He was back on his balcony on Prion, the gentle hum of the endless city rising to meet him. The spires of the Sanctum pierced the amber sky, a symbol of enduring knowledge. Aargon could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face, the golden light bathing his world in a comforting glow. His tablet rested in his lap, its holographic display scrolling effortlessly with every flick of his finger. This was his sanctuary, his life—a place where knowledge thrived, and chaos was a mere concept, a distant story in the databanks.

  But something was wrong.

  The breeze wasn’t right. It carried none of the warmth and serenity of Prion. Instead, it was damp, cold, and heavy, as if the air itself wanted to suffocate him. Aargon frowned, his hand trembling as he reached for his tablet. The weight of it was wrong. Too heavy, like stone. His right hand refused to cooperate, the limb sluggish and weak. Frustration flickered in his chest, but it was drowned by a creeping sense of unease.

  The thought struck like a lightning bolt, unravelling the illusion. He blinked, and the golden horizon dissolved into grey mist. The balcony vanished beneath him, replaced by damp earth and scattered leaves. The faint hum of the city gave way to something primal and menacing. The sounds of creatures—growling, screeching, and snapping—rose around him in a chaotic symphony. The air turned icy, biting at his skin and sending shivers down his spine.

  His vision swam, and shadowy figures emerged from the fog. There were three of them, their movements erratic and unnatural. They seemed to stumble over each other, a grotesque performance that defied logic. Aargon’s breath caught as he tried to focus on them, but their shapes blurred and shifted, as if they weren’t entirely real. He reached out instinctively, but his hand found only air.

  Panic clawed at his chest. His thoughts raced.

  The shadowy figures twisted and writhed in their strange dance, their forms growing sharper for fleeting moments before dissolving again. Aargon tried to move, but his body felt leaden, his limbs unresponsive. A terrible weight pressed down on him, not physical but something deeper—a suffocating sense of dread.

  And then, cutting through the chaos, came the voice.

  “He stays here.”

  The words struck like a hammer, reverberating through his mind. He recoiled as if burned, his heart pounding in his chest. The phrase repeated, a cruel echo that refused to fade. It wasn’t just words—it was condemnation, abandonment, a betrayal that wrapped around him like a vice.

  Aargon’s chest tightened. He couldn’t breathe. His mind screamed in protest.

  The thought tore through him like a blade. A sudden rush of memories flooded in—Viha’s sharp gaze, Izzar’s cold demeanour. Their decision, spoken with such finality, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. Anger flared, hot and all-consuming, but it was quickly extinguished by the oppressive cold of his surroundings. The mist thickened, swallowing the shadowy figures and leaving him alone once more. Alone with the echoes of betrayal.

  The sounds of the jungle rose again, sharp and unpredictable. Distant screeches, guttural growls, and rustling leaves blended into an unnerving cacophony. It was as if the forest was alive, watching him, mocking his helplessness. The noises grew louder, closer, as if converging on his position. Aargon’s heart raced. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but his voice failed him.

  And then there was silence.

  Not the comforting stillness of Prion, but a suffocating void. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath. Aargon’s vision dimmed, his thoughts slipping into a haze. The cold seeped deeper into his bones, dragging him toward unconsciousness. But before darkness claimed him, one final thought surfaced, sharp and undeniable.

  The rot of the forest filled his nostrils as Aargon’s senses began to return. It was a thick, nauseating smell—decay mixed with the sharp tang of stagnant water. He gagged but managed to keep himself from retching. His breaths were shallow and uneven, each one sending a sharp, burning pain through his chest. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue, metallic and bitter.

  He tried to push himself up, groaning as his body refused to cooperate. His right arm was dead weight, useless at his side. The pain radiating from his shoulder was unlike anything he had ever felt before, a deep, searing ache that seemed to dig into his very bones. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as he tried again, this time rolling onto his stomach. His face hit the damp earth with a thud, and he lay there for a moment, breathing heavily.

  The thought was loud, urgent. Aargon opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. The trees loomed high above him, their twisted branches forming a near-impenetrable canopy that blocked out the sky. The undergrowth was thick and tangled, a sea of dark green and brown that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. The air was heavy with moisture, clinging to his skin and making it feel as though the forest itself was pressing down on him.

