Chapter Text
Long before memory, before a single story was etched into stone or whispered around the fire, there was Aurorix. A living world, vast and whole, where gods walked among mortals and every shadow hid a creature of legend. Werewolves stalked beneath the moon, vampires thrived in the dark, angels and demons waged their eternal contests, and humanity—fragile yet unyielding—sought its place between giants.
For thousand years, there was harmony. Light and darkness moved in tandem, each shaping the other. But peace does not endure. The angels grew arrogant, flooding the world with their light until the balance cracked. Creatures of shadow withered under their radiance—vampires starved, beasts of night dwindled. The angels saw no tragedy, only triumph. To them, the children of darkness were vermin to be purged, their suffering a step toward the “greater good.”
The demons rose in fury. They pleaded with the angels for reason, but their words fell on deaf ears. So they answered in blood. War swept across Aurorix, a war not of conquest, but of survival, to restore the balance that sustains all life.
For years the heavens burned and the earth wept, until the mortal races could bear it no longer. They cried out to the gods, begging for deliverance from ruin. And the gods answered. Yet they did not see the demons’ true purpose—that without darkness, life cannot endure. Blind in their judgment, the divine tore Aurorix apart.
They split the world into four realms:
The World of the Supernatural, for the wolves, vampires, and beings of myth.
Heaven above, where the angels would reign.
Hell below, where the demons would seethe.
And a barren world without magic—left to humankind.
From that day forth, no one crossed between worlds. No one… until me.
I am the first of the non-divine to walk the paths that were sealed. Chosen by Equilibria—goddess of Balance, Fate, and Divine Justice—I carry her command. The demons rise once more, and the Supernatural World trembles on the brink of ruin.
This is where my story begins.
Let’s rewind a little bit, shall we? It started in late September, if I remember right. I’d just moved into my new apartment in the city my father’s company, SyGenix, was building. Not just any city, either. His big dream was to create the most advanced metropolis of the century—a place where architecture and technology blended into some sleek vision of the future. Years of planning, construction, and endless corporate bragging, and here I was: one of the first residents of this shining monument to human progress.
Which sounds cool in theory. In practice, it meant I was basically living in a ghost town. Empty streets, bare intersections, and entire blocks still under scaffolding. No traffic. No noise. No neighbors. The perfect modern utopia—if utopia meant eerily silent, borderline creepy, and slightly depressing.
But hey, perks of being the builder’s son: I got a prime apartment dirt cheap.
So there I was, surrounded by boxes, half-unpacked furniture, and the faint smell of fresh paint. After a couple hours of lugging things around, I finally dumped the last box in my room and collapsed on the couch. My stomach growled, reminding me that human beings require food even when their lives are in shambles. So I dragged myself into the kitchen, threw something together—don’t ask me what, it’s lost to history—and sat down to eat.
I got exactly one bite in before my evening took a nosedive straight into insanity.
It started with heat. The air thickened like I’d opened an oven door, and before I could blink, the center of my living room lit up in a rush of fire and sparks. Not metaphorical fire. Not a flickering candle. We’re talking miniature sun, right there on my brand-new floor.
I did the logical, mature thing any self-respecting adult male would do in this situation. I screamed. Like a girl. A very high-pitched girl. But since nobody was around to confirm it, I will deny it until the day I die.
In my panic, I tripped over the arm of the couch and landed behind it, peeking over like some discount action hero hiding from the world’s worst pyrotechnic accident. The flames swirled, condensed, and then—because apparently reality had completely lost the plot—shaped themselves into a figure.
She wasn’t human. That much was obvious.
The first thing I noticed were her eyes: golden, molten, like lava poured into sockets. Her clothes shimmered emerald green, flowing as though caught in a breeze that didn’t exist. Her presence filled the room like gravity—impossible to ignore, impossible to fight. And behind her, arching wide, were wings of white so sharp they looked like they’d been carved from light itself.
