When I was ten years old, I saw a monster in the sky.

It wasn't a figment of my imagination or a dream. It was as real as the air I breathed, a colossal shadow that blotted out the sun.

I remember that day vividly. The village was alive with the annual Sun and Sea Festival, vibrant with colors and laughter. I was there, lost in the excitement, a balloon clutched tightly in my hand. Then, without warning, the sky darkened, and the ocean began to roil. Other children stopped in their tracks, their smiles fading into confusion, then horror.

Above me, emerging from the clouds, was a creature of unthinkable size and form. It had writhing tendrils and eyes that glowed like molten gold. It hovered there, an otherworldly sentinel, surveying the world below with an inscrutable gaze.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my chest. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the creature vanished, dissolving into the ether, leaving behind a calm as if nothing had happened. But I wasn't the only one. Many children that day saw it. None of us knew then how important it was that we saw it. We were watching the sky, and the sky was watching us.

The adults called it a mass hallucination, a trick of light and shadow. A spontaneous storm we'd mistaken for something else—anything else. But I knew what I'd witnessed. What the other children had seen. It was the first time I glimpsed the veil lifting on a world far beyond our understanding, a world my parents were deeply entwined with. I just didn't know at the time just how deep.

I never thought the silence that followed could be so loud, so suffocating. Afterward, the sky was a perfect blue, the kind that promised endless possibilities. But as I returned home, still reeling from the vision of abrupt horror, the atmosphere shifted. Arelle, my home, my village, usually buzzing with life, was eerily quiet as if holding its breath. I felt a knot in my stomach, an unspoken dread I couldn't shake off.

It wasn't until I saw the solemn faces of our neighbors, gathered like mournful statues outside our house, that reality crashed into me. My parents, my anchors in this vast and confusing world, were gone. Taken by an accident, they said, a disaster linked to the mysterious research they were conducting at the Gaz Arms Laboratory in the mountains beyond Arelle. It sounded so clinical, so detached from the gaping hole that now tore through my heart.

Everything after that was a blur. The condolences, the funeral, the sea of sympathetic faces—they all merged into a gray haze. I remember standing beside their graves, the words of the priest washing over me, meaningless and distant. It felt surreal, like a scene from one of those somber movies my mother used to watch. But this was no movie. This was my life, and they were gone.

I was sent to live with my grandmother, Yarissa, a woman shrouded in mystery. Her house, nestled in the hilly forest on the outskirts of the village, seemed to exist in a different world. It was an ancient, brooding structure filled with relics and books that whispered secrets of a forgotten age.

The first few nights were the hardest. The silence was oppressive, filled with the ghosts of my former life. I'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the last words I'd said to my parents. If only I'd known they were the last.

Grandmother Yarissa was a stern presence, her demeanor as impenetrable as the walls of her house. She didn't speak much about my parents, but when she did, her voice carried a weight, a hidden pain that she carefully masked.

As days turned into weeks, I began to uncover the layers of my grandmother's world. It was a realm steeped in ancient rituals and dark secrets. One that I would, for better or worse, eventually become embroiled in the depths of.

I couldn't have known then, as I grappled with the shadows of my grief, that things would take a turn—one worse than I'd already experienced. One I was altogether unprepared for but would ultimately change everything.

—

In those early weeks at Grandmother's, I stumbled upon an old photo album one rainy afternoon. It was tucked away in a dusty corner of the library, its leather cover cracked with age.

As I leafed through it, I found pictures of my parents in their youth, alongside Grandmother and other people I didn't recognize. They were standing in front of ancient ruins, holding bizarre artifacts, and sometimes, they were with people who didn't look... entirely human. My heart raced as I realized that my parents' research at Gaz Arms Laboratory might have been more than just scientific exploration. They were part of a world that defied explanation, a world of mysteries and wonders.

One evening, as twilight crept over the horizon, Grandmother found me in the library, the photo album open in my lap. She didn't seem surprised. Instead, she pulled up a chair and began to speak, her voice low and steady.

"Your parents were extraordinary people, Kuro," she said, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.

I felt the breath catch in my throat.

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"Grandmother," I said tentatively. "Were my parents actually researchers?"

She raised an eyebrow at me questioningly.

"Why do you ask?" she said.

"Well," I admitted, pointing at one of the pictures. It was my father, carrying a giant egg—which was strange enough, but around his waist was something that looked like a sword. "I see pictures like this—what does it mean?"

Grandmother sighed, nodding resignedly before speaking.

"They were researchers, yes, Kuro. But they were also guardians of ancient knowledge, protectors of a balance that most people aren't even aware exists."

