Dust of the Shattered Realms

The night sky stretched wide and serene, stars barely visible through a haze of drifting dust. It floated like ghostly veils over the empty road below, where a single car cut through the silence, headlights glowing through the mist. The dust swirled in their wake, tiny particles glinting in the headlights as if reluctant to let them pass, shrouding the car in an almost dreamlike cocoon.

Inside, warmth and laughter filled the small space. A father, his voice rich with pride, turned to the back seat. "Getting your ability this young? That's rare. I'm so proud of you, kiddo."

Beside him, the boy's mother smiled, reaching back to touch her son's face. "Maybe it feels a little wild now," she said softly, "but one day, I know you'll have it under control. You're meant for amazing things."

The father laughed, casting a playful glance at her. "Our little one's going to be a powerful hunter. Just wait, he's a müller after all!."

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "A hunter? You can forget about it, i'd rather die first, my beautiful son will be an engineer, Smart and safe."

Laughter echoed, their joy as warm as the glowing interior, a soft light flickering against the night—but then, a flash from outside, sharp and cold, pierced the car's cocoon of warmth.

In a split second, blinding lights tore through the dust-laden dark. The screech of tires, a violent collision of metal, glass shattering. The boy felt a strange, deep pull, a sensation that turned his stomach and tugged him away from everything.

Silence. He opened his eyes to the side of the road, drenched in rain, his small hands shaking. The crumpled wreck lay ahead of him, flames licking the night sky, smoke and dust mingling as shadows danced around the wreckage. In that terrible stillness, he stood alone, staring at the fire as his world collapsed into ash.

____

in a world similar to our own, but filled with dungeons of varying ranks, these mysterious gates appeared twenty-seven years ago, threatening humanity with extinction. With the emergence of dungeons, hunters arose—humans with supernatural abilities ranging from simple to complex. They are classified from Rank 0, where they begin, up to Rank 6, where they become legends. But above this pyramid are the Rank 7 hunters, whose power surpasses all imagination and cannot even be measured.

in this world of danger and opportunity, lives Alex Müller, an eighteen-year-old young man trapped between despair and failure. He lost his parents in a violent accident when he was six years old, and since then, he has endured a life filled with poverty and challenges. Before the accident, Alex lived a comfortable life with his parents, who were considered a well-off family. But that happiness shattered in a tragic moment when Alex's mysterious ability activated randomly during the accident, teleporting him suddenly to the side of the road, leaving his parents to their tragic fate. Alex survived the accident but couldn't save his parents, which filled him with deep guilt and led him to hate his ability, which he now views as a curse rather than a blessing.

Despite his difficult circumstances, Alex exhibited exceptional intelligence in middle school, which helped him gain admission to "Hunter University" with a full scholarship. However, this intelligence was not enough in a world that venerates physical strength and mastery over supernatural abilities. Now in his second year, Alex finds himself subjected to bullying and violence from his peers, even from those considered weaker than him. Despite his intelligence, he is seen as a failure due to his inability to control his power and his low social status.

"Hunter University" is not only a place of higher education but even a symbol of hope, whereby the nations place their hopes in young hunters for salvation. Still, within these very walls, the ranking system becomes the actual test of survival. The strong rise to the top and enjoy their privileges, whereas the weak, like Alex, become the target of discrimination and humiliation day in and day out. Bullying is not only tolerated but encouraged, under the pretext of hardening future hunters.

To Alex, it's one battle a new day, where he is always the loser.

Appalled by the same nightmare, he wakes up with huffed gasps, his tiny and dimly lit apartment, heaving his chest as if he had been running for his life. His heart is still held hostage by the ghost of his parents' last moments. He drags himself from his bed and stares blankly at the stale piece of bread on his kitchen table. "Guess this is all I deserve now," he grumbles, forcing flavorless crumbs in his mouth with unsweetened tea. Teasing at university has already started, and he has not yet set a foot in the door. Snickers and whispers stick to him, as if attached to his back while walking down the hallways. "There goes Müller, still at the bottom, huh?" a voice sneers. Alex keeps his head down, his shoulders hunched. *Just survive today,* he is telling himself, but even that feels like a monumental task.

But then there's the worst part of the whole thing: his accursed ability turns itself on at the worst moments. One day, he materializes in the girls' bathroom, earning screams and accusations. "What the hell are you doing here, you pervert!?" Alex's face was aflame with his shame as he fumbled to teleport back, the classmate's laughter still echoing in his ears.

Another day places him on stage in a live theater performance. "Look, the loser's finally taking center stage!" someone yells, followed by the echo of laughs, and Alex rushes off with his heart beating in his chest. Why is this happening to me?

The day finally over, Alex makes his way to a forlorn apartment covered in bruises-both physical and emotional. Staring into a cracked bathroom mirror, the bruises are much deeper than skin level. "Maybe tomorrow will be better," he whispers to himself, but even he no longer believes that.

One week passes, heavier than another, until that one day, an official letter from the administration falls into his hands. His fingers are quivering while opening it.

"Dear Alex Müller, we regret to inform you that your scholarship will be annulled unless you pass this upcoming performance test. This decision is final and based on your lack of academic progress."

