Episode 1 The Shattered Plains

The world was broken.

Endless slabs of stone jutted from the earth like shattered glass, tilting at impossible angles, their edges glowing faintly as if lit from within. The air was thick with a silver haze, soft and heavy, swallowing sound before it could carry far. Nothing moved, nothing lived—yet the land breathed with a strange pulse, a rhythm older than time itself.

Across the horizon stretched an ocean of mist. It shifted and writhed, coiling into shapes that almost resembled faces, before dissolving again into formless smoke. Each whisper of movement carried an echo, faint murmurs that brushed against the ears like half-forgotten voices.

A figure stirred among the ruins.

The boy lay sprawled on the cracked stone, his skin pale beneath the silver glow. His chest rose and fell shallowly, though he felt no heartbeat inside. Slowly, unsteadily, he pushed himself upright, his hands scraping across jagged fragments. His eyes—sharp, restless—scanned the endless wasteland.

Where was he?

Fragments of memory clung to him like dust. The flash of light. The rush of air. The sudden, choking stillness. And then—darkness. He remembered pain, and then nothing. Only silence.

But now… this place.

He staggered to his feet. The world wavered around him, unreal, yet painfully vivid. His body felt weightless, too light, as if stripped of the gravity that once held him to the earth.

Shapes moved in the distance.

Figures wandered the plain—pale, hollow things, some with faces blurred as if wiped away, others little more than shadows with limbs. They drifted without purpose, their heads tilted downward, whispering as they passed. Some crawled, dragging themselves across the fractured stone, clutching at the ground as if searching for something they had lost.

The boy felt his throat tighten. Were these people? Or what remained of them?

A sound rolled across the plains—deep, resonant, like the tolling of a bell struck beneath the ground. The wandering shades froze. Slowly, in eerie unison, they turned their heads toward the mist. Without hesitation, they began to shuffle forward, disappearing into its depths.

The boy’s legs trembled. Something inside him urged him to follow, to join the faceless procession. A pull, like a thread tied to his chest, tugged him toward the mist.

But he resisted. He clenched his fists, grounding himself against the stone. He had no memory of how he came here, no certainty if he was alive or dead—but he would not surrender so easily to a call he did not understand.

“Another who lingers.”

The voice slithered from the shadows.

The boy spun around. From behind a fractured pillar emerged a figure draped in tattered robes. Their face was hidden beneath a hood, but twin eyes glimmered like pale moons beneath the folds. Unlike the drifting shades, this one was solid, real.

“You resist the call,” the figure said, voice low and heavy with age. “Few awaken with their minds intact. Fewer still refuse the summons.”

The boy’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Where is this?”

The figure tilted its head. “You stand in the Shattered Plains—the threshold between life and the Veil. This is where all journeys beyond death begin.”

The boy’s stomach twisted. “Beyond death…?” The words caught in his throat. “Then… I’m dead?”

The figure gave no answer, only silence. The glowing eyes fixed on him, unblinking.

He swallowed hard. “Why am I here? What am I supposed to do?”

The robed being stepped closer. The edges of their form seemed to blur, as if they were stitched from shadow and smoke. “Because you seek what most do not: answers. Escape. Truth.” A pause. “But discovery has a price.”

Before the boy could speak again, the ground trembled. Cracks split across the stone beneath his feet. From the fissures seeped black liquid, thick and writhing. It spread like veins across the surface, pooling at his toes.

The shades who had not yet vanished into the mist suddenly shrieked. Hollow mouths opened wide, soundless yet agonizing. One by one, they sank into the black ooze, their bodies dissolving like smoke in water.

The boy stumbled back, heart pounding though no heartbeat drummed in his chest. The liquid surged toward him. Instinct took hold. He leapt aside as the ground where he had stood collapsed into a chasm.

The figure in robes watched silently, unshaken. “The Plains test those who linger. If you cannot endure the weight of death, you will be swallowed whole.”

The boy’s jaw tightened. He had no weapon, no shield, only his own will. But he would not let the darkness consume him. He darted across the fractured ground, dodging each surge of black liquid until at last the fissures closed, sealing the earth once more.

Breathless, he stood tall, sweatless though his body trembled.

The robed figure regarded him with those pale, unearthly eyes. “Stronger than most. You may yet survive the Veil.”

The boy straightened. His voice steadied. “Then tell me. How do I escape?”

The figure lifted a hand, pointing toward the endless mist where the shades had vanished. “Through the layers. Beyond the Plains lie the Labyrinth, the Forest, the City, and finally the Crossing. Only those who walk all paths may learn the truth of their end.”

The boy’s throat tightened. “And if I fail?”

“Then you remain here,” the figure said simply. “Forgotten. Hollow. Another echo among the dead.”

The silence returned, thick and smothering.

The boy turned his gaze to the mist. It swirled and shifted, calling to him with the same pull as before. But now he understood—this was not just an end. It was a path.

He clenched his fists. His name was still his, his mind still his. He would not become a hollow whisper in the mist.

With a final glance at the figure, the boy stepped forward.

“Every step will change you,” the robed being’s voice echoed after him, soft as a warning, heavy as a curse. “Choose wisely, traveler… for not all who journey beyond death return.”

And with that, the boy crossed into the mist.

His name was Kael.

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