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Chrono of the Stolen Light
Chapter 1: Shadows of a Broken World

Chapter 1: Shadows of a Broken World

The planet of Aetheris was a land torn apart by its own ambition. Eighty years ago, humanity’s thirst for power cracked the fragile boundaries between realms, birthing an age of chaos. The Dungeon Breakout, as the cataclysm was now called, opened countless rifts across the world. From these rifts emerged labyrinthine dungeons, teeming with monsters beyond imagination. The creatures spilled into cities, leveling them in hours, their monstrous howls seared into the memories of the survivors.  

In the aftermath, humanity adapted, though it would never fully recover. Cities became fortresses, wrapped in protective wards and towering walls. Technology merged with magic, creating a hybrid world where Rankers, individuals trained to enter dungeons and fight monsters, became both saviors and weapons. Dungeons were no longer just threats—they were opportunities, brimming with treasures and magical artifacts. But Aetheris remained a place of uncertainty, where power could shift with a single misstep, and survival was a constant battle.  

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Cassian stood in the shadow of a crumbling alleyway, his breathing shallow and his hands trembling. The air smelled of rust and damp earth, a sharp contrast to the suffocating memories clawing their way into his mind.  

He felt it again.  

The sensation.  

It always started the same way—a creeping chill spreading from his fingertips, crawling up his arms, sinking into his chest. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as he struggled to ground himself. But the memories wouldn’t relent.  

The hands were back. Too many of them.  

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His vision blurred as phantom fingers clawed at him, icy and unfeeling, their touch seeping into his skin like venom. His heart slammed against his ribs, each beat a desperate plea for escape.  

“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Not again.”  

But the memories surged forward, a storm he couldn’t outrun. The hands multiplied, their cold grasp growing heavier, their unrelenting touch spreading like frostbite across his body. They were everywhere—climbing up his arms, dragging him down, smothering him.  

The laughter followed, detached and cruel. It slithered through his mind, a sound that didn’t belong to him but felt too real to ignore. It echoed in the void of his memory, each chilling note making his stomach churn.  

Cassian stumbled back, his shoulder striking the rough brick wall behind him. He barely noticed the pain. His vision was gone, replaced by the endless sea of phantom hands. They touched everything. His arms. His chest. His face. The places he swore no one could reach.  

“Don’t touch me,” he gasped, his voice trembling as the words fell from his lips like broken glass. “Don’t—”  

His legs gave out, and he sank to the ground, curling into himself as if he could shield his body from the invisible assault. His breaths came in short, ragged bursts, his throat burning from the effort.  

The cold laughter mocked him, lingering in the corners of his mind. No matter how tightly he clenched his fists or how hard he tried to block it out, it wouldn’t leave.  

Cassian squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to fade. He focused on the rough texture of the ground beneath him, the faint hum of distant streetlights, anything to pull himself back to reality. Slowly, the phantom touches began to recede, their icy grip loosening until they were nothing more than an ache in his chest.  

When he opened his eyes, the world returned in fragments—the cracked pavement, the dim glow of a neon sign flickering in the distance, the faint murmur of voices somewhere far away.  

He forced himself to his feet, his body trembling from the aftermath. His knuckles were raw, blood seeping from where his nails had dug into his palms. He stared at the crimson smudges, his expression hollow.  

“Get it together,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.  

The memories always left him like this: shaken, hollow, and haunted. No matter how far he ran, no matter how many walls he built around himself, they always found him.  

Cassian pulled his hood lower over his face and stepped into the shadows, disappearing into the labyrinth of the city. Somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of a siren cut through the night, a reminder of the fragile world they lived in. But for Cassian, the only battle worth fighting was the one raging inside him.  

And tonight, it had won. 

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