Chapter 1: Mist Before Midnight and encounter in void
The dull glow of a monitor illuminated the young man's tired face. His fingers flew across the keyboard, the rhythmic clicking echoing through the nearly empty office.
"Done," he muttered, leaning back with a long sigh. A tiny pop-up on the screen confirmed it — Bug Patch Successful. Another day, another mess fixed for a game he didn't even play anymore.
Arzen — 22, orphan, full-stack developer, and professional insomniac — unplugged his headphones, shoved his laptop into a weather-beaten backpack, and left the dim-lit tech hub. The building's sensor lights flickered off behind him like closing eyes.
Outside, the city was soaked. Rain poured down in heavy sheets, drumming on the sidewalk like an impatient god tapping his fingers. Streetlights shimmered through the downpour, their halos blurred like distant stars. Arzen pulled up his hoodie, slid on his headphones, and hit play.
A low, nostalgic beat throbbed in his ears — something slow, old, and aching. Perfect.
His sneakers splashed through shallow puddles as he took the long way home. Not that there was anyone waiting.
"No one home," he murmured, not realizing he was speaking aloud. "Maybe just some leftover rice, if mold hasn't claimed it."
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
Empty fridge. Empty room. Empty life.
Just ahead, the road curved into an underpass — a stretch he knew too well. Dim, deserted, and haunted by silence. He glanced at the flickering light above and sighed.
"Maybe I'll grab ramen," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Again."
That's when he heard it.
The horn.
Too close.
Too loud.
He turned — a wall of headlights blinding him — and for a split second, time cracked open. The world slowed. The music in his ears distorted into something alien and stretched.
Then, nothing.
---
Darkness.
No pain. No sound. No body.
Only the sensation of falling.
And then, stillness.
When Arzen opened his eyes, he was no longer in Tokyo. He wasn't in any place he could name. There was no sky, no ground — only an endless expanse of shifting violet mist, like twilight held in place.
He stood. Somehow. His body felt light, almost unreal, like a half-forgotten dream. Around him, eleven others stood in a loose circle. They, too, looked confused. Their faces were obscured by swirling mist, and their outlines flickered like static. Male, female — young, old — it was impossible to tell.
Before them all stood her.
A woman — or the idea of a woman — cloaked in thick, glimmering mist. Her form was partially visible, but only just. Pale hands clasped before her. Long, flowing hair billowed as if underwater. Her presence was both gentle and terrible, like moonlight over a battlefield.
No one spoke.
Then her voice rang out, soft and layered like a chorus echoing in eternity.
> "Welcome, chosen fragments. You have been summoned to the Veil Beyond — the place between endings and beginnings."
The eleven others stirred, whispering to each other, still obscured by the haze.
Arzen just stared, jaw clenched. "What… is this?"
The mist parted slightly, revealing her eyes — vast, glowing pools of silver.
> "You died. And yet… your soul resisted oblivion."
> "Now, you will be given a choice."
The silence stretched long in the mist, broken only by uncertain footsteps and faint murmurs.
"Where… is this?"
"Is this some kind of dream?"
"Wasn't I just—"
"Dead?" Arzen finished grimly. "Yeah. I think we all were."
The veiled goddess stood motionless before them, radiant and untouchable, her form still cloaked in glimmering fog. The others' shapes remained indistinct, blurred at the edges by the same mist.
A woman's voice finally spoke up — cautious, shaken. "Can we go back? To our world?"
The goddess answered, her voice like wind in a temple: "You cannot return. Your physical forms have perished. If you refuse what is offered, your souls will simply pass into the cycle of rebirth, scattered and forgotten."
Someone else asked, "Then why bring us here?"
"You have been chosen," she said, "to protect a world not your own. A realm under threat by beings called Zanfacs — twisted entities from realms that were never meant to touch the living."
Murmurs rose again. Arzen stayed silent, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.
"To exist in Azurite," the goddess continued, "your souls must be harmonized with its energy. I will grant each of you a thread of this world's essence. It will protect you from rejection… and as a side effect, your souls will grow stronger."
She paused before adding, "You will be able to awaken two spirits instead of one."
Even through the mist, the shift in the air was palpable. Interest. Tension.
"From birth, you will live as natives of this world. The System will awaken."
Her voice deepened, as if carried from the depths of time.
"This system will not hand you weapons or power for free. It will guide you, show your growth, and reward your choices."
She explained:
> "You may view your Status, store items in your Inventory, receive Messages from the other transmigrants and myself. You'll be given Quests — tasks tied to karma and growth."
> "The Shop is unique. It will give you potions or magic items… also it can create knowledge: spells, martial arts, anything you can imagine — and once created, you will master them instantly."
Gasps rippled through the group.
> "But these cost Karma Points — earned by acts of virtue, survival against great odds, and especially by slaying Zanfacs. You will gain no karma from slaughtering innocent beasts. However, protecting others… always leaves a mark."
Then the mist thickened again.
"When the time comes, you will remember this."
One by one, their forms began to dissolve, like smoke returning to wind. Kaito felt his thoughts stretch, his consciousness pulled downward like a weight sinking through a sea of stars.
> "Live. Grow strong. And remember… this world was not given to you. It is entrusted."
Then everything went black.
*****