On the first night after Fitran's return to the Philistines, the wind felt different. It was not strong. It was not cold. But it was full of unspoken whispers. Shadows seemed to dance softly with the breeze, carrying messages from another world, awakening a curiosity about what lay hidden behind the darkness.
Amidst the rustling leaves and the sighing wind, another voice seemed to infiltrate, a voice that reminded one of longing and uncertainty, penetrating every corner of the night's solitude. The faint moonlight pierced through, creating strange patterns on the damp earth, as if to say that tonight was a witness to many forgotten secrets.
Beelzebub woke from her slumber, cradling Elyra, who was deep in sleep. In the darkness, the shadow of Beelzebub's face appeared to tremble, as if influenced by another lurking power, instilling an unspoken sense of dread.
"There is something lurking outside…"
"It's not a creature."
"But… it feels as if time is looking back at us."
Time felt like a wave connected to helplessness, gathering though unseen, and building a space between them—one that was slowly narrowing with the intensifying feelings of uncertainty. Their heartbeats synchronized in tension, as if in harmony with the pulse of time, which felt to hasten, adding to the atmosphere of dread.
In the distance, Fitran stood at the cracked altar, his eyes fixed on his own shadow. However, that night… the shadow did not follow his movements. Drops of dew caught in the stillness of the night shimmered, as if reflecting a profound silence. Doubt enveloped him, overshadowing his steps with uncertainty.
Fitran's gaze filled with ensnaring shadows, as if warning him that there was more than just the physical; there were deeper, darker things hiding behind the veil of reality. In that silence, he could hear distant whispers, like echoes of longing from lost souls, urging him to uncover the hidden truth.
Legend has it that long before beings took form, and before the first glyph was inscribed, there existed a single "will" that sought to possess meaning… but failed. This will trembled in the air, seeped into reality, stirring trapped spirits, making this night very much alive, filled with the resonance of unfulfilled dreams.
It cannot be named.
It cannot be prayed for.
It cannot be worshipped.
In the silence of unspoken sentences, a yearning for acknowledgment lay spread out, like a ghost teasingly reminding that existence will never manifest without recognition. In the dark of night, as the wind whispered softly, the shadow crawled, exploring the empty space between the ticks of time.
And because she cannot be known, all systems of magic call her Umbra-Khalid— The Eternal Shadow, yet Unrecognized. That name hangs in the air, merging with the mystique of the night, as if each letter is filled with profound despair.
With every invitation to eternity that she refuses, it creates a scar in the soul that longs for acceptance. The sun dims, replacing golden light with long waving shadows, as if inviting the forgotten figure to appear.
She is neither a demon.
Nor a goddess.
Nor emptiness.
She is the rejected desire for meaning.
So close, yet unattainable, that desire dances above the boundaries of reality, encircling every feeling without ever allowing itself to be etched in memory. Circles of time spin, creating an illusion of something more, transcending everything known.
The shattered Philistines slowly blacken on one side. The walls that once rejected all magic crack in a reversed spiral pattern. The sound of the cracks echoes, creating a melody of suffocation that pierces the walls of thought.
Then from within, a voice emerges—neither a echo, nor magic, but a failed concept.
It takes the form of an unfinished sentence:
"If… if I… if I…"
"…become… you… not…"
THE FIRST DOOR opened.
A rift formed in reality:
invisible to the eye,
but felt as an emotional wound without a cause. At the threshold of the rift, a silent voice echoed, as if calling lost souls to step closer, knowing that stepping forward meant loss.
Within the depths of that imagination, shadows seemed to dance around the repressed emotions. Memories and hopes intertwined, tightly grasping her soul. Everything she thought began to grow into a larger, heavier entity, as if preying upon the surrounding silence. In that state, the faint shadows of those who had departed haunted the area, making the air feel heavy, filled with unspoken whispers. In the stillness, the wounded spirits cried out, demanding recognition in a lost dimension.
Beelzebub felt the spiral within her body spinning backward, as if pulled by objectless desire. An unseen presence crept through the layers of her consciousness, stirring feelings of grief and loneliness. Dark clouds enveloped her thoughts, amplifying the darkness that had taken hold of her soul.
Elyra wept even in her sleep. Her tears were dark, and her hands formed a broken circle. In her dreams, shadowy figures crossed through the darkness, whispering about loss and despair. The sound resonated in the silence, as if calling her back to a world filled with sorrow.
Fitran remained motionless. However, his cloak billowed not from the wind… but because reality refused to touch him. In the stillness, time seemed to slow, and he felt the bitter truth; the world around him was merely an illusion, a nest of specters grappling within the darkness. Shadows intertwined, creating an invisible web that bound him to an unattainable reality.
In that moment, the tension against emptiness resonated within their souls. Each heartbeat became a silent witness to forgotten significance. They were confronted not only with reality but also with vibrating images demanding presence in absence. Dark shadows danced upon the waves of their emotions, reminding them of something greater, an entity observing from afar, laughing silently. There was something more powerful than themselves, gathering hope and helplessness in a single breath.
"I know that name…" Fitran murmured. His voice was swept away in the darkness, as if swallowed by the slowing passage of time.
"I once tried to erase it… when I was still human." His heart trembled, his mind drifting to the gnawing shadows of the past, as if recalling moments when everything lost still seemed real.
