A deep voice suddenly boomed from the darkness. Fallen slowly lifted his head, his expression darkening as he wondered, ‘Am... am I really that far gone?’ The voice rang from the shadows again as a hearty, somewhat mocking chuckle that echoed in the silence, and Fallen’s eyes widened in shock and confusion.

The chuckle was curt and deep before the voice clarified, “You have not lost yourself…yet.” The clarification sent a chill down Fallen’s spine before the voice continued, “What you see, and feel is indeed from within you alone; simply put… I gave it life.”

‘He gave it life?’ Fallen glanced around, dazed, ‘There’s no life here.’

As if reading his mind, the voice further explained, its tone calm and composed, “I merely gave your deepest conscience life, and this darkness is the result. This darkness is your creation; it is you.”

“STOP IT!!” Fallen shouted, his lips shivering, his eyes puffy and red from crying.

He slowly got to his feet, fists clenched. His back rose and fell quickly as his gaze sat low before slowly shifting ahead. He couldn’t see the person or creature behind the voice or where it was coming from, as it seemed to come from all directions. It felt as though it surrounded and trapped him as it looked down on him. Every point in this darkness echoed as its voice bounced on the shadows, yet it still dared to say this was his doing, his work.

He was furious and screamed to the shadows, “This isn’t anything that I want… if it were, truly…it would be a moon,” his tone softened as it cracked and trembled, “A moon so bright… none of this darkness would even exist.”

Tears welled in his eyes as a chilling silence enveloped the space before the voice spoke, tone dead, “What you want and what you are, are not the same.”

“You don’t know what I want!” Fallen refuted, tears streaming down his face as his chest rose and fell.

“Neither do you,” the voice flatly replied, “That is why you are in this darkness.”

Fallen took a step back, his body shaking from anger, frustration, and confusion. He still didn’t know what was going on; he couldn’t remember a single thing about how he got here and why he was here. He wasn’t on any drugs or smokes, so why, how, and what was happening? An expression of hopelessness and confusion lined his face before he looked up, holding back tears and lowly asked, “Why? What’s going on?”

“Who are you?”

A momentary silence passed before Fallen felt a cold, dark chill run through his entire body, prompting him to instinctively take a step back. He glanced around as the darkness and shadows seemed to move in an eerie yet subtle manner. He felt as though he were the only light in this realm of darkness… a light all the shadows wanted to consume.

“I am a flesh of the Curse,” the voice declared, eerily and pridefully. “A flesh of its hollows and treacheries. I am Vulgar, Father of all Darkness and Hollows.”

‘Curse? What the hell is he—whatever he is—talking about?’ Nothing made sense to Fallen as the voice quieted, leaving behind a grim echo of its declaration. ‘Curse? Flesh? I don’t care about that!’ Fallen’s expression contorted. ‘I don’t give a shit what the hell he or this is! I wanna go home!’ Very little made sense, and he didn’t care for it to make sense; why should he?

“I don’t care who or what you are… let me go back to my home!” he demanded, his tone shifting from pleading to determined. ‘I don’t have to be in this shit.’

A silence followed his demand before Vulgar asked him, “You still call that place your home? Even after you were begging me not to let you end up like its people just a few mere minutes ago?”

“I wasn’t begging you, and it’s still my home. Even if it and its people are dying. It is the only place I have ever known… the only place I have,” his tone was sombre and low. “Now send me back!”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to see a bright moon? Do you really think that dead-hole will ever have a moon like that again? There’s no salvation for that slum; shadows attract shadows, and light attracts light. That place, your ‘home,’ is a paradise for shadows… no light will ever shine upon it or its people. Now I will ask you one last time, do you still wish to not hear my word?”

Fallen went silent as doubt began to creep into his mind. Maybe Vulgar was right? How long had he been looking up to the sky every day, hoping the moon would suddenly become brighter and light up the sky and his home like never before? How long did his home have left? How long did he have left?

Those who come to the City of Ruins always remain, but as crumbled shells of their former selves.

He looked at his trembling hands, and his body slowly felt as though it were made of clay. He felt like a clay pot… a clay pot slowly cracking and crumbling. He could see the cracks in his palms as they spread up his face and across his whole body, leaving only his heart within. It was all that remained, but for how long?

He fell to his knees and cradled his head as memories of his addiction flooded back. He was once an addict, roaming the rotten streets of the city like a madman. He had sold all his clothes in exchange for pills, which he quickly finished in one day. So, he went in search of more.

He walked along the streets like a mindless undead for days without rest. Everything seemed normal to him: the rotting trash, the dying city, and the people; they all felt normal.

He had lived in the city his entire life; it was the only place he knew… and he witnessed it all crumble when the people were introduced to drugs by the nobles.

Drugs destroyed his people… and him.

After he was influenced to try them himself, he forgot what his home used to be. He forgot how bright and beautiful its nights, moon and stars were, and he forgot himself. He was beyond addicted. And to this day, even after he quit, he cannot remember what a star looks like, what he used to look like… or who he was or what his true name is.

That is why, after the day he saw his own reflection in a broken window—the reflection of one who had fallen—he looked up… and all the stars and light of the moon… were gone. They had all sunk, fallen… just like him.

It took him four years to fully quit, and the day he did… he gave himself the name Fallen, to forever remember and honour the moon, the light that protected him and shone brightly, showing him the monster he had become.

With the year that followed, all he managed to remember was his age as he watched, a mere spectator, as his home and moon died, both of them becoming shells destined to crumble.

“Your ‘home’ fell too far deep into the shadows to ever return. Your moon and all its stars are children of the hollows now… and in the hollows… there is no light,” Vulgar’s voice echoed, snapping him back to reality.