"Order or Chaos—which do you believe will prevail when all comes to an end? Or perhaps, it is neither. Could it be that the strongest shall remain, transcending both order and chaos?
Yet, strength itself is subjective. Is it the brute force to endure, or the resilience to adapt? Is it the power to impose order, or the audacity to embrace chaos?
When the final curtain falls, perhaps it is not a question of which prevails, but whether the struggle between them is the essence of existence itself. For in the dance of order and chaos, we may find not an answer, but the eternal rhythm of being."
By Author
At the beginning of any journey, there should be theatrics, right? But does it really matter?
“No!” he shouted, though no one heard him. Who was he yelling at? Was it the universe, fate, or himself? Perhaps he was simply yelling for the sake of it.
Truly, who could say?
Then it happened—a sound, sharp and unnatural, broke the silence as space itself fractured. From this rupture, creatures stirred, drawn to the disturbance. These beings were not of one origin but a convergence of anomalies, each commanding respect through their sheer strength. Yet, they were indifferent that day. When they saw the source of the disturbance—a foreign soul breaching their realm—they lost interest. After all, this was not the first time in their millennia-long existence that they had witnessed such a phenomenon.
But For a human observer, the unfolding scene defied all logic. A moment so strange it defied explanation.
A boy, no older than 14 or 15, was hurled through the crack in space, propelled at unimaginable speed. His descent was so swift that, had he been an ordinary human, the force would have turned his insides to pulp on impact. Yet, he wasn’t ordinary. He looked human, but appearances can be deceiving.
With a resounding thud, he struck the ground. The earth beneath him cracked, buckled, and then, strangely, rebounded back to normal as if nothing had happened. This was no ordinary place; this was the Forest of Graham, a realm far stranger than the boy himself.
As for the boy, the events were beyond his understanding. Not that it mattered—he was unconscious. Simple as that.
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After some time, the boy stirred awake. First, his fingers twitched, then his eyes fluttered. A low groan escaped his lips—“Ugh.” Slowly, his eyes opened, but darkness greeted him.
[AN: As this is all happening, his mind telling his eyes are moving but it is not moving at all]
He tried to focus, to make sense of his surroundings, but his vision failed him. Were his eyes unable to adapt? Or was something obstructing his sight?
Fear—that's what anyone would feel if suddenly stripped of their vision. But the boy felt nothing. I told you, he wasn’t ordinary. He was something unique, something not of this world. He didn’t belong here.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Rising from the ground where he had been lying, he paused and listened. The wind whispered, leaves rustled as it passed through the trees, and the earth hummed softly beneath him. He crouched, placing his hands on the ground, feeling the vibrations of life below—the wriggling of tiny insects moving through the soil. Then, he sat cross-legged, entering a meditative state.
He focused inward, channeling his energy, letting it flow through his body and outward, seeking any signs of damage. What he discovered left him astonished.
Internally, his body was pristine. His heart, kidneys, and energy points—all functioning perfectly. But externally? His body was ruined beyond comprehension.
Every orifice of his body was sealed shut. No nostrils to breathe, no eyes to see, no pores on his skin—nothing. His surface was impossibly smooth, unnaturally clean.
It was disturbing. Deeply, undeniably disturbing.
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Before we return to the boy, let’s examine the place where he was transported: the Graham Forest, also known as the Black Wilds. Only 20% of this vast, enigmatic forest has been explored, and even the anomalies dare not venture too deeply into its heart.
The boy’s arrival point was on the eastern edge of the forest, near the Kingdom of Britannia. Despite their power, Britannia’s forces have only managed to chart 3% of the forest before their teams were utterly annihilated—a feat not easily accomplished. The boy, however, found himself at the center of the eastern expanse.
This specific location was known as Arlam’s Atoll, a strange and foreboding land. It doesn’t harm its inhabitants directly, but it doesn’t let them leave either—whether they are living or not. Worse still, it toys with their minds, stripping away sanity piece by piece. The rule here is simple: never fall asleep.
But the boy didn’t know that.
Arlam’s Atoll is said to be under the dominion of Zlegaas, an enigmatic entity. Monster or beast—no one truly knows. How its name became known is another mystery, though the anomalies are rumored to have spread the tale.
Now is not the time to linger on the past or unravel these secrets. Instead, let’s return our focus to the boy himself.
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As he channeled energy through his body, his transformation began. His skin started to repair itself, regenerating in patches until it was whole again. His eyes grew back, their vacant sockets gradually filling with life. His ears unfolded, returning to their natural shape, and his hair, once scattered on the ground, regrew into its familiar blackish brown strands.
Pores appeared across his smooth skin, and soon, a small slit formed on his face—a mouth. At first, it was tiny, but it expanded steadily, taking on a human shape. A tongue sprouted, followed by teeth, and little by little, his sense of taste returned.
When he finally looked around, he was astonished. The forest was... normal. No ominous signs, no immediate danger.
This place, if only he realized, only reacts to those who sleep. While awake, it remains passive. But the boy didn’t know that yet.
He stood, stretching his limbs and exhaling a long sigh of relief. He could feel again, see again, taste again. The sensation was a small comfort after the ordeal he had just endured.
His appearance was unremarkable: brown eyes, black hair, and Whitish Brown Skin. He wore simple clothing—a pair of blue pants and a black t-shirt. No armor, no tools, nothing.
“Now,” he muttered, scanning the area, “where did he dump me this time?”
Closing his eyes, he extended his senses, reaching out to detect anything nearby. “Just animals, I guess.”
But his mind lingered on the unsettling thought: what had happened to him? His body, mutilated and reformed, bore the marks of interference—intentional and deliberate. Someone or something had done this to him, and he didn’t even know who. Granted, he’d been unconscious, but still... what the hell?
“Another thing to worry about,” he sighed. Shaking off the thought, he took a step forward. “Let’s just get moving for now.”
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