Whispers of the Cosmic

Act I — The Ember in My Chest

The ember wouldn’t shut up.

Every step, every breath, every blink — it pulsed. Violet-gold. Glitching faintly, like static under my skin.

I was supposed to be resting. Everyone said so.

Ministers wanted me quiet. Priests wanted me polished. My mother wanted me safe.

My father? He didn’t say it, but I knew what his storm-eyes meant: don’t break before the crown fits.

But lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, all I could think was:

“Hey, miracle boy, maybe test the universe-breaking spark in your chest. What’s the worst that could happen?”

So, naturally, I snuck out.

The training yard behind the palace was empty at night. Just me, cold stone, and the hum of mana lamps. I stretched my fingers. My chest throbbed. And then… I let go.

First, the easy stuff.

No incantations. No chants. Just me.

Most people had to yell “Ignis!” or “Surge!” like they were auditioning for a magical choir. Every soldier drilled until their throats bled.

But me? Silence. One motion, and I broke the hymn.

Too easy.

And that was the problem.

Because then I pushed harder.

Click.

The world glitched.

Stone pixelated. Air bent in on itself. My hand flickered like a bad reflection.
The ember roared — violet-gold fractals spiderwebbed my veins.

I yanked it back, panting. Reality stitched itself together.

Silence.

I laughed. Too sharp. Too brittle.

“Great. My party trick is breaking reality. Totally not concerning at all.”

Act II — The Pocket Dimension

The ember tugged harder, whispering without words. My vision bent. Then—
the ground vanished.

I wasn’t in the training yard anymore.

A vast box surrounded me — walls of transparent shadow streaked with purple veins, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Beyond them, galaxies spun like coins on velvet, nebulae bleeding colors nameless to mortals.

Beautiful. Wrong.

I panicked. Willed it to shift.

Click.

The box warped.

Suddenly, it wasn’t galaxies anymore. It was… home.

Rain-slick asphalt. Neon signs buzzing. A truck horn wailing somewhere in the dark.

And on the wall — Ray’s grin, looping like a memory stuck on repeat.

“…No,” I whispered. “This isn’t real.”

But when I touched the wall, the shadow pulled me through.

And for a moment, I lived it.

Rain slapped my skin. Shoes splashed puddles. His laugh echoed in the night.

I whispered, broken:

“Ray…”

For one heartbeat, I believed.

Then he spoke.

One word. A word Ray never used.

My chest froze. Wrong. Not him.

The illusion glitched. His grin hollowed. Hungry.

I ripped free.

Click.

The rain shattered. The world froze like a broken video feed. I was yanked back into the box, knees slamming stone.

The memory lingered on the wall, flickering like a cursed TV screen.

I forced a laugh, cracked and raw.

“Perfect. Even in death, I can’t escape reruns.”

Act III — Modification & Testing

I pressed my palm to the wall again. It shimmered. Waiting.

So I tested it.

The frozen scene warped, glitching — then shifted into something else:

A TV from my old world. Random ads. Old cartoons. Games I’d half-forgotten.

I barked a laugh.

“Fantastic. I awaken god-tier power and what do I use it for? Free cable.”

The box flickered through channels: neon cities, childhood shows, pixelated menus. All too sharp, too crisp, like it was mining my memories and spitting them back.

And then I realized: the ember wasn’t just showing illusions.

It was carving a room inside my soul. A library of memories, fears, and desires.

And if I could project them… what else could I do?

Act IV — Divine Experiments

I clenched my fist.

First, small tests. A stone dropped — rewound mid-fall. A candle flame froze, then reversed.

Then I pushed harder.

“Aetheric Projection.”

Light erupted, forming a shield of pure heat.

The sound echoed strangely, like the box itself repeated me.

I willed harder.

Click.

The shield fractured — not destroyed, but rewound, like time skipped back.

The ember pulsed, harder. Watching. Alive.

Act V — Collapse

My body screamed stop.

I willed one last command.

Click.

The galaxy folded in. The walls swallowed themselves. The floor vanished.

And I was back in my room. Palms slick. Limbs heavy.

I dropped onto the bed like a corpse in training.

But my head still burned with one image. Not galaxies. Not ministers. Not Kael’s glare.

Ray’s grin. Frozen. Waiting like a channel I could always switch back to.

And just as my eyes slid shut—

…the grin blinked.

And behind it—whispers.

Not words. Not sounds.

Languages that didn’t exist, threading through my skull like cracks in glass.

Act VI — Whispers and Suspicion

Morning. The whispers hadn’t stopped.

Kids waved toy swords, chanting fake incantations.

Parents pulled them back.

“It isn’t natural.”
“Too much power breaks minds.”

At training, Lyra tilted her head, frowning.

Lyra: “Haise… your aura feels different. Sometimes it shines… but sometimes it twists. Like light bending wrong.”

I smirked. “So I’m dazzling and confusing. Rare talent.”

She didn’t laugh. Her hand brushed mine — lingered, even when the Spark burned hot. For a heartbeat, she flinched. But she didn’t let go.

Her eyes lingered. Searching. Believing.

Later, Kael crossed paths with me. He stared too long.

Kael: “You don’t chant, do you? Everyone chants.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’m just efficient.”

He didn’t laugh. His eyes narrowed, suspicion sharp as a blade.

That look stuck longer than any insult.

Act VII — Political Poison

While I fought my spark, Arval sharpened knives.

Not literal — worse. Words.

Through ministers, his poison spread:

“Too much power breaks minds.”
“No heir should wield everything.”
“Do you want a god… or a calamity?”

Some bowed deeper. Others stepped back like my shadow burned.

Every smile I wore felt heavier. Every laugh faker.

And still, the ember pulsed. Louder.

Act VIII — The Fracture

That night, on the balcony, the city glittered below.

I pressed my palm to my chest.

“Alright, ember. One more test. Just one.”

Click.

The world cracked.

Jagged violet-gold light split the air. Stars spilled through — not Heaven’s stars, but older, stranger constellations.

My veins burned with symbols I couldn’t read.

And through the fracture, I heard it.

The whispers. Alien. Impossible.

Languages no tongue had ever known, threading straight through my bones.

My chest burned. My hand shook.

“If I can’t control this… maybe they’re right to fear me.”

The ember pulsed once. Hard.

Agreement. Or mockery.

I couldn’t tell.

And that was worse.

End of Chapter 11 — Whispers of the Cosmic