  He scanned the area and spotted a large stone not far away, jutting out from the forest floor like an ancient sentinel. It was jagged and weathered, covered in patches of moss, but it was solid—something he could lean on. He set his sights on it, the first step in what felt like an impossible journey.

  he thought grimly. His arm hung limp at his side, dragging through the dirt as he began the slow, agonizing crawl toward the stone. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain shooting through his body, but he didn’t stop. The forest was alive with sound—unseen creatures scuttling in the undergrowth, the distant growls of predators echoing through the mist—and the thought of staying in one place was worse than the pain.

  The words from before echoed in his mind, their weight as heavy as the jungle pressing down on him.

  Aargon’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding against the anger building in his chest. Izzar’s voice, cold and final, had seared itself into his memory. He had heard it as they left him, half-conscious and helpless on the forest floor.

  The thought stoked the fire in him, pushing him forward. Izzar and Viha were gone, abandoning him to die in this alien wilderness. He didn’t understand their reasoning, didn’t care. All that mattered now was proving them wrong.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aargon reached the stone. He leaned against it, gasping for air. The effort had left him drained, his muscles trembling and his shoulder ablaze with pain. Sweat dripped from his forehead, mingling with the dirt on his face. His lungs felt tight, as though they were being compressed, and he struggled to catch his breath.

  As he rested, his thoughts turned to Prion. He closed his eyes, imagining the balcony where he used to sit, the warm sun on his face, the hum of the city around him. He remembered the look in his father’s eyes as they said goodbye—a mixture of sorrow and fear, as though he had known what would happen.

  Aargon thought bitterly, his fists clenching.

  The image of his father faded, replaced by the memory of Izzar’s cold expression. The betrayal burned anew, but it was quickly overshadowed by the throbbing in his shoulder. He shifted slightly, wincing as the pain flared.

  He remembered it now—seeing the marks in a strange, detached way as though through someone else’s eyes. Izzar had done something, had somehow seen inside him. The bite had injected poison, not enough to kill but enough to incapacitate him. The thought of it made Aargon’s skin crawl. He had read about dangerous wildlife before coming to Dessix, but the databanks at the Sanctum had offered little concrete information. No one had ever truly mapped this place, not its flora or fauna, not its dangers or its secrets.

  The forest suddenly felt more alien than ever, the sounds around him sharper and more menacing. Aargon glanced at the trees, his eyes scanning the bark for any sign of familiarity. He was desperate to find something useful—anything that could help him survive. But the jungle offered no solace. Everything was unfamiliar, hostile.

  Aargon slumped against the stone, his breath heaving and uneven. His shoulder throbbed, sending sharp jolts of pain up his neck and into his skull. He leaned his head back, staring up at the canopy above. The thick branches, entwined like gnarled fingers, blocked the sky entirely. Whatever sun hung over Dessix was hidden from view, and the dim light that filtered through was cold and grey, like the forest itself had drained it of warmth.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to summon a plan. He couldn’t stay here. The jungle was alive with sounds, its unseen inhabitants shifting and snapping in the undergrowth. The growls of distant predators reached his ears, their guttural tones echoing in his chest like a warning. He needed to move.

  But where?

  His eyes flicked open, scanning the area for something—anything—that could give him a direction. His gaze landed on the undergrowth around him, thick with alien vegetation. The plants were enormous, their leaves glossy and dripping with condensation. His mind raced back to the databanks of the Sanctum on Prion, searching for anything that might help. He’d read about healing plants once, berries that could restore strength and energy. They were supposed to be ubiquitous, found on nearly every planet humans had settled.

  He had memorised their description: dark green leaves with clusters of small, bright orange berries. If he could find them, they might help.

  But the jungle offered no such lifelines. The plants surrounding him were foreign, towering like guardians of a world he didn’t belong to. He reached out and touched a fern-like leaf, its surface slick with moisture. It recoiled slightly, folding inward as if rejecting him. Aargon snatched his hand back, unsettled. Even the flora here seemed alive in ways he couldn’t understand.

