door. The Bound Threshold. Towering, chained. Etched in silence.
The image flickered, but it was enough.
His heartbeat surged.
The voice whispered one last time, with an eerie softness:
"Come... to the Threshold...BEFORE it's too late"
And then all went black.
He shot upright in bed.
Chest heaving. Skin damp.
The crystal lamp on the wall flickered faintly. The room was calm. Real.
His eyes darted toward the window. The Bound Threshold in the far distance shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
His breathing slowed, but the pounding in his heart did not.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and held his face in his hands.
No answers. No threats. Just a call.
And one truth echoed in his chest:
Who had spoken.
To him.
Arslan sat on the edge of his bed, his breath still uneven.
The dream had ended, but its echo still lingered in his chest. The voice. The figure. The call.
> "Who was he?"
"Why me?"
"What is my connection to the Bound Threshold?"
He couldn't find the answer.
It wasn't fear that clung to him—it was the unknown. Something about that shadow felt ancient… like it had been waiting for him long before today.
Arslan stood and walked toward the window, pulling the curtain aside.
The night outside was calm. Still. But in the distance, beyond the cliffs and rooftops, the faint silhouette of the Bound Threshold stood like a giant tomb sealed behind chains.
He stared.
Then—
WEEEOOO—WEEEOOO—WEEEOOO!!
The sudden wailing of sirens broke the silence.
Arslan's eyes widened.
From the heart of the city to its outer walls, the deep, sharp sound of alarm echoed across the dark sky. Red warning lights flickered to life, pulsing like heartbeats on every tower and gate. The sound was constant—loud, rhythmic, urgent.
WEEEOOO—WEEEOOO—WEEEOOO!!
From the hallway beyond his room, muffled voices began to rise. Guards shouting. Doors opening. Footsteps racing. Confusion spreading.
Arslan didn't move from the window.
His fingers clenched the edge of the stone frame.
> "What now?" he whispered.
His dream had barely ended. His thoughts were still tangled.
And already—the world outside was answering.
Something was happening.
Something real.
And deep inside, Arslan knew:
"Something is going to happen "