Meanwhile, outside the Philistines:
"I know that name…" Fitran murmured, his soft voice muffled by the emptiness around him. It was as if the universe paused for a moment, waiting for the confession buried deep within his thoughts. In the thick darkness, whispers of shadows danced, tempting the repressed memories. His heart trembled as he recalled the hazy remnants of the past, the moments when he still felt the warmth of life. Amidst the oppressive atmosphere, it was as if a drop of dew had fallen on the surface of still water, each doubt trembling around his soul.
"I once tried to erase it… when I was still human," he continued, every word slicing through the silence like a dagger. Around him, the wind whispered, creeping in and carrying the scent of lost hopes that had transformed into sorrow.
Meanwhile, outside the Philistines, the moonlight cast terrifying shadows upon the ground filled with secrets: behind the dark bushes, unseen creatures seemed to await the perfect moment to step forth from the depths of the forest. That soft light caused vague shapes to move, merging with the surrounding darkness, creating an illusion that enveloped everything.
Atlantis: The oldest glyph master lost a finger, even though she was not performing a ritual; the missing finger felt like a symbol of loss, indicating an imbalanced exchange between life and power. Behind the cursed door, whispers echoed, as if the ancient spirits demanded to be remembered. In the dark, forgotten incantations swirled, signaling that karma had arrived to collect.
Gaia: The ancient seal at the Valenthis tower opened, and an unfamiliar voice whispered within the bones of the guardian spirits, a voice that echoed with the pain once held back. Each note reminded them of the emptiness that now slithered closer, heralding the descent of darkness. Amid the cracks of ancient stone, ash rained down as if rewriting forgotten tales, recounting events that would shatter all tranquility. A faint light appeared, like hope unwilling to fade, but dimmed as fearful gazes fixated on the impending dusk.
Voidwatchers: They only uttered: "Umbra has taken a breath. We are late." Each word spoke of helplessness, as if they stood on the brink of disaster, ready to confront the darkness that threatened to consume everything. The night wind whispered, carrying the damp scent of earth that stirred their fears. Shadows flickered at the corners of their vision, hinting that something awaited in the darkness.
He stepped forward towards the inverted spiral crack. A rumble from the unseen source created tension in the air, as if the world around him quivered in uncertainty. The dim glow reflecting from the crack pulsed slowly, creating an illusion of movement, reminiscent of a heart beating in the dark. Beelzebub cried out:
"Don't! This is not something that can be won!"
Yet Fitran replied, his heart racing, filled with a profound mixture of hope and fear: The voice of his heart was drowned by the thunder of darkness, as if constructing an invisible wall that separated him from all that he wished for.
"If I don't enter, then this world will be inhabited by 'the rejected'.
And Elyra must not live in a world that feels insufficient for herself."
Fitran opened his hands—not with magic,
but with a willingness to remember the things he had buried. Every buried memory echoed within his soul, conjuring images of faces that could never be forgotten, voices that had been neglected in the passage of time. A cold wind brushed against his face, as if reminding him of every sorrow he had disregarded, bringing with it a painful aroma of nostalgia.
The First Door accepted this.
And the shadows emerged. As if a bridge had stretched between two worlds, the scent of uncertainty mingled with hope, filling the empty space, stirring the pent-up excitement within his heart, waiting to burst. All that was unsaid hung in the air, vibrating at a frequency only those brave enough to feel it could sense.
Not a figure.
Not a voice.
But the essence of all the meanings that were rejected. It seemed as if each one was bound within an invisible web, residing in darkness, struggling against the current of uncertainty that pressed upon them.
"I want to matter."
"I want to be loved, even when no one can love me."
"I want to exist, even if I was not created."
"I want to say something, but I don't know what words to use."
With every plea, the wind seems to sway, carrying their voices into the void. A dim light from an unseen door casts a dark aura, as if meaning flows like a mysterious mist, enveloping every corner of a soul trapped in uncertainty. In the midst of darkness, rays of light dance around, creating an illusory depth, as if their souls are ensnared in an endless corridor of time.
Umbra-Khalid envelops Philistines, and reality becomes blurred—like glass that hasn't been cleaned for centuries. Outside, the stars twinkle faintly, seemingly gazing with pity, while the shadows around transform into unspoken whispers, hinting at a secret known only to those brave enough to delve into the deepest darkness.
Fitran gazes at the shadow emerging from the door, and for the first time,
he sees a part of himself that he has never understood. A chill creeps down his spine, a strange sensation as if someone is watching him from behind the shadows. In the silence, the sound of his heartbeat echoes, as if that emptiness has been filled with a faceless presence.
"So… is this you?"
"I… am the part of you that is never named…"
Umbra-Khalid responded not with words,
but with a hollow feeling reminiscent of a love that never came to fruition. In that silence, Fitran's heart raced, sensing a presence beyond mere sound; he felt the weight of his history, the pain and desires long buried. In the darkness, subtle shadows began to dance around him, as if inviting his soul to awaken from a long dream. With each heartbeat, memories swirled around them, like a score played by the wind in the murkiness.
And Fitran…
offered a faint smile. In that smile, a flicker of hope was reflected, albeit dim. He could feel the essence of every sacrifice he had made, as if all the pain shrouding his heart had transformed into strength that matured him. In the distance, a soft whisper echoed like the gentle rustle of spirits, reminding him of forgotten promises. Deep within, he knew this journey was the first step toward the enlightenment he had long sought.