The morning sun filtered through the faded curtains, casting soft golden lines across the cracked ceiling. A crow cawed lazily outside as Lucan stirred under his thin blanket, groaning as he rolled onto his side.
He blinked at the light for a moment before sighing and sitting up. His body ached more than it should for someone his age, and his back cracked as he stretched.
"Still twenty-four." he mumbled to himself, dragging his hand down his face. "For one more day."
He fumbled for his phone on the side table. The screen lit up—Saturday, 6:43 AM. No classes today. He should've gone back to sleep, but his brain was already racing, quietly reminding him that tomorrow he'd turn twenty-five. Not that it meant anything. No celebration, no parties. Just another day, another tick forward.
He pushed himself off the bed and shuffled into the hallway of their modest home. The house wasn't small, but it felt small—tighter each year, quieter each morning. Faded family pictures lined the walls, their edges curled with age. He paused by one.
It was a photo of a family—blurry, hard to make out. A man, a woman, and a young boy. He was told it was taken on his fifth birthday. The last birthday they celebrated together.
He stared for a moment longer before heading into the kitchen. The scent of tea was already beginning to fill the air. His grandfather was seated at the small table by the window, staring blankly at a newspaper he likely couldn't read, his mind drifting in and out of clarity, as it often did. The Alzheimer's had worsened over the years, leaving him caught in a loop of forgotten names, misplaced memories, and moments of eerie silence.
"Morning, Grandpa." Lucan said gently, opening a cabinet and pulling down two mugs.
The old man didn't respond, just squinted at the same article as if the words might rearrange themselves into something familiar. Lucan smiled faintly.
"You know, tomorrow's my birthday." he said, pouring the tea.
The old man looked up, blinking. "Oh? That's nice, boy. Tell your father I said happy birthday, eh?"
Lucan's smile faltered.
He nodded slowly. "Yeah… I'll do that."
The knock came just as Lucan was rinsing the dishes.
Three taps, quick, then one slower tap.
He smirked. Only one person knocked like that.
Lyra.
His childhood friend. The only person who'd stayed by his side all these years—through the silence, the losses, the weight of a home that never felt whole. She was chaos and comfort wrapped in one, and though he'd never found the courage to say it out loud, he loved her. Always had.
He opened the door to find her standing there, dressed in a loose hoodie and jeans, a backpack slung lazily over her shoulder. Her dark eyes lit up.
"Look at you, already awake on a Saturday. What kind of psychopath are you?"
Lucan rolled his eyes and stepped aside. "Come in, your highness."
"Thank you, peasant." she said with a mock curtsy, walking past him and plopping down onto the couch. "No classes today, so I figured I'd drop by before you vanish into existential dread."
Lucan raised a brow. "That obvious?"
"You get gloomy every year around your birthday. It's like clockwork." She kicked her feet up, then added with a grin, "At least this year you got lucky. Sunday birthday. That's peak cosmic alignment."
"Yeah, maybe the universe is finally cutting me some slack."
They spent the day as they usually did—talking about professors, trashing assignments, watching half of a dumb movie and switching to something even dumber. Lucan never said it, but being around Lyra always made the air feel lighter.
They sat on the porch by evening, watching the sun set behind the distant trees. The sky bled into soft purples and oranges, and the breeze carried the scent of distant rain.
Lyra hugged her knees. "You think next year will be different?"
Lucan glanced at her. "Different how?"
"I don't know. Just… not this." She waved a vague hand toward the quiet street. "Not this place, not these people, not this same damn cycle."
Lucan thought about it. Thought about the photo. The hollow look in his grandpa's eyes. The ache in his chest that never fully went away.
"Yeah." he said quietly. "I hope so."
She stood up and slung her bag back on. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your pre-birthday crisis. Try not to spiral too hard."
He chuckled. "No promises."
She paused at the bottom of the steps, glancing up at him. "Happy early birthday, Lucan."
"Thanks." he said, watching her walk down the street until she turned the corner.
The house felt emptier after she left.
Lucan cleaned up the living room, picked up the used cups and snack wrappers, then helped his grandfather to bed. The old man seemed lucid for a moment, asking Lucan to turn off the hallway light, then quickly drifted into muttering dreams.
Dinner was simple. Reheated rice and vegetables. Afterward, Lucan sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through random videos, but nothing held his attention.
He glanced at the clock. 11:27 PM.
"Almost." he whispered, turning off the light and lying down. "Just another day."
Or so he thought.
The soft hum of the fan circled above as Lucan lay in bed, one hand behind his head, the other lazily scrolling his phone screen. Notifications popped up here and there—discounts he'd never use, random class group chats, a few forgotten emails.
11:58 PM.
He blinked, realizing how close he was to midnight. Twenty-five, huh… He didn't feel older. He didn't feel anything, really.
A buzz vibrated in his palm.
Lyra [11:58 PM]
"Advance happy birthday, dumbass."
Lucan smirked, exhaling through his nose. Of course she'd beat the clock just to mess with me.
He typed a quick reply:
"Thanks, but why advance? It's literally 11:58 lol."
He hit send just as the digital clock flipped.
12:00 AM
The reply didn't send.
The phone froze in his hand.
Then—
A sudden, sharp ringing exploded in his ears. Not from the phone. It was inside his head.
Lucan jolted up, gasping. A strange pressure wrapped around his chest like invisible chains tightening. The air turned thick, metallic—like trying to breathe in underwater blood.
His body began to tremble violently.
"What… the hell—?"
His voice fractured, barely a whisper. His fingers dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor and shattered.
And then it started.
A hot pulse-like electric wave crawled through his spine, arching his back so sharply he let out a strangled scream. A glowing barrier—like a cage of burning light—snapped into place around his bed, humming like an ancient machine awakening from eons of sleep.
His skin split open in thin glowing lines, crackling with cosmic energy, as if something buried inside him was clawing to get out.
"ARGGHHH—!"
Lucan's scream tore out of his throat. He clutched his chest, but his bones were moving, shifting beneath his hands—ribs twisting like roots, spine grinding as if it were trying to grow.
His legs spasmed uncontrollably, one foot snapping sideways with a sickening crack, only to bend back into place seconds later.
Blood poured from his nose, ears, and eyes, hissing against the glowing floor beneath him.
His vision blurred. His heartbeat thundered like war drums.
He looked down and vomited—not food, but light. Glowing sludge spilled out of his mouth, fizzing like acid and evaporating before it hit the floor.
His fingers twisted violently, skin peeling like paper, revealing radiant veins pulsing beneath—filled with shimmering silver instead of blood.
The pain wasn't just physical. It was memory and emotion weight crashing down on a mortal frame. His soul itself felt like it was being skinned alive.
"MAKE IT STOP—!"
But the cage only burned brighter. Symbols—ancient, alien—spun along its surface. Reality warped around him—walls stretched, shadows flickered unnaturally, and time itself stuttered.
And just when he thought it would kill him—
It stopped.
Lucan collapsed forward, twitching. Blood soaked through the mattress beneath him. His body was steaming, ribs visible beneath torn flesh, skin like cracked marble veined with light.
A soft chime echoed in the silence.
Floating inches from his face, a translucent screen blinked into existence. It pulsed with ethereal blue light, flickering as if unstable:
[God Gene Detected]
Authenticating Lineage...
Tier: Forbidden / Locked.
Initializing Host Sync...
Preparing Astral Shell…
Welcome, Abysswalker.
Lucan's eyes fluttered.
The last thing he saw was his own reflection in the floating screen—bloodied, eyes glowing faintly, a halo of swirling symbols encircling his head.
Then everything went black.
[End of Chapter 1]