I stared. She stared back.
Finally, because my brain short-circuits under stress, I yelled, “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?! Who the hell are you?! Actually, you know what? I don’t care—Halloween called, they want their stripper back!”
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. And then she laughed. Not polite laughter. Not awkward chuckling. Full, ringing laughter, like I’d just cracked the world’s funniest joke.
“Excuse me?” I said, climbing to my feet. “You break into my home, set off a light show big enough to fry my retinas, and now you’re laughing at me? What the hell is wrong with you?!”
She didn’t answer. Just… kept smiling at me.
“Okay, fine.” I crossed my arms. “You combustible lawnmower, explain yourself. What are you doing here? Because even my grandma knows you don’t just show up in someone’s apartment uninvited.”
At last, she spoke, and her voice carried a weight that pressed against my chest. “I am Equilibria. Goddess of Balance, Fate, and Divine Justice. The one who split the worlds when the old wars raged. And I have chosen you, Phoenix.”
I blinked. “Yeah, sure. Right. Totally. Equilibria, goddess of… whatever. Nice cosplay, by the way. Contact lenses really sell it. But here’s the thing—you clearly escaped from a hospital or a comic con, and either way, you’re in the wrong apartment. So, uh… I’m calling the police.”
I turned to grab my phone—only to smack headfirst into an invisible wall. I staggered back, clutching my nose, while she laughed again.
“Seriously?!” I snapped. “You put up invisible walls now? What are you, my grandma’s Wi-Fi?!”
Her smile didn’t falter. “You cannot leave until you hear me.”
“Oh, I’ve heard you. Loud and clear. ‘I’m a goddess, balance of the worlds, blah blah blah.’ Great story. Needs workshopping. Now, if you’d kindly drop the forcefield before I give myself a concussion, that’d be great.”
Her expression hardened slightly. “Phoenix, the worlds are shifting. Darkness rises again. If the balance fails, all will fall. I have chosen you to cross between realms and save them.”
I laughed so hard I nearly fell over again. “Save them? Me? Lady, I can barely save money, let alone worlds. You’ve got the wrong guy. Check the next apartment over. Oh wait—you can’t, because nobody else lives here yet!”
She stepped closer, her presence pressing down like a storm about to break. “You mock because you fear.”
“No, I mock because you’re insane. This is ridiculous. Wolf World? Demons? Balance? This is Netflix-reject material. Honestly, I’m expecting a laugh track any second.”
“Yet still you listen.”
That one hit harder than I expected. My mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Okay, fine. Let’s say—hypothetically—you’re not nuts. Why me? Why not literally anyone else?”
“Because you are the first in millennia to see between the cracks. Because you already walk out of step with your own world.”
I froze.
Her voice softened. “You have felt it, haven’t you? That you are misplaced. Standing before a door you cannot see, longing for what you cannot name.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s—none of your business.”
“It is exactly my business. And it is why you will go.”
“Yeah, no. Hard pass. Find someone else. I’ve got streaming shows to catch up on.”
“You already accepted,” she said calmly.
“What? No, I didn’t!”
“When you listened.”
“That doesn’t count! That’s just morbid curiosity!”
“It is enough.”
And then the floor trembled. Light blazed from the rift, flooding my apartment.
“Wait—no! Hold on! You can’t just send me! I don’t even have real pants on!” I yanked at my sweatpants. “These are loungewear! You expect me to save the world dressed like a slob?”
“The world will not remember your clothes,” Equilibria said, extending her hand. “Only your choices.”
“Oh, that’s rich. Great motivational poster, lady. But when I die horribly—and I will—I’m haunting you. I’m serious. I’ll knock paintings off your divine walls and mess with your celestial thermostat. You’ll regret this!”
The light swallowed the room. My couch, my food, the safety of my boring mortal life—all gone in a flood of white.
And the last thing I managed to yell before the world vanished beneath me was:
“THIS IS KIDNAPPING!