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PREVAIL: Whispers Of Light

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Resumen

In a world divided by a mystical barrier, humanity is thrust into the unknown. Those who cross it are transformed, gaining extraordinary powers at the cost of the the lives they once knew. On that side, the fabric of reality is rewritten by the tongue, a voice capable of bending the laws of existence to its wielder's inner most desires. Yet, with boundless power comes unrelenting chaos. This fractured world teeters on the brink of collapse, torn apart by conflicting ideals. Some yearn to reclaim the remnants of their past lives. Others seek dominion over the new reality, while a few cling desperately to the hope of peace. The struggle for meaning and purpose divides those who dwell beyond the wall. But amidst the chaos, a prophecy takes root from a truth teller. It speaks of a figure from the untouched— but born on their side, this child is destined to become the Guiding Light, the one who will unite the fractured world and reveal the ultimate truth hidden within the shadows of perception. As ideals clash and the voice of power echoes across a shattered realm, the question remains: will humanity find salvation, or will their desires consume them entirely?

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Chapter 1Simon...

His eyes wavered.

A dull ache pulsed beneath his ribs, but it was the sharp, twisting pain in his stomach that gnawed at him the most. His flesh burned. Warmth trickled down his side.

Blood.

It hurt.

Somewhere in the abyss of his mind, a voice stirred. Faint at first, layered. indistinct. It echoed, distant yet close, weaving through the void like a whisper threading through the seams of reality.

"Simon..."

It called to him.

Or perhaps it didn't.

"Simon! Wake..."

His mind thrashed. Where? Who? Why couldn't he see? His eyes refused to open. But, he knew this voice. Didn't he?

The world around him stretched, vast and consuming, an abyss swallowing him whole. No sky. No walls. No ground. Just nothingness. And that voice.

"Am I… dead?"

He felt everything, the pain, the cold, the weight of his own body pressing down, but none of it made sense. Was this what death was? A place where existence lingered, half-formed and unraveling?

He reached forward, fingers brushing against something, no, nothing. The voice was everywhere. His vision blurred. For a fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of...

"Wake up, Simon!"

A gasp tore through his throat as he jolted upright. His lungs burned, dragging in thorny, ragged breaths. His hands shot forward, grasping at anything, something, until his fingers curled into clothing. Someone...he thought.

He looked up.

Right at her.

"Simon? You're awake!"

Her voice quivered, relief locked in a desperate struggle. Her eyes, wide, glassy...brimming with unsaid words, bore into his.

"Are you okay?"

His throat tightened. The weight in his chest pressed harder, heavier. She needed an answer. Reassurance.

He tilted his head back against the rough, splintered wood beneath him that held him in place.

"We lost, didn't we, Mercy?"

A pause.

"Yes..."

His gaze lowered. Another question followed, inevitable.

"The rest?"

Her shoulders sagged. Whatever strength remained in her crumbled. She slumped forward, her forehead pressing into his chest.

"They are dead, Simon… every single one of them, killed."

She trembled. Her sobs, small and broken, muffled against his clothes.

"Even you I thought-. But then… you woke."

Dead?

He should have asked more. Details. Explanations. But her voice, thick with grief, was smothered against his chest, lost beneath the fabric she clung to.

He had failed. That much was certain. But asking better of himself was like asking the devil for mercy.

His mind recoiled. It should have been easy. Just beasts beyond the woods, animals twisted by something darker. He had calculated. He had planned. And yet—

"They died, all of them... David, Stefan, Montreal, Ulfried, Agnes, Snowfield."

Names meant nothing now. Words meant even less. Empty syllables drifting into the night. But he spoke them anyway.

Silence answered. The kind that pressed in.

A faint drizzle began to fall. Mist clung to the air, dampening the earth. He turned his gaze skyward.

The moon hung above, distant. Yet something in its glow reached for him, seeping into his skin, sinking into his bones.

He lifted a hand toward it. It was impossible, foolish even, but the ache in his chest demanded it.

"Mercy… I will find a way."

He glanced at her.

And for a fleeting second,he hated her.

Not for crying. Not for feeling weak when the world granted her a moment's reprieve.

But because he couldn't.

Because the world had made it impossible for him.

Because every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was what it had taken from him.

Nothing.

A world where you give everything and receive nothing in return.

---

Morning came like an afterthought.

His body stirred. He was better now, outwardly. Inwardly, defeat clung to him. The things further in the woods had torn through them, left them in ruin. They were down to two. And Mercy? She was little more than a shell.

Even he was afraid.

But he couldn't go home. Not like this.

He sat beside her, staring into nothing. Had they taken any steps forward? Had they even moved at all?

"Father..." The thought slipped out before he could catch it.

Mercy stirred. A whisper, groggy and hoarse.

"You're awake."

"Yes. Yes, I am." Simon replied

She readjusted, sitting upright, watching him in silence.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"We are going home, right?"

She hesitated.

"It's alright. Your father will understand. Let's just turn back?" She pleaded

Something flared in him. A raw, unrelenting fury.

"No, he won't!"

She flinched.

