Lloyd was lying on the cold ground. The surface beneath his hand was not soil, not stone, not metal. It was something like the face of a frosted mirror, rippling gently, as if something alive were breathing beneath it.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. There was no sky. Above him stretched only endless whiteness. Without direction. Without time.
He looked around. There were no walls. Yet he felt enclosed.
In a voice no longer burdened by a stutter, Lloyd said:
"…Where am I?"
Nothing answered. Instead, something began to take shape before him. First a shadow. Then light. Then bone. Then fire. Then a faceless human. Then a monster with a thousand eyes. Then a laughing child. Then an old man in tears.
The form shifted every moment. Its temperament changed. The way it looked at him changed. It was as if a thousand personalities were trapped inside one unstable body.
And then a voice came. Not from a single throat, but from many throats, many tones, many ages:
"Welcome… mortal."
Lloyd stepped back.
The being continued:
"I am Araka."
Each time its name was spoken, the surroundings rippled. Lloyd felt his mind unable to stabilize its form.
"You… are you an angel? A demon?"
Araka laughed. A childlike laugh. Then a mad laugh. Then a sorrowful one.
"I am neither angel nor demon. I existed before the division."
Silence.
Lloyd stood. His knees did not hurt. Only then did he realize. He felt no pain. He had no stutter. His breathing was calm.
"Where is this place?"
Araka raised its hand. The hand became a branch. The branch became light. The light became a crack. And suddenly, the space around them fractured.
Within the fissures, worlds could be seen: cities burning, skies torn apart, beings fighting in the void, and universes cracking like glass.
Araka grew calmer. For a few seconds, its form stabilized — resembling a tall human with endless eyes.
It said:
"You… are like me, mortal."
Its voice was no longer layered. It was deep. Heavy.
"What is your name?"
Lloyd opened his mouth. He wanted to say, "Lloyd Smith." But before a word could leave him—
Space was torn open. Not like something breaking, but like a vast fabric being ripped apart.
From the rift, something emerged: a cosmic entity, larger than the concept of size, with four arms and a single closed eye at the center of its faceless visage.
Its skin was completely white — not the white of light, but the white of absence. Chains of golden light coiled around its body. The chains neither restrained it nor set it free. They seemed to be law itself.
With its arrival, reality began to collapse. The cracks spread. The worlds within the fissures went dark. The sound of concepts shattering echoed through the expanse.
Araka did not retreat, but its form destabilized. Multiple faces appeared and vanished across its body.
In a tone that was cautious for the first time, it said:
"Creator of Truth… you are here?"
The cosmic being did not move, yet a voice came. Not from a mouth, not from space, but directly within consciousness:
"Human… mortal."
Just those two words. And those two words alone were enough to make the surface beneath Lloyd ripple violently.
Suddenly, Araka turned toward Lloyd. Its many voices spoke at once:
"Go, human mortal."
Before Lloyd could react, a gray mist coiled around him. But it was no ordinary mist. It was a fusion of white light and darkness. Not bright. Not dark. Something between the two.
The mist clung to his body. It was neither warm nor cold. Only empty.
Lloyd tried to scream — his throat opened, but no sound came out.
The world twisted in on itself. The closed eye of the cosmic being trembled for a brief moment.
And Lloyd vanished into the mist.
The whiteness… fractured.
And everything fell silent.