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 Ryvane lamps. I stretched my fingers. My chest throbbed. And then… I let go.

First, the easy stuff.

Fire — whoosh, a spiral in my palm.

Water — rippling cool, sharp and smooth.

Wind — slicing air like a blade.

Earth — jagged shards at my stomp.

Lightning — crackling impatient across my fingertips.

Ice — frost spreading brittle and sharp.

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.

✦ Act II — The Heart that Broke the Sky

The ember in my chest wouldn’t quiet.

Its rhythm pulsed with my thoughts — faster, louder, until my soul and breath began to fall out of sync.

So I sat down in the training yard, beneath Heaven’s pale moons.

The lamps dimmed as I drew Ryvane through my veins, steady, controlled — trying to sync it with my heartbeat, to calm hum beneath.

Inhale.                                                              Exhale.                                                               

Align the rhythm.

Breathe through the storm.

My pulse slipped out of sync; Ryvane threads sparked wild in my veins.

And for a moment — silence.

Then, nothing.

Whiteout.

A flash of static devoured the world — not light, not dark, just absence.

When vision returned, I wasn’t in Heaven.

I was somewhere small, warm.

A living room.                                                             A flickering TV.

Two boys laughing — one hunched over a game controller, the other cheering too loud.

I stepped closer.

One boy looked up.  Me.

Human. Younger. Unscarred.

And beside him — Ray.

Alive. Smiling like sunrise.

For a second, I forgot to breathe.

The room felt like mercy.

Then Ray’s laughter cut short.

The colors bled away.

The screen went black.

His chair was empty.

The world shifted.

Rain. Asphalt.                                                             A crowd in black.

Umbrellas bowed like mourning wings.

I stood beside a child — smaller, shaking, eyes red and swollen.

Hatoru - Me.

He was staring at a coffin.

Ray’s name carved into the wood.

The smell of wet earth and burning incense filled the air.

Thunder rolled, quiet and cruel.

The boy whispered, broken:

“Why do we never get a choice?”

I knelt beside him.

My hand trembled as I touched his shoulder.

Haise (me softly):

“Because sometimes the world chooses for us. All we can do is keep walking.”

The boy turned, tears streaking his cheeks.

“Then why are you here now?”

Haise: “To tell you — it’s okay to stop running.”

The boy shook his head.

His voice cracked.

“Why didn’t God save him?”

My throat locked.

Because I was the one who could have.

Because back then, I still prayed.

Because maybe He did — and the price was me.

I covered my mouth, unable to speak.

The truth wouldn’t come.

The lie wouldn’t stay.

The rain froze mid-fall.

The world trembled like glass under pressure.

The ember in my chest convulsed —

a pulse of violet-gold light ripping through my ribs like a scream too bright for sound.

It wasn’t pain.                                                            It was eruption.

A star igniting where a heart should be.

Fractals exploded outward — galaxies collapsing and rebirthing inside a single beat.

“Why… why can’t I hold anything permanent?”

My own voice — distant, broken, not asking Heaven, just the silence.

The light burned hotter — memory, sorrow, love, guilt — all folding inward.

“Why can’t souls have a home?”

The world cracked.

Then burst.

I gasped — lungs on fire, vision spinning —back in the training yard.

Sweat. Blood. Breath. Real again.

The moons above had shifted — hours lost, proof it hadn’t been a dream.

My heart was still glowing, every beat like thunder under skin.

I raised a trembling hand toward the sky.

Something shimmered between my fingers — light fracturing like glass, as if the air remembered me too well.

Then—

Click.

The world glitched.

Stone pixelated.

Air bent in on itself.

My hand flickered like a bad reflection.

Reality blinked.

And the stars bent inward, like the universe was exhaling my name.

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 fine, Everything's fine.”

Act III — 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.

I froze mid-breath. The air felt too still, too clean.

“Okay… what the hell is this?” I muttered, half expecting the ground to file a complaint.

No sound. No sky. Just silence and light folding over itself.

“Did I—did I fall into my own head or something?”

The thought barely finished before the space answered.

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.

“The city wasn’t Heaven. It was Earth — the one place I wasn’t supposed to remember.”

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.”

“It was space — it was memory pretending to be space. My soul painting its own lies.”

Act IV — 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 V — 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.

“Etheric 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 VI — 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 VII — 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 VIII — Political Poison

While I fought my spark, Arval sharpened knives.

Not literal — worse. Words.

Through ministers, his poison spread:

“The throne’s blood runs strong.”
“No heir should wield everything.”
“Do you want a god… or a calamity?”

“The Concord’s silence made Arval’s poison sound holy.”

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 IX — 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.

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔲𝔫𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔯𝔰.”

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

"Even Ryvane didn’t want to hear the words.”

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 uncertainty burned deeper than pain.”

End of Chapter 19 — Whispers of the Cosmic