A man stood up standing in a dark ever more dark place that had no sign of life light or anything other than darkness. Except for him yet this wasn't true just a few feet from the man a being appeared out of the ever expanding darkness a woman dressed in a black flowing dress with a hood covering her eyes leaving only the bottom of her face revealed.
" I am death, I shall give you a choice take my hand and pass on or fight me for a second chance."
This is Pricilla the goddess of death
The man thought
As soon as her words reached his ears a vicious smile grew over his face as he dashed forward colliding with death herself sending her flying.
Landing she extended her arm and called forth a scythe and launching a counter attack only to be blocked by the man's arm parrying the attack.
The fight raged on for an unknown amount of time
due to the environment they resided in.
Until the man was hunched over with an inhuman look in his eyes, however Pricilla was smiling lustfully at the man before her
"I need you, I grant you my exramicy. Only return when you are the true you"
Finishing her statement she snapped her fingers
...
Within a classroom a boy sat in the very middle near a window, his name was Solaris Gunther, though that was not something he often shared with people. In fact, very few individuals even knew his true name. To most people, he was simply another unremarkable student drifting through the halls of school like a shadow—present, but rarely noticed. Someone whose existence blended seamlessly into the background of everyday life.
The name "Solaris" had been given to him by his parents, though it was a name that had rarely been spoken since he was very young. In truth, only one other person outside of his family had ever learned it—a random classmate from years ago.
Instead, the name most people knew him by was "Shard," a nickname that had emerged during his middle school years. It was not a name born from friendship or admiration, but rather from curiosity—and perhaps a little mockery.
The nickname was tied to a strange mark that covered his right forearm. It was a triangular patch of black pigmentation, sharp-edged and oddly geometric, stretching from his wrist up toward his elbow and circling the entire forearm. Its shape almost resembled a broken shard of glass embedded within his skin, which was likely how the nickname began.
What made the mark truly strange, however, was that he did not remember how it had appeared.
It was not something he had been born with, nor was it the result of an injury he could recall. One day during the seventh grade, he had simply woken up and found it there, as if it had always existed. There had been no pain, no itching, no discomfort of any kind. Because of that, he had initially dismissed it as some strange late-developing birthmark.
Unfortunately, his classmates had found it far more interesting than he did.
It quickly became a topic of conversation, speculation, and eventually teasing. Before long, the nickname "Shard" had spread through the school.
Ironically, that brief period of attention had been the first—and nearly the only—time in his life that people truly noticed him.
Academically speaking, Solaris was neither particularly talented nor especially incompetent. His grades hovered comfortably in the middle range; good enough to pass every class without trouble, but not impressive enough to draw praise from teachers. He did not participate in sports teams, clubs, or extracurricular activities of any kind. His days followed a simple, predictable routine: attend school, complete assignments, go to work, and return home.
Most days, he only interacted with one person in any meaningful way, usually a teacher during class discussions or the occasional classmate when group work was unavoidable. Outside of those brief exchanges, he made little effort to engage with others, choosing instead to keep to himself.
It was not that Solaris disliked people. He simply found a certain comfort in solitude.
Building meaningful connections required time, emotional energy, and a level of vulnerability that he had never been particularly eager to invest. Perhaps that reluctance was a kind of defense mechanism developed over years of instability. If he had to give a reason for it, he might say that he preferred solitude because it allowed him to remain closer to the family he never truly had.
Though if he was being honest with himself, that was not entirely the truth either.
His mother had left when he was six years old. One day she had been there, and the next she had simply vanished. There had been no dramatic goodbye or heartfelt explanation—just an empty apartment and a silence that lasted far longer than any words she could have spoken.
His father had already been gone long before that.
When Solaris had been only two years old, the crushing weight of financial debt and personal failure had driven his father to take his own life. Solaris did not remember him at all. The only knowledge he had came from fragmented records and the occasional reluctant explanation from social workers.
After his mother disappeared, Solaris spent the majority of his childhood drifting from one foster home to another. Some of those homes were tolerable, others far less so. None of them ever truly felt like a place where he belonged.
Life remained like that for many years—temporary beds, unfamiliar faces, and the quiet understanding that he would eventually have to move again.
