Requiem of the Forgotten

Prologue – A Dying Reality

The first thing I remember is the silence.

Not the kind that soothes. Not the kind that brings peace.

This silence is wrong.

Hollow. Endless. As if sound itself has been erased, as if the universe has forgotten how to exist.

I stand at the edge of something vast, something final.

Above me, the sky isn't a sky—it's fractured, a broken tapestry of black and gold where time twists and unravels. Stars collapse, swallowed by the void. The sun is gone. The ground beneath me isn't ground at all, just the memory of something that once was. Ruins dissolve into dust, consumed by an emptiness that stretches further than thought.

And at the heart of it all, a throne.

Cracked. Ancient. Built from the remnants of things that were never meant to be forgotten. It sits atop a ruin that once held a name—my name—but even that has faded, just another fragment swallowed by the dark.

A figure rests upon it.

A reflection of myself. And yet—not me.

His form flickers, dissolving at the edges like mist caught in a storm. Something about him is wrong, something fundamentally broken. He doesn't breathe. Doesn't move. Yet his presence bends reality around him. Even the void seems reluctant to touch him.

At his fingertips, the last remnants of existence unravel—glowing strands of light, twisting and fading into nothing.

He watches me.

"So, you made it."

His voice stretches across countless echoes, worn and frayed, as if it has spoken these words a thousand times before.

"After everything, after all that struggle… tell me. Did you find what you were looking for?"

I don't answer.

Because I don't know.

Because I don't remember.

Only that it led me here. To this moment. To him.

Countless lives. Endless cycles. Choices stacked upon choices, regrets bleeding into more regrets. I feel them all, pressing down on me like gravity, like the weight of a thousand mistakes that can't be undone.

It all comes down to this.

A step forward. A breath drawn. A hand reaching—

And then—

Everything collapses.

A rewind.

A sky ablaze with falling stars.

A world on the brink of something vast, something inevitable.

A boy standing beneath it all, staring up at the heavens as something unseen begins to stir.

A story beginning where it should have ended.

And the first words spoken into the void—

"This time will be different."

Chapter 1 – The End Before The Beginning

A shrill beeping shatters the silence.

My hand slams onto the nightstand, misses, and sends my phone clattering to the floor. The alarm dies with a pathetic thud.

I groan, dragging myself up. My head pounds, my mouth is dry, and for a long moment, I just sit there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what the hell I just dreamed.

I reach for my phone . No messages. Just news feeds cluttered with talk about some meteor shower happening tonight. People are already posting blurry photos of the sky. Once-in-a-century cosmic event, the headlines claim.

Nothing. Just a vague sense of wrongness lingering in my gut.

I force myself to move, stumbling through my morning routine—half-assed, automatic. Wrinkled uniform. A toothbrush barely scraping against my teeth. The muffled voices of my parents in the kitchen.

Arguing. Again.

Same topic, different day.

I slip out before they can drag me into it.

Outside, the city moves in its usual rhythm. People rush past, lost in their own worlds. Car horns blare. Conversations blur together. The hum of construction rumbles in the distance. I keep my head down, blending into the flow of bodies.

At the school gates, students chatter, their words overlapping—

"Are you staying up to watch?"

"They say it's once in a lifetime."

"Some think it's an omen."

I barely register their words. Just another distraction. Just another thing people will obsess over before moving on.

First period drags. Literature. The teacher drones on about poetic symbolism while I stare out the window, watching the sky.

Even the birds look more focused than me.

By lunch, the whole school is buzzing. The meteor shower. Apparently, it's going to be massive. Scientists are calling it unprecedented.

I scroll through my phone. Headlines flood my feed. Blurry images of the sky. Speculation. Excitement.

And yet—

The more I read, the heavier that feeling in my gut becomes.

Something is off.

I don't know why. I don't know how.

But I can feel it.

The day drags on. By the time I make it home, the sky is already shifting toward dusk. My parents are out—good. No awkward small talk, no fake concern.

I drop my bag, flop onto my bed, and stare at the ceiling. Normally, I'd waste time on my phone, but tonight…

Tonight feels different.

The air is thick, charged, like the world is holding its breath.

I shake off the unease, telling myself it's nothing. Just another night. Just another distraction.

I wish I could believe that.

My phone vibrates.

[8:23 PM] Lukas: You guys seeing this? This is insane.[8:24 PM] Emilia: Bro, it's just starting. Chill.[8:25 PM] Lukas: No, I mean the sky looks weird. Like… really weird.[8:26 PM] Noah: tf u talking about

A pause.

Then, almost on instinct, I push the curtains aside.

And my breath catches.

The sky is wrong.

The meteors don't arc gently like falling stars. They carve jagged, erratic paths—sharp, deliberate, unnatural. Some vanish midair, blinking out like a glitch in reality. Others linger too long, their trails searing into the night like scars.

A weight settles in my chest.

Another buzz.

[8:31 PM] Lukas: Okay, no, seriously. wtf is happening.[8:31 PM] Emilia: wdym? looks fine to me[8:32 PM] Lukas: Look at the moon.[8:32 PM] Noah: …

I don't want to look.

But I do.

And my breath stops.

The moon is wrong.

Not just slightly off—completely, impossibly wrong.

It's too large. Too close. Its surface flickers, shifting between clarity and distortion, like a reflection on disturbed water. As if it isn't real. As if something else is pushing through it, using it as a mask.

And then—

The sky splits.

Not from a meteor. Not from an explosion.

Something else.

The night peels away, a tear ripping through the fabric of the world. Beneath it, there is no light, no void—just absence. A nothingness so absolute it feels alive.

I can't move.

Can't breathe.

Because deep down, I know—

This isn't just a meteor shower.

This is the beginning of the end.