  The thirst clawed at him next, his throat dry and scratchy. He swallowed, but it only made the feeling worse. His tongue felt swollen, his lips cracked. He hadn’t had anything to drink since… How long had it been? A day? Two? Time blurred in this place, the endless mist making it impossible to tell where one hour ended and another began.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He forced himself to his feet, using the stone for leverage. The world tilted slightly, but he steadied himself, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. His clothes clung to him, soaked through by the damp air. Every step felt heavier than the last, his legs straining under the weight of his exhaustion.

  As he stumbled forward, his eyes caught on a plant with massive, waxy leaves. The stem was thick, and from its base, a clear liquid dripped slowly, pooling on the ground below. Aargon’s heart leapt. It could be water. He knelt awkwardly, his left-hand trembling as he reached for the stem. With a firm tug, he yanked one of the leaves free. The effort sent him sprawling onto his back, a fresh wave of pain coursing through his body. He bit back a groan and pulled the leaf closer, holding the stem over his mouth.

  A single drop of liquid fell onto his tongue, cool and sweet. Desperation overtook him. He tilted the stem higher, the fluid flowing faster now, filling his mouth with the purest water he had ever tasted. It wasn’t just refreshing—it was invigorating. Energy seemed to surge through him, his limbs tingling as if the water carried some hidden vitality.

  Aargon felt a glimmer of hope.

  Using the large leaf as a makeshift sling, he wrapped it around his neck and under his injured arm. The relief was immediate. The pressure on his shoulder eased, dulling the sharpest edges of the pain. He adjusted it carefully, his movements slow and deliberate.

  The forest seemed to respond to his newfound energy, its sounds growing louder, more chaotic. He looked around, trying to make sense of the noise. The growls and snaps were closer now, no longer distant echoes. Something was moving through the jungle, its footsteps heavy and deliberate.

  Aargon’s stomach twisted. He didn’t need to see the creature to know it was massive. The ground trembled faintly beneath his feet with each step it took, and the crack of branches being snapped was unmistakable.

  The thought came unbidden, and he obeyed.

  He stumbled through the undergrowth, his feet sinking into the damp earth with each step. His heart pounded, the sound deafening in his ears. He had no destination, no plan—only the desperate need to get away.

  The footsteps behind him grew louder and closer. The creature was faster, its bulk tearing through the jungle with terrifying ease. Aargon risked a glance over his shoulder but saw nothing through the mist. It was coming, though. He could feel it, a predator stalking its prey.

  The towering silhouette of the citadel emerged in the distance, its spiralling form cutting through the fog. It loomed like a beacon, its dark stone stark against the forest’s oppressive green. But Aargon knew it wasn’t salvation. He couldn’t go back there.

  A root caught his foot, and he fell hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He tried to push himself up, but his strength was gone. The footsteps were deafening now, the ground shaking with each one.

  The world blurred, the edges of his vision darkening. Aargon’s body betrayed him, collapsing under the weight of exhaustion and pain. As his consciousness faded, the sound of his own laboured breathing was drowned out by the thunderous approach of the beast.

  Darkness swallowed him whole.

  It was not the kind of darkness that comes with the absence of light, but something deeper, more absolute. Aargon floated in it, weightless and disoriented, the void pressing in on him from all sides. He felt as though he was suspended in nothingness, his senses stripped away one by one. There was no sound, no air, no ground beneath him—only an endless, suffocating emptiness.

  Then, from the abyss, a light began to form. At first, it was a faint glimmer, distant and fragile. But it grew rapidly, expanding until it consumed the darkness. It was blinding, its intensity far greater than the sun he had known on Prion. Yet it didn’t hurt to look at it. Aargon raised his hand instinctively to shield his eyes, but the light didn’t fade.

  As the brilliance settled, he realised he was no longer in the void. A vast, empty landscape stretched before him, barren and grey, the ground cracked like ancient stone. Above him, the source of the light hung in the sky—a sun brighter than anything he had ever imagined, its radiance pulsating as though alive.

  And then it began to descend.

  The sun fell toward him, slow and deliberate, shrinking as it came closer. Aargon felt his chest tighten, a strange mix of awe and terror rooting him to the spot. By the time it reached him, it was no larger than a fruit, its light now gentle and contained. It hovered in front of him for a moment before lowering into his hands.

