Life is considered by some a gift. By others, a curse.

The water was cold.

A chill that pierced the skin and sank down to the bones.

Because the truth is that every gift comes at a cost.

The current wrapped around his body like a shroud, slow but relentless, dragging him downward. He opened his eyes underwater, but all he could see was a dull expanse of gray.

And often, life is both the gift and the price.

He tried to move his arms, his body heavy as lead, but the surface seemed unreachable. The light above him was faint, distorted, creating reflections that took the shape of a celestial vault.

It was not a real image, but a vision.

So why do mortals fight to stay alive? The cost must be paid, sooner or later.

The water rippled, revealing an unusual scene: two meteors falling from the stormy, leaden sky.

The first was swift, a black streak headed inland, almost as if the Underworld were calling it back. The second was its exact opposite: a lightning-fast cluster of electric streaks weaving a luminous thread.

The phenomenon lasted only a few seconds as the rapid lines intertwined, forming a double helix, as if their dance were generating life in its purest essence.

Contrary to common belief, it was the light that frantically chased the darkness, not the other way around. The shadows did not seek to swallow the light—it was the light that reached for them, trying to dissipate them. Their trajectories converged toward a remote area. The meteors continued their descent until they crashed with a deafening roar.

The explosion that followed was immense, unleashing a wave of heat that incinerated everything nearby. A deep crater formed at the impact site, surrounded by smoldering debris and fragments of the meteors. The ground around it had been torn apart, bearing the marks of an unprecedented destructive force. The air split open with an earth-shattering rumble. The shockwave made the ground tremble and shattered the few homes in the area.

For an instant, everything seemed frozen in the moment after impact. A heavy, unreal silence enveloped the scene, broken only by the fading echoes of the explosion, slowly dissolving into the air.

Finally, two figures emerged from the newly formed veil of smoke. They wore masks reminiscent of traditional Italian festivities, yet the aura surrounding them carried an immense solemnity.

They were two deities, facing each other just a few meters apart.

“Are you willing to break our pact for a mortal? Ready to risk angering Fate for a mere boy, Cragar?”

“Yes, Emion. You, on the other hand, are doing this because you fear him.”

“How can you be so naïve? He was on their side!”

The dark god kept advancing toward his enemy, step by step. His was not a reckless, furious charge, but a simple, slow walk. The wind howled, ruffling his long, blood-red hair.

He lifted his head and spoke calmly, “I warned you of the danger. He only needed to be protected, but you did the exact opposite.”

A clap of thunder rumbled through the clouds. “Silence!”

“You cannot defeat me, Emion,” his voice was calm, almost apathetic. “The truth will be revealed, sooner or later. Not even you can stop it.”

Frustrated and enraged, the radiant god planted his feet firmly on the ground. His eyes burned with an intense light, but also with a hint of hatred.

“You have always sought to protect the innocent, Cragar,” the immortal replied in a cutting tone, “but you cannot protect anyone if you are incapable of protecting yourself. You may be nearly as powerful as I am, but you cannot challenge our entire generation and expect to emerge victorious.”

The dark god almost smiled. Life and death were inevitable cycles—he knew that all too well. Likewise, the two deities were bound to one day be forced into war, driven by their irreconcilable differences.

Fate was a force greater than any of them, impossible to escape.

“I cannot face you all,” Cragar admitted, “but no one touches my children. Not even you.”

“He is a threat!”

The masked deity closed his eyes. “No. He was just a boy whose life you turned into a nightmare. The threat never existed—you created it.”

The ground began to tremble as strange cracks spread across its surface. “It’s your fault he ended up in its grasp.”

With a solemn gesture, Cragar lowered his hand toward the earth. A dark, ominous light flashed in his violet eyes as skeletal figures began to rise from the depths. Their pale bones shimmered with a spectral glow under the sunlight. One by one, they emerged from their graves, forming an army that loomed against the sky. Their bones creaked as they moved, ready to obey the command of their dark lord.

“If you still believe I will submit to you, then you have never understood my perspective.”

With a motion of his hand, he signaled them to advance.

“I will kill you. Without hesitation.”

The skeletons, driven by the relentless will of the god of the dead, moved with determination, ready to serve their lord in his cause. The air around them was steeped in cold, while the darkness in their hollow eyes seemed to observe the world with an inhuman chill.

Emion swallowed, recognizing the sincerity in his old friend’s words.

“I-I understand,” he stammered in response.

The storm subsided, the lightning faded, and the wind calmed.

“The boy will remain under your custody, and you will ensure that he becomes our ally,” decreed the god of the skies.

“I swear it, in the name of Fate,” the dark god replied.

They would tolerate each other—it was the only way to uphold their pact.

At last, the vision dissolved, leaving behind only the silent flow of the current as a mute testament to their passing.

What… did I just see?

He was swimming, though he didn’t know why, nor who he was. Only the mechanical need for air pushed him forward. A dull pain began to creep into his lungs. The absence of any memory was a void in his mind, yet there was no space for panic. Only that infinite cold, the pressure of the current that caressed him, repelled him, suffocated him.

What drives mortals to want to survive? Is there a reason?

Breaking through the surface, he coughed. The water burned his throat like lava.

If that reason were to disappear, would they keep fighting?

He collapsed onto the shore. The ground beneath him was dry and dusty, rough against his skin and cracked, black as obsidian. It offered no comfort.

Shivering, he sat up, his violet eyes wandering over the landscape. It was a barren wasteland.

The sky above was a uniform gray, devoid of sun, moon, or stars. The air carried a bitter taste, like iron, and the silence was so deep it seemed to devour even the faintest traces of thought. In the distance, silhouetted against the horizon, a lone palace stood. The boy lifted his gaze and noticed a figure before him.

It was neither flesh nor bone.

A vague, flickering shape, a dense smoke shifting against an absent wind. Its eyes—if they could be called that—were empty voids, perfect for a specter.

“You… where am I? Who are you? Who am I?” he asked, but his voice was weak, broken, as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

The spirit drifted forward in a fluid, unreal motion. The boy stood, his body still numb. A hollow sensation pressed against his chest, heavier than the current, more suffocating than the silence.

He turned toward the distant palace and saw the spectral figure moving in that direction.

Why not succumb?

He didn’t remember why he was there, what that place was, or even his own name. Only questions without answers swirled in his mind, but he knew which choice he had to make first. The alternatives were to remain still in nothingness or follow the spirit toward the palace.

Why not surrender to the void?

He stumbled as he took the first step, too weak to walk properly, but he had chosen his path. All that remained was to continue.

Maybe there is no answer. Perhaps they fight because it is in their nature. Life goes on, always, even when it seems to have no meaning. It is the primal instinct that drives them—a rebellion against nothingness, against cruel fate.