Chapter 1: Prologue

Beneath a clear cloudless night sky, one could feel a profound sense of awe and wonder. The stars shine brightly, creating a breathtaking spectacle of a sea of stars. The full, round moon casts a gentle glow upon the Earth.

In one of the apartment rooms.

The moonlight passed through the window, casting a pale glow on the sleeping figure of Azazel. He was a young man in his late teens, but his pitch black hair was marred by a few strands of white, as if he had seen more than his share of troubles. His face was relaxed in slumber, but his brows were slightly furrowed, as if he was dreaming of something unpleasant.

***

Am I dreaming right now?

However, no matter how I think about it, today, it felt different.

Today's dream, it felt more..realistic.

I can feel an inexplicable sense of vividness permeating the experience, rendering it more tangible than the ephemeral nature of typical nocturnal visions. 

Each moment in the dream unfolded with a clarity that bordered on the tangible, blurring the lines between the dream world and wakefulness. It was as if the boundaries of reality had momentarily dissolved, allowing the dream to weave itself into the fabric of waking life, leaving an indelible impression upon the recesses of my consciousness.

It felt like I was actually there, experiencing everything firsthand as if I were seeing it through my own eyes.

My dream starts with a Man. He stands on a battlefield, battered with corpse and blood.

He stood tall and unwavering, despite the wounds that stained his armor and flesh. His sword was still gripped in his hand, dripping with the blood of his enemies. His eyes were fierce and determined, as if he was ready to face death itself but hidden in those fierce and determined eyes is a deep longing, sadness and regret.

He couldn't protect anyone.

He couldn't do anything when his friends, lover and family are being killed helplessly in front of his very eyes.

He dropped his head and started whimpering.

Placing the sword in its sheath, he muttered one thing.

"I'm sorry" he says as he pours everything in his sword, his mana, his will and even his life.

He poured everything as he slashed against the enemy that caused all his misery. He slashed as he wanted to split heaven and earth.

But even then, it was still not enough. The hand of his enemy that towers with anyone with its sheer size, met his slash and flattened him alongside with it.

His Body has been crushed into pulp, and my vision shifts

Next, I see a woman

Right now, I can only see her back.

She stood inside the chapel, playing a song on her violin. The moonlight that entered through the window cast a radiant glow on her.

Her violin sang in the chapel, as she drew her bow across the strings, her white hair danced in the autumn wind that blew through the shattered glass of the chapel window.

"I'm sorry." she mumbles in a weeping tone.

Unable to bear the trauma of her past, she stops her violin and starts to cry.

But there's no one to console her.

No, there's no one left to console her.

She couldn't save her loved ones.

No matter how many times she tries, she can't save

anyone.

Dropping her head in defeat, she pokes the violin's bow in her chest and stabs her heart with it. Ending her pitiful life in the process.

This time I can see another man. Again, just his back.

But this time, it's different from the others.

The man I 'm seeing now is standing in between what looks like the boundary of two different skies. A night sky and a blue sky.

With a Grim reaper scythe and sword in his hand, the man turns and looks directly at me.

But for some unknown reason, I can't see his face

clearly, just a silhouette.

He then murmurs some gibberish that I can barely make sense of.

"At this pivotal juncture, the convergence of our respective realms comes to pass. Take heed, for within this singular moment, our worlds entwine in an intricate dance of fate. Commit to memory this rendezvous, as the currents of destiny intertwine our paths, forging a connection that echoes through the annals of time." He says before continuing, "■■■■■■ Forgive me".

For some unknown reason, I can't comprehend the word he spoke before saying 'Forgive me.'

After saying his words, the man underwent a mysterious division, birthing two distinct entities—one adorned with immaculate, cascading white hair, and the other cloaked in the darkness of pitch-black, flowing locks.

In the grip of the man with alabaster tresses rested a scythe, a formidable and ominous weapon. Meanwhile, the counterpart wielded a sword, its gleam contrasting sharply with the shadows.

Beneath the vast expanse of the night sky, the scythe-bearer took his stance, a silhouette against the celestial canvas. Simultaneously, the sword-bearer positioned himself beneath the azure canopy of the day.

In an eerie dance of fate, they plunged their weapons into one another, a dark and synchronized dance of deaths, each fleeting moment sealing their shared destiny.

My vision turns black from here.

Trapped in darkness, no matter how much I try to wake up, I just can't.

A while later, the darkness shifted to reveal the night sky.

It appears as if I stood in a mirrored land, facing a pitch-black reaper scythe. However, the reflection beneath portrayed a divergence—a blue sky  instead of the night sky and a pristine white Sword instead of a pitch black scythe.

I tried touching the scythe and likewise the reflection beneath followed through. However, before my skin touched the weapon, my view collapsed.

***

In one of the apartment rooms

Azazel's eyes shot open, his chest heaving as if she had sprinted a marathon in his sleep. The remnants of a vivid dream slipping away like sand through his fingers. Blinking against the morning light, he tried to grasp the elusive threads of the dream that still lingered in the corners of his mind.

'What a weird dream' Azazel thought as he tried to remember his dream.

–Tring!! Tringgg!!

The sound of the alarm clock jolted Azazel from his stupor sending a rush of panic through his veins. Eyes widening, he glanced at the clock, and realization struck like a lightning bolt – he had overslept, especially in the first day of semester . Frantically, Azazel leaped out of bed, fumbling for clothes strewn across the room in a chaotic mess.

The time is 7:30 AM, and the start of class is at 8:00 AM. He only has 30 minutes to prepare before the class starts.

The morning sun outside painted the room with an impatient glow, casting a harsh reminder of time slipping away. Backpack half-packed, half-finished food in the table, Azazel darted around, attempting to orchestrate order from the morning chaos. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the room as he raced against the clock.

'Sigh... I hope I'm not late'.