  He held it carefully, cradling it as though it were a living thing. The warmth radiating from it was soothing, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness he had just escaped. Within its glow, he could see entire galaxies swirling, tiny pinpricks of light dancing in a cosmic ballet. It was a universe, alive and whole, pulsating with energy. He stared into it, mesmerised.

  “This is everything,” a voice whispered, soft but resonant, as though it had come from inside his mind. Aargon didn’t know whose voice it was, but its tone carried an undeniable authority.

  Before he could comprehend the words, the light began to dim. The warmth faded, replaced by a creeping chill. He looked up and saw a figure emerging from the distance. It was Izzar.

  His presence was suffocating, the air around him growing heavy as he approached. His face was twisted into a cruel grin, his eyes dark and gleaming with malice. Aargon clutched the sun tighter, instinctively drawing it closer to his chest, but Izzar didn’t stop. He reached out, his movements deliberate, and with little effort, he plucked the sun from Aargon’s hands.

  “No!” Aargon shouted, his voice echoing across the barren landscape. But it was too late.

  Izzar lifted the sun to his mouth and consumed it whole.

  The light vanished, swallowed by the darkness that rushed in to fill the void. Aargon fell to his knees, the weight of the emptiness crushing him. He watched helplessly as Izzar began to glow, his body radiating with the light of the sun. The glow intensified, brightening until it was blinding once more. Aargon shielded his eyes, but he could still feel the heat emanating from Izzar, growing hotter with every passing second.

  The grin on Izzar’s face twisted into something unnatural, his expression contorted by the immense power surging within him. The light was too much for his body to contain. Cracks began to form along his skin, glowing like molten rock. And then, with a deafening roar, he exploded.

  The blast was cataclysmic, shattering the void and sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Aargon was thrown backwards, his ears ringing, and his vision blurred. When he managed to lift his head, the world was gone. There was no light, no warmth—only darkness and cold, deeper and more consuming than before.

  Aargon woke with a start, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Cold sweat dripped from his brow, his body trembling. The pain in his shoulder was gone, but his heart raced, the terror of the dream still fresh in his mind.

  “It was only a dream,” he whispered, trying to calm himself. But something about it lingered, a weight pressing down on him that he couldn’t shake.

  “That was no dream.”

  The voice that answered him was deep and resonant, like the rumble of thunder in a vast canyon. Aargon froze, his eyes darting around the dimly lit space. It was only then that he realised he was in a cave. The jagged walls glistened faintly, illuminated by an unseen light source. Shadows danced across the stone, their movements slow and deliberate.

  From the darkness, a figure emerged. It was massive, and its form was vaguely beast-like but impossible to define. Its eyes glowed with a soft, otherworldly light, fixed intently on Aargon. The creature exuded an aura of power and command, its very presence demanding respect.

  “Your dream was a premonition,” it said, its voice reverberating through the cave. “A vision of the future.”

  Aargon’s throat was dry, his voice trembling as he managed to speak. “What… what do you mean?”

  The beast stepped closer, its massive frame towering over him. “The sun you held, the universe it contained—that is The Void. A power greater than you can comprehend. It is destruction and creation, chaos and order, bound together in a delicate balance.”

  Aargon stared at the beast, his mind reeling. “And Izzar?”

  The beast’s eyes narrowed. “If left unchecked, he will consume that power. He will destroy worlds, entire galaxies. What you saw was no fantasy. It was truth.”

  The words sent a chill down Aargon’s spine. His hatred for Izzar flared, but it was quickly tempered by fear. “Why show this to me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Because you are the one who can stop him,” the beast replied. “But only if you choose to wield The Void yourself.”

  Aargon’s hands trembled as he backed against the rough stone wall of the cave, his breathing shallow and rapid. The massive beast stood before him, its form cloaked in shadow but undeniably immense. Its eyes, glowing faintly with an unearthly light, pinned him in place. The creature’s voice was like thunder rolling through the cavern, impossibly deep and reverberating.

  “That was a premonition,” the beast repeated, its tone unyielding.

  Aargon’s heart pounded in his chest. The dream—no, the vision—was still fresh in his mind. The weight of the sun in his hands, the overwhelming darkness, and Izzar’s twisted grin as he consumed the universe. The memory made him shudder, but he forced himself to speak.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice weak and trembling. “A premonition of what?”