"He won't let this go. I'm done for, don't you see, Mercy?" His voice bled, a note of desperation lacing his words.

"It's not your fault," she argued.

"It is! Who else? It can't be you. Six of our people died, not just any six, but sons, daughters,... humans Mercy, humans! They died because I thought I could lead. Because I decided to think at all."

She looked away.

He exhaled, shuddering, pressing his forehead against hers. A silent apology. A quiet admission.

"It's me... it's all me. It's my fault."

She lifted her head, voice barely above a whisper.

"We have to go home, Simon. Another death won't benefit anyone."

A long silence stretched between them.

He swallowed.

He had no answer.

So he agreed. They would leave. They would abandon the mission.

They retraced their steps, trudging back the way they thought they came.

Mercy grew increasingly agitated along the way, though Simon remained oblivious, lost in his own thoughts. She swallowed her discomfort and pressed forward, trailing behind him in silence.

An unknown town loomed ahead, small and unassuming. A necessary stop before the final stretch home.

Both could feel the overwhelming presence of life ahead, signaling the town's proximity.

But neither of them spoke.

The silence carried them forward. It had more to say than they ever could.

When they arrived at the town, the soldiers at the gate stood like unmoving statues, fourteen in total, each clad in uniform with only subtle marks of individuality. Their armor gleamed under the sun, metal plates strategically placed to shield vital parts of their bodies. Beneath, dark red robes clung to their forms, an unspoken proclamation of their allegiance. Their headgear was uniform, yet each bore slight differences.

Both could feel the overwhelming presence of life ahead, signaling the town's proximity.

Simon and Mercy advanced toward the gate, where two soldiers stood guard. As they drew closer, a figure caught their attention, especially Mercy's. Unlike the others, he wore no standard gear, engaged in quiet conversation with one of the guards. His long hair cascaded down his back, not in the manner of vanity, but of raw strength, an untamed presence that commanded attention. In that instant, Mercy spoke out.

"I'd assume the one with long hair is the reason for this sudden shift in atmosphere."

Simon's gaze turned to her.

"I suppose it wasn't too strong a shift, if it took you this long to notice."

Her eyes narrowing as she responded.

"No… it was strong. Very strong. I sensed it the moment we left that place- I just didn't see the need to mention it until now."

Simon, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword as his suspicion rose, drew it with a dull scrape along the ground. The movement was haste, as if preparing for something inevitable.

"I see... did you-"

"Yes," Mercy interjected, her voice running through his words. "I concealed my envisionment the moment I felt his."

Simon paused. His role, once clear, seemed to diminish in that instant, though he remained silent. With faint steps, he approached the gate, Mercy shadowing him.

The guard, not yet preoccupied with the long-haired figure, noticed Simon and Mercy's approach. His hand moved slowly, drawing his sword from its sheath, the steel whispering as it slid free. He stepped forward, his weapon pointing directly at Simon, who continued to drag his sword along the ground, oblivious to the impending confrontation.

"What's your business here, outsiders?" the guard barked, his tone brimming with suspicion.

Simon came off strong. "We've come to seek passage. We have no other way home."

The guard raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really?"

"Yes," Simon continued, his voice unsteady. "My companion and I were sent to clear the deep woods of monsters. But we've reached a desperate end… most of our comrades fell to something far more sinister." He hesitated, stumbling over his words, only deepening the guard's suspicion.

The guard blinked, confused, repeating Simon's words aloud, "Monsters? Deep woods?"

A sarcastic chuckle escaped him as he turned to his companion, who still stood with the long-haired man.

"Marcus, do you hear this? This man claims there are monsters further north than here. He says there's a forest past this desert."

The long-haired man, joined the conversation. "Monsters... and woods?"

Everyone's attention shifted to the man, but Mercy's eyes remained locked on him, never straying.

Simon met the man's gaze cautiously, "I'm unfamiliar with this area. Perhaps you could begin with the formalities?" Simon asked, his tone polite, yet carrying the faintest edge.

The guard with the unsheathed sword narrowed his eyes, unwilling to yield. "You're the outsiders, so I suppose it's only right you go first."

Simon stood tall. "I suppose that would be true. I'm Simon, son of Mercury."

Mercy stepped forward, her voice equally unyielding. "I'm Mercy, daughter of Darwood."

The long-haired man's eyes gleamed with a knowing look. "From the southeast, I presume? No last name, just your father's legacy until you achieve something of your own. I'd wager that's why you left home in the first place. Yet, to cross the world for such a thing? It's absurd."

The shock hit them both, not that he knew their people or traditions, but that they had traveled so far, so blindly. The realization was jarring.

"North? We are... north?" Mercy murmured, her voice faltering as she looked over to Simon.

"It can't be," Simon muttered, dropping his sword, the weight of his disbelief crashing down upon him. "We couldn't have gone that far. This has to be a joke."

He turned to Mercy, whose gaze was already fixed on him. She quickly averted her eyes...

Simon looked down in disbelief, his eyes blurred as if something within him was shifting. It was as though his vision began layering, stacking upon itself. He glanced up at the figures around him, and what he saw. Fragments, distortions,left him confused. Reality itself seemed to tear, it began to warp.

