It began like any other day. Across the continents of Kewaa, the pulse of life beat strong. Towers hummed with graviton flow. Markets sang with overlapping melodies. Children raced through glowing sky-lanes, laughter trailing behind them like sparks.
In the floating city of Aurask, airships drifted between crystal arc bridges, their hulls engraved with generations of peace. On the volcanic slopes of Zhen Torrek, miners of molten stone ended their nightshift with mugs of blossom-fire cider. In the Skyhold of Nyxhal, the Elyari choirs rehearsed beneath the open dome, their voices lifting praise to the Radiant Suns.
And then… everything ended.
It wasn't thunder.
It wasn't sirens.
It was silence. Deep, thick, unnatural.
One breath later, the world cracked open.
They didn't fall from the skies. They didn't rise from the ground. They simply appeared.
From behind reflections. From inside crowded halls. From the corners of the eye.
And within the first three hours, half a million were dead.
The Fall of the First City
Zavren Prime—the capital district of the Tornari Republic—was the first to fall. Surveillance footage from the eastern gardens showed the same scene from dozens of angles: civilians walking, smiling, speaking… and then chaos.
A woman turns to speak to her son. Behind her, a mirrored sculpture begins to ripple. The reflection of her and her son vanish. In their place—something massive and faceless emerges, gliding forward as if weightless.
She doesn't scream. She doesn't have time.
That was Hour One.
By Hour Six, the continent of Tyrzen was lost. Towers crumbled. Rail lines melted. Shield domes turned inward.
The monsters were not one species. They came in hundreds of forms: some walked like men, others coiled like serpents with wings of ash. Some were silent, while others sang in bone-deep harmonies that cracked glass and drove listeners mad.
Some moved through shadow. Others walked through walls.
All killed with purpose.
Three Hours After the Last Roar
And then—after exactly 24 hours—they vanished.
Not a retreat.
Not a surrender.
Just… absence.
Cities still burned. The air still trembled. But the monsters were gone.
And in their place, only questions remained.
Aurask – Refugee District E3
Ressa Lom was ten when the Black Day began. She had been in school, staring at her reflection in her polished lesson slate. She remembered noticing that her reflection didn't blink when she did.
Now, a month and a day later, she sat under a cracked dome in a refugee shelter, clutching that same slate.
Her mother hadn't made it out of the train station. Her brother had gone missing trying to help evacuate the old priest from their neighborhood.
"Do you think they'll come back?" she asked the volunteer sitting next to her.
The woman smiled weakly. "No one knows."
"But what if they do?"
No answer.
Because no one had one.
Yurenahl Plains – The Last Signal
A single drone captured one final image before the attack ended. Sent from a scouting unit outside the biome-cradle of Niraen, it showed a field of broken trees and scorched grass.
At the center stood a figure.
Tall. Shrouded in light distortion. It held no weapon. It did not move. Its reflection on the water was slightly… wrong.
And then the feed died.
The Unanswered Questions of a Broken World
No one knows what they were.
Some believe they were nature's revenge, awakened by imbalance. Others call them ancient gods or forgotten sins. The scientists—what few remain—have no unifying theory.
All they know is this:
They came.
They destroyed.
They left.
And they did it all in a single day.
But the effects have not ended.
Some of the monsters that were killed left behind bodies. A handful—charred, shredded, or frozen in place by desperate last measures. Their corpses did not decay. Some turned to dust. Some turned to salt. One disintegrated into light.
No blood. No bones. Just residue.
As if they were never real.
Senate Hall – What Will We Do If They Return?
"We need contingency planning," said General Luthen Maar, pounding his fist against the cracked podium.
"With what weapons?" replied Councilor Virel. "We've thrown everything at them. Railguns. Mirror disruptors. Neural dampeners. They walked through all of it."
"The people demand answers."
"No one has any."
"Then give them hope."
Silence followed.
The Mirror Moment
In a low-lit bathroom in the medical wing of Ka'Venthal Memorial Outpost, a nurse bent over a basin to splash water on her face. She hadn't slept in two days.
When she looked up, her reflection was delayed by half a second.
Just enough for her breath to catch.
Nothing came through. Nothing attacked.
But something was watching.
She backed away slowly, never turning her back to the glass.
That mirror was later covered with a cloth and sealed in a lead case. No one spoke of it. It was never seen again.
One Month and 24 Hours Later
The world is quiet now.
Too quiet.
The flames have died. The cities are being cleared. Walls are being rebuilt.
But survivors don't sleep well.
Not because of nightmares.
Because of the silence.
Because they remember the moment the sky stilled before the monsters came.
And they fear that silence now more than anything else.
Because it might mean they're listening.
Because it might mean they're coming back.
And if they do…
No one knows if there will be anything left to save.
End of vol-1
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