Grandmother Yarissa's gaze drifted to the photo album, lingering on a picture of my parents standing before a towering, ominous-looking monolith. "They dedicated their lives to studying and protecting the world from forces that lie beyond the usual understanding. Forces that, if left unchecked, could unravel the very fabric of our reality."

I looked up at her, my curiosity piqued. "What kind of forces? Are you talking about things like that monster in the sky?"

She nodded solemnly again.

"Yes, creatures like that and more. Your parents were part of a select group at Gaz Arms Laboratory. They weren't just scientists; they were warriors in their own right, fighting against the emergence of a great evil."

"A great evil?" I echoed, struggling to wrap my head around the concept.

"Mhm," Grandmother continued. "There are entities, ancient and powerful, that have existed since time immemorial. Your parents were involved in preventing one such entity from entering our world. It was a task that required not just knowledge, but immense courage and sacrifice."

I could feel a lump forming in my throat. "Is that how they died? Fighting this... entity?"

Grandmother's expression softened, a rare gift from her usual stoicism, and she reached across to squeeze my hand gently.

"They did what they had to do to protect us all. Their research, their battles... it was all to keep the balance, to keep such horrors at bay.

"But how did they do it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "How did they stop such powerful forces?"

For a moment, Grandmother's eyes seemed to hold a deep sadness and something else untold. Then, she smiled sadly and said, "Maybe one day, Kuro, you'll find out. When you're ready, the answers will come to you, just as they came to your parents."

—

Five years had passed since the day I lost my parents, since the sky first revealed its terrifying secret. Now fifteen, I was no longer the wide-eyed child who once watched in awe and terror. Under Grandmother Yarissa's tutelage, I had learned much about the hidden world my parents had been part of. Still, some mysteries remained unsolved, lingering in the back of my mind like shadows at dusk. Yet—I had learned all the same.

That summer evening, as I wandered through the same forest where my life had changed forever, the air was thick with the scent of pine mingling with the ocean breeze and a foreboding sense of déjà vu.

For some reason, I stopped. Something was wrong. I stood on the edge of the trees, overlooking our seaside village. The setting sun cast a fiery glow over the ocean, a deceptive calm before the storm.

As the twilight deepened, a familiar, chilling sensation crept up my spine. My eyes were drawn to the sky, where, like that fateful day five years ago, the atmosphere began to warp and twist. The air grew dense, electric. The villagers, seeming to also sense the change, spilled out of their homes. From my perch high above, I could make it all out and saw as panic and fear rippled through them, grabbing hold and taking root.

Then it appeared.

The same monstrous entity from my childhood nightmares, its massive form emerging from a tear in the sky. Its tendrils writhed against the backdrop of the darkening heavens, its eyes glowing ominously. The sight of it sent another wave of terror through the crowd. People screamed, clutching their loved ones, as the creature's presence seemed to bend the very reality around us.

The sea churned violently, waves crashing against the shore with unnatural force. The ground shook, and the air itself felt heavy, as if the creature was drawing the essence of our world into its maelstrom.

I could hear the villagers' frenzied cries, their terror a palpable force. Some prayed, some cried for help, but all were united in their horror at the cataclysmic vision before us. This was not just the children this time. The adults and the elders saw this specter of pandemonium as well—and they felt the same dread I once had. Amidst the chaos, I stood frozen, the creature's gaze fixated on me, a silent communication that echoed in the depths of my being.

It was then that the creature let out a deafening roar. This sound resonated beyond mere hearing—reverberations wracked my body, and I fell to the earth. The sky around the creature pulsed and throbbed as if it were alive, the fabric of our reality straining at the seams.

There was a bright flash of light—blinding and horrible. I heard more screams, but these ones were nothing a human could make. It was as if the wails of the damned had climbed out of hell, unearthed and trussed up to burrow within the fabric of this world. Slowly, my vision began to return to normal, and as it did, I could see that things were very, very different.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the creature retreated back into the tear in the sky, which sealed shut with a final, thunderous boom. The beast was gone, but it left behind a world irrevocably changed.

The villagers were in disarray. Fear and confusion lived here now. The once peaceful seaside village of Arelle had become the epicenter of a new, terrifying reality. Houses stood askew, the landscape altered as if by an invisible hand. The sea, previously a source of life and sustenance, now roared with an untamed ferocity.

I stood there amid the ruins of what was once my home, the legacy of my parents heavy on my shoulders. The creature's visitation was a harbinger, a prelude to the chaos that was to unfold.

I will never forget that day. Not just because of the monster. Not because of the terror it evoked in the people of my village, nor the way the earth had shifted into something nearly recognizable. It was because that was the day I began my path.

That was the day the apocalypse began.