Everything finally began to change when he turned sixteen.
He managed to secure a small job, working long hours whenever school allowed it. With enough persistence and careful saving, he eventually earned just enough money to rent a small apartment. The building owner, a surprisingly kind man given the circumstances of the neighborhood, agreed to lower the rent slightly after hearing about Solaris's situation.
The apartment itself was far from luxurious. It was a modest single-room unit with a small bathroom, located on the thirty-third floor of a towering residential building in one of the city's poorer districts.
Given his limited income, the room was sparsely furnished. He owned little more than a mattress placed directly on the floor and a small microwave used to prepare most of his meals. There was no television, no couch, and very little decoration to speak of.
Despite its simplicity, however, the apartment represented something incredibly important to him.
Stability.
Compared to the constant movement and overcrowded chaos of foster homes, this small, quiet room felt like a sanctuary.
Of course, there were moments when the isolation became noticeable. Living alone meant long stretches of silence where the only sounds were the distant hum of the city and the occasional footsteps from neighboring apartments. At times like those, Solaris could not help but wonder what it might feel like to share the space with someone else—to have a real conversation, to hear laughter echo against the walls.
Yet even with those moments of loneliness, he still deeply appreciated the independence his apartment provided. For the first time in his life, he had a place where he could exist entirely on his own terms. A place where he could think, study, rest, and plan for whatever future might lie ahead.
However, this was not the story he wished to tell.
His true story would begin only a day from now.
As the droning voice of the teacher discussing the history of the school gradually faded into the background, Solaris's attention drifted away from the classroom. His eyes wandered toward the large window beside his desk, eventually settling on the courtyard outside.
The scene there was surprisingly peaceful.
A small cluster of trees stood in the center of the courtyard, their leaves swaying gently in the wind. The soft rustling of branches created a quiet rhythm that contrasted sharply with the dull monotony of the lecture taking place behind him. Beneath the trees, patches of grass moved with the breeze in a subtle, almost hypnotic dance.
It was a simple sight, yet strangely captivating.
These patches of greenery were far more significant than they appeared. Trees like these were remnants of a world that had largely disappeared. Nearly two hundred and eighty years ago, forests and natural landscapes had been far more common across the planet. Over time, however, the relentless growth of human populations had consumed vast portions of the natural environment.
Cities expanded. Housing developments multiplied. Forests were cleared to make room for steel and concrete.
Eventually, the damage became impossible to ignore.
In response, the government enacted a series of environmental preservation laws. One of those laws required every school, hospital, and prison to maintain a minimum number of trees—usually between six and eight—within their courtyards or surrounding grounds. The measure was small compared to what had been lost, but it was at least an attempt to preserve a fragment of the natural world.
As Solaris watched the branches sway against the pale afternoon sky, his thoughts drifted further and further away from the classroom.
He began imagining what the world must have looked like centuries ago, before cities dominated every horizon. In his mind, he saw endless forests stretching across valleys and mountains, rivers flowing freely through untouched landscapes, and fields of vibrant green farmland supporting small human settlements.
He imagined a time when humanity lived alongside nature rather than replacing it—when the earth itself seemed alive with color and movement.
It must have been breathtaking.
Lost within these thoughts, Solaris barely noticed the moment when the lecture ended.
His attention snapped back to reality when the teacher suddenly slammed his hand against the desk, the sharp sound echoing through the quiet classroom.
"The class is over," the teacher said flatly. "You're free to leave. I'll see you on Monday."
Solaris nodded quietly before gathering his belongings.
As he made his way toward the classroom door, he overheard a small group of students excitedly discussing their plans for the weekend. Their voices carried a mixture of enthusiasm and anticipation—plans for parties, outings, and gatherings with friends.
Once his bag was secured over his shoulder, Solaris stepped into the hallway and began the familiar journey home.
Despite the fact that his apartment building was technically only three streets away from the school, the actual distance between the two locations stretched nearly five and a half miles. Walking the entire route would easily consume more than an hour of his time, something he preferred to avoid whenever possible.
Because of that, he often relied on the city's shared vehicle program.
...
Little did Solaris realize that by this time tomorrow…
His life would collapse completely.
And something far stranger would begin.