The long-haired man stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "I assure you, Simon... there is nothing further north than this." He reached down, picking up Simon's dropped sword. "A warrior should never abandon their blade, no matter the circumstances."

Still stunned, Simon managed a faint nod. He took his sword, but with his head bowed low, it dug into the sand. His vision remained distorted, space stretching and swirling around him, refusing to make sense.

"There seems to be confusion... or perhaps another force at play," the long-haired man continued, his gaze resting on Simon.

The guard, who had remained silent until then, muttered under his breath, "Or perhaps they're just mentally ill..." His eyes rested on Simon in confusion, who was clutching his head in distress.

Mercy's expression tightened, her brows furrowing at the remark, though she kept silent. She, too, was far from feeling her best, but one of them had to remain strong. Normally, it would have been Simon—he convinced himself that he was the strongest, that he could endure it all. But now, as Simon visibly struggled, haunted by something beyond his control, she knew the burden fell to her.

Normally, she would have rushed to his side, offering comfort. But an unsettling feeling lingered in the air, and she was certain it emanated from the man standing before her.

"By the way..." The long-haired man began, "i'm the prince of this land. I've been sent by my father to handle matters far north. Nice to meet you, descendants of the south."

He gave a slight nod. "I am Sebas Blackwood, second prince, son of the Blackwood family."

"Sebas..." Mercy repeated his name softly.

Sebas noticed her reaction, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Oh? You know of me, my lady?"

"Mercy," she supplied, her tone even.

"Ah, Mercy. My apologies, but I am quite unfamiliar with you. Tell me, how would someone not from the north know of my existence?" He raised a hand to his chin, studying her with a keen, almost analytical gaze.

"I don't know you," Mercy replied, "I just simply thought of someone."

"I see." Sebas said. He gestured toward the gate, his hand sweeping through the air like a predator inviting prey. "Why don't you come inside, and let us investigate this matter... mmm?"

Simon, still frozen, sat unmoving. The world seemed distant to him, the conversation unfolding around him nothing more than a faint hum. His head remained pressed deep into the sand, his body rigid, and only the soft, haunting wails that escaped his lips broke the eerie silence.

Mercy knelt beside Simon. She leaned in close, her voice a mere whisper in his ear. "C'mon, Simon... now's not the time to be like this. We need to run." Her words carried an urgency, a quiet desperation, yet her gaze never left Sebas, as if to ensure their fleeting moment of vulnerability wasn't noticed.

"Open the gate, Rohan," Sebas ordered.

Rohan hesitated, his skepticism evident. "They're outsiders, Young Master. Lord Marbros will not allow them inside."

"Allow? Someone other than my father restricts my decisions?" He let out a brief chuckle.

Sebas's voice lowered to a whisper. "Forward."

In a single, fluid motion, he unsheathed Marcus's sword and flicked it upwards, swiftly separating the guard's head from his body. The moment of death passed in an instant, yet the man's eyes remained wide open, as if still unaware of what had occurred.

How others perceived the event was quite different. To Marcus, standing closest, there was an unnatural surge of energy, a sharp rise in 'fos,' which his senses picked up immediately. By the time his eyes focused, the guard's head had already been thrown upward, the swing following mere moments later.

For Mercy, however, it was as if time itself had been distorted. The scene flickered, skipping ahead in rapid, disconnected frames, as though the very concept of time had ceased to be relevant.

The mere sight of this pushed fear into everyone in the surrounding area, even the guards who hadn't witnessed the act themselves. The sheer force of energy radiating from the event rippled through the entire town.

Simon, who had been drowning in despair moments before, felt something shift within him. An instinct surged forth, an emotion that gripped his body and dictated his actions, fear.

Simon watched Sebas's technique, but he perceived it differently. He saw it exactly as it had unfolded, recognizing it for what it truly was.

"An envisionment," he declared, the words leaving his lips, but only for Mercy to hear.

Mercy turned to Simon, their eyes meeting in silence. Both stood motionless, the fear that gripped them holding them in place, the tension palpable between them.

"Apologies for the ungodly sight," he said coolly, not a trace of remorse in his voice. He tossed the sword at Marcus's feet, his gaze never leaving Mercy and Simon. His eyes gleamed with an ethereal light, one that mirrored his intent. "Now, let's move forward."

Simon, still processing the unexpected turn of events, glanced at Mercy. He didn't know what else to say, but a word. "Run?"

Mercy, unflinching, met his eyes, not Simon's, but Sebas's. "YOU GO. I'll slay the demon." She willfully stood up, unbothered.

Sebas raised an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure? Perhaps we should test your assumption."

Mercy's confidence never wavered as she took Simon's sword, effortlessly spinning it in her hands. Tears still clung to his blade, and with a flick of her wrist, she wiped it clean in a dramatic gesture.

She saw Simon, still frozen behind her, staring at her in her peripheral vision. She needn't look but speak to him.

"RUN, SIMON! You lead the way, not me! So you run!"

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