Nyxborn-The Forgotten Etherium

Renar walked.

The cavern stretched on endlessly, its monolithic ruins looming like forgotten gods. Strange symbols lined the walls—ancient, indecipherable, yet eerily familiar.

The air felt wrong.

It was silent, but not in the way of an empty space. It was an unnatural stillness, as if the world here had stopped remembering it existed. Even his own footsteps made no sound, swallowed by the oppressive void.

Yet, something in the dark was watching.

He could feel it.

A presence unseen, lurking just beyond his perception.

Renar clenched his fist, but the motion felt foreign. His body was lighter, stronger, but it didn't feel like his own. The warmth of Etherium—his Etherium—was gone, replaced by the cold, silent weight of something else.

Nyx Etherium.

He didn't know what it was.

He only knew one thing.

"I shouldn't be alive."

Yet, he was.

The Surface

When Renar finally found an exit—a ruined archway leading to the surface—the first thing he saw was the sky.

And it was wrong.

The moon was gone.

Where there should have been silver light, there was only a starless void, an emptiness stretching across the heavens. Yet, the world itself remained illuminated, as if the sky had been erased, leaving only a forgotten dream of light behind.

He stepped forward, the ancient ruins fading behind him.

He was in a forest, though the trees were twisted, their bark blackened as if burned, yet untouched by fire. The grass was pale, almost white, swaying as though whispering secrets.

Everything felt off.

And then, he saw the road.

A simple dirt path, cutting through the woods. Familiar. He knew this road. It led to Solmaria's eastern provinces.

His heart pounded. If this was the same land, then—

He moved, faster than he thought possible, his body unnaturally light, as if the world itself struggled to acknowledge his existence.

An hour passed. Then another. The road stretched onward.

And then, he saw a village.

He exhaled, his first real breath of relief. Civilization. People. He could get answers.

But as he approached, his steps slowed.

Something was wrong.

The houses were unchanged, the marketplace still bustling, the guards still patrolling. The scent of bread, of smoke, of morning dew filled the air.

Everything was exactly as it had been before he died.

And yet—

The name 'Renar Ardentis' did not exist.

He watched, listened, searched for any trace of his name, his family, their crest.

There was nothing.

His house had never existed.

His family had never ruled.

The empire had moved on without him, the world reshaped as if he had never been born.

His grave did not exist.

His death did not exist.

He did not exist.

Renar staggered back, his breath sharp.

And then, for the first time since awakening—

He felt fear.