  The beast tilted its massive head, its glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “The future, Aargon. A future in which Izzar consumes the power of The Void and annihilates everything.”

  Aargon swallowed hard, his throat dry. “The Void? What is it?”

  “The power you glimpsed in your vision,” the beast explained, stepping closer. Its movements were slow and deliberate, each step sending faint tremors through the ground. “It is the force that binds existence together. Creation and destruction, chaos and order—it is all The Oblivium. It is infinite and absolute.”

  The enormity of the beast’s words sank into Aargon like a lead weight. He tried to process it, but the concept was too vast, too alien. “Why me?” he whispered. “Why am I seeing this? I don’t even belong here.”

  The beast paused, its gaze unrelenting. “Because Oblivium chose you,” it said simply. “And because you are the only one who can stop him.”

  The words struck Aargon like a blow. “Me? How? I can’t even survive this jungle, let alone fight Izzar. He’s…” He trailed off, his mind flashing to Izzar’s cold, unyielding demeanour. “He’s stronger than me.”

  The beast let out a low rumble, something between a growl and a chuckle. “Strength is not what will decide this. You possess something he does not: the capacity for understanding, for balance. Izzar is driven by blind ambition and hunger. That will be his undoing.”

  Aargon clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “He left me to die,” he spat. “Why shouldn’t I just let him destroy himself?”

  The beast’s gaze hardened, and the air around Aargon seemed to grow heavier. “Because his destruction will not be his alone. If Izzar falls to The Void’s corruption, he will take everything with him. Worlds, galaxies—everything you know and everything you don’t.”

  Aargon felt his anger falter, replaced by a cold dread. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The memory of the sun’s warmth still lingered, faint but undeniable. “And what if I don’t stop him?” he asked quietly.

  The beast didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it raised a massive clawed hand and pointed toward Aargon’s shoulder. “Look at yourself. Oblivium has already touched you. It healed your body when nothing else could. It is offering you a choice.”

  Aargon glanced at his shoulder, his fingers brushing over the now-unbroken skin. The memory of the pain was still vivid, but the wound was gone as though it had never existed. His mind raced, trying to reconcile the impossible. “It healed me,” he said, almost to himself. “But… why?”

  “The Oblivium does not choose lightly,” the beast said. “It sees potential in you. Strength you have yet to discover.”

  Aargon looked back at the beast, his jaw tight. “And what if I say no? What if I don’t want this… this power?”

  The beast’s glowing eyes seemed to pierce straight through him. “Then the universe will fall, and you will fall with it.”

  The beast turned and began walking deeper into the cave, its massive frame disappearing into the shadows. “Come,” it rumbled, its voice echoing off the cavern walls. “There is little time.”

  Aargon hesitated, his legs refusing to move. “Why should I trust you?” he called after the creature. “How do I know you’re not using me, just like Izzar did?”

  The beast stopped, its head turning slightly. “You don’t,” it said. “But you’ve already felt The Void’s touch. It is not something you can escape. The question is not whether you will use it, but how.”

  The weight of its words left Aargon frozen. He knew the beast was right. The power had already claimed him, whether he wanted it or not. With a deep breath, he forced his legs to move, following the beast into the darkness.

  The cavern opened into a massive chamber, its walls shimmering faintly with an otherworldly light. At its centre stood an altar carved from black stone and etched with intricate symbols that seemed to pulse with energy. Atop the altar rested a glowing blue stone, its surface alive with swirling patterns of light.

  The beast gestured toward the stone with one massive claw. “Touch it,” it said. “Begin your journey into The Void.”

  Aargon stared at the stone, his heart pounding. It radiated power, its glow mesmerising. He stepped closer, his hand hovering over its surface. The energy emanating from it was almost magnetic, pulling him in.

  “This is madness,” he whispered to himself. But the pull was undeniable.

  “Choose,” the beast said simply. “Touch the stone, or walk away. But understand this: once you begin, there is no turning back.”

  Aargon’s hand trembled as he reached for the stone, his mind a storm of doubt and determination. The future he had seen in his vision loomed over him, a shadow he couldn’t escape. He closed his eyes and made his choice.