Alex has read it again and again, the words blurring before his eyes. "Wha…?" his voice broke. "Is this how it ends?" He slumped into his chair, the weight of the letter crushing his spirit. The test was only two months away, and Alex knew failure meant losing the only lifeline he had left. "I'm not strong enough," he thinks, staring blankly at the peeling walls of his apartment. "I'll never be strong enough."

He gives up attending classes altogether. Days become weeks as he shuts himself off from the world, and the world continues to move right along without him. He does not eat, nor does he sleep. Every passing day feels like another nail being driven into his coffin.

"Is there even a way out of this?" he whispers to the ceiling as the silence of his apartment answers back. No friends, no family-NO HOPE.

"So this is it," he mutters, crumpling the paper in his hand. "This is how it ends."

Alex drowns in his thoughts. The idea begins to form, dark and insistent. There is only one way out of this, only one way to stop the pain.

Alex sits at the edge of his bed and drops his sight to his shaking hands at the weight of his decision. The thought of his childhood home, where he last felt secure—before it all fell apart—popped into his head. "I'll go there," he whispered. "I'll go home… and end this."

The thought settles over him like a dark cloud, and for the first time in a very long time, he is certain of something. There's no more fighting, no more struggling. Just peace.

Alex slowly rises and reaches for his worn jacket draped on the chair. Standing in the middle of his apartment, he eyes the room for one last time: peeling wallpaper, broken chair in the corner, empty shelves. "This was never home," he says in a bitter tone.

Alex disappears out into the cold night and doesn't look back. The path ahead is clear, and he feels that with every step towards the house of his childhood there can be no going back. This was always where it was going to end.

As he got to his childhood home, it was nothing as he left it. Dust attached itself to old furniture, and all the bright colors on the walls faded into gray, so dull and so lifeless. The house seemed forgotten-like him. He went in rather slowly, taking it all in, the silence and the disarray, the memories so far yet starting to flow. His gaze fell on the old family snaps, his broken childhood toys-the remnants of all that once used to be different.

Standing in the middle of the room, Alex felt everything he had been carrying finally crush him. "This… this was where I was happy once," he whispered to himself, his voice caught in his throat. His eyes welled up with tears as his gaze circled the room in search of what that happiness even felt like. All he felt now was empty inside, overwhelming grief for what he'd lost.

Where the touch of love and warmth had once been felt within this house, now the chill of silence soaked it. His once-peaceful room, where he found his haven, was now nothing but a hurtful reflection of life that he could never have again. Alex fell to the floor, knees buckling under him. He sat amidst the dust and debris and felt the sharp sting of hopelessness closing in. "I don't know how much more of this I can stand," he said to himself, barely above a whisper in the heavy air. "I cannot bear much longer."

His silence was drowned in the silence of the house; it was as if the house itself was asking him for a final decision. He felt strangled by these memories, which held so much sorrow, so much pain. So he made a decision: this is going to be the end. Here in the only place that had once felt like home, he would find his getaway. He wasn't able to keep living in that area between a nightmare and an empty reality.

Alex continued to stroll around the house, searching for the ending. Every step felt as though it had been taken through thick fog; every room held a new wave of painful memories. Finally, he reached his parents' bedroom. The place was in complete darkness, and the air was thick with the smell of time-extremely old and stale. His heart ached above everything as he stood there surrounded by ghosts from a much happier past.

A family photo was hanging lopsided on the wall. He moved closer, focusing on himself, his smiling parents beside him. "Those days were… better," he whispered, nearly unable to bear the weight of those lost moments. He reached out and tenderly straightened the photo. But as he did this, something shifted behind it.

Curious, Alex pulled the photo off the wall and froze. His eyes fell to something hanging behind it: an old weathered dagger. His breath caught in his throat. He had no memory of this object being here.

Alex: (in confusion and unease) "Where did this come from…?"

He stretched out a trembling hand and wrapped his fingers around it; a shiver ran down his spine as his fingers felt the coolness of the metal. The dagger was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its blade was etched with some strange symbols, and the handle was filled with rust and ash, as though it hadn't been disturbed for years-some buried treasure, locked away as a secret nobody remembered.

The markings on the blade were unfamiliar; their meaning obscure, yet there was something about them-something ancient, something that hitched at his chest. It felt… heavy, not just physically, but emotionally, as if the weight of years or something far older clung to it.

He stood there for a long moment, clutching the dagger, its presence frightening yet peculiarly fascinating. Slowly, he approached the mirror. His image stared back at him: sunken eyes, a pale, thin face, and an emaciated body from all those years of suffering. He no longer recognized himself.

Alex:Whispers in deep sadness, "It's time to end this… perhaps I'll see them again… Mom, Dad."

He picked up the dagger once again, his trembling hand cold, as he turned the blade to his chest. His heart raced furiously in his chest, and his every molecule was sprinkled with fear. His breathing was shallow and irregular as with great difficulty he tried to gather the will to do it.

He closed his eyes tight, holding firmly onto the handle. "This is it," he whispered to himself, trying to sound braver, though his voice shook. And using all his remaining strength, forward he plunged the blade.

—To be continued…