Fragment 1 - Awakening - P1

Location: Unknown Alley
Time: Unknown
Weather: Heavy Rainfall
Status: Unstable — Confused

The rain speaks first.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Then harder—drums on metal. Klak-klak-klak.
It hammers rooftops, fire escapes, trash lids. Echoes coil between the walls.

A second rhythm bleeds through.
A heartbeat—jagged, uneven.
As if the chest carrying it had forgotten how.

For a moment, nothing else.
Rain on steel.
Pulse in flesh.
Weight pressing down.

A body stirs.
Soaked cloth clings to skin.

...✶...

Shadows twist into nightmare—
Blood on hands. Screams rip through the dark.
“Run!”
“Don’t let go!”
Faces blur. A woman’s cry cleaves the air: “Help me!”

[??? — panicked]
"NO!"

...✶...

The shout tears him awake. The ring on his hand surges, a violent pulse—his fist slams into the wall—

BOOM.
Stone groans. Dust rains down.

And pain crashes back in.

Breath sharpens. Fast. Ragged.

[??? — disoriented]
"What the hell… Where am I?"

He plants one hand on the ground, the other on the wall.
Muscles quake, tendons scream. He pushes—and crashes down.

[??? — frustrated]
"Fuck! Can’t even stand up?
What the hell’s wrong with me?"

Rain lashes harder. He lifts his head, eyes to the storm.
Water blinds. The sky fractures into blurred stars.

[??? — strained]
"Nightmares… What is this? I need to remember.
The last thing… what was the last thing I did—"

Agony spears through his skull.
Temples drum like war.

[??? — pained]
"Ah—fuck! My head!"

Fingers claw at his temples, grinding pain.
Breath stutters. His chin drops.

Pulse. Breath. Rain.
The merciless trinity driving him down, refusing to let go.

[??? — confused]
"What… why is—"

His hand splashes into a puddle.
Not his reflection. Another face.
Grinning. Wrong.

He blinks. Once. Twice.
Still there. The grin widens.

Instinct fires—his fist pounds the water.
SPLASH. Ripples devour the phantom.

[??? — unsettled]
"…What the fuck was that? That wasn’t real… right?"

He braces on the wall, chest heaving, sweat mixing with rain.

[??? — groaning]
"…My head… my head…"

Inhale. Exhale.
"…Breathe. In. Out."

One palm pressed to the soaked wall.
The other drags along slick stone.
A step. Then another.

[??? — muttering, forcing control]
"Step by step. Steady… slow. Don’t fucking fall apart now."

The alley answers back—
Rain pounding.
Trash lids rattling.
A bottle rolls, glass clinking before it stills.
The sour stink of rot lifts with the steam.

Ahead, a glow flickers—red, orange, ember-like. The last light of a dying fire, clinging to the dark.

The ring at his finger thrums.
Once. Twice. Bone-deep.

[Unknown — mocking, taunting]
Ha… ha… ha… finally awake, little star?
Thought you’d never crawl out of the gutter.

He freezes. Whirls.

[??? — startled]
"What? Who’s there? Show yourself!"

Silence. Only rain.

[??? — irritated, muttering]
"…What is this, kids messing around? Some kind of shitty joke?"

His mutter dies. The ring hammers harder, syncing with his pulse.

Then—
A chill scrapes his spine—predator locking eyes on prey.

His body coils. Instinct takes over. He snaps into stance.

Two eyes ignite in the dark.
Amber fire. Unblinking.
Locked on him.

Sweat beads. His chest tightens. The world shrinks to that gaze.

A blink.
Gone.

Pain slams back. His knees buckle, skull splitting, vision spinning. He claws at the wall.

[??? — weak, breaking]
"…Oh, fuck… what now… what next…"

Stomach heaves. He doubles over.

BLERGH!
Vomit splashes, rain rushing in to wash it down the gutter.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. A bitter laugh. Empty.

[??? — bitter]
"Perfect. Just fucking perfect."
"At least that’s out of my system."

He straightens, forcing one foot ahead of the other.
The alley stretches like eternity, but the ember-glow waits.
Patient.
Unmoving.

At last, he nears the mouth of the alley.
Rain consumes him whole as he steps toward the light.

The alley spits him out.
Rain spreads wider here, washing into gutters.
Street lamps line the road—some steady, others flickering, one buzzing, dying. Neon bleeds faint color into haze.

He squints upward. Street signs smear, unreadable.

[??? — sarcastic, drained]
"Perfect.
What a wonderful surprise—just a street."

To the left—darkness stretching on. Hungry.
To the right—noise. Clatter. Glass on glass. Voices.
And above it: a tavern sign, neon stuttering between glow and shadow.

[??? — determined]
"…Maybe there. Answers. Information."

His foot hovers, first step onto the street—

[Unknown — mocking]
Ha… ha… ha… ha…

[??? — tense]
"…The hell again?"

He scans the alley. Nothing but rain.

[??? — shouting]
"Come out already! If this is a joke—it’s not funny. Or are you just afraid?"

[Unknown — mocking]
The laugh lingers. Drawn-out. Mocking.
Ha… ha… ha… ha…

A whisper curls through the storm:
"I look forward… to our first meeting."

The ring dims. The chill fades. He exhales, shakes his head.

He steps onto the street. No wall to lean on. Balance loose, unsteady, but forward.
Moonlight cuts silver through clouds. A stray cat darts across the road. A gutter coughs. Rain softens to drizzle.

He stumbles once—knee strikes stone.

[??? — muttering]
"…Fuck. Not steady yet. Careful.
Watch the ground."

He pushes back up, wiping water from his eyes. Breath in. Breath out. Shoulders square.

Ahead, the tavern doors loom. Heavy. Wooden. Lantern-light bleeding through cracks.
Laughter and clinking glass swell behind them.

He halts in the rain, every nerve taut.
Draws one deep breath.

[??? — resolved, bracing]
"…Alright. Time to see. Answers better be inside—or I swear I’ll burn this place down."

His hand grips the handle.

The doors creak open—
light floods across him—

–––

[??? — screaming, writhing]
"Argh—my eyes… too bright in here."

For a heartbeat, the tavern stills.
Every gaze drags to the hooded stranger dripping rainwater on their floor.
Murmurs hush. Forks freeze.

Then sound returns—clatter, laughter, voices—like nothing had happened.

He moves forward. Step by step.
Left—tables crowded with drink and half-eaten meals.
Right—a jukebox humming faintly, restrooms beyond.
Straight ahead—the bar.
Rows of bottles glitter against a massive mirror, shelves lined in gold and glass.

He sinks onto a stool. Exhales.

[??? — relieved]
"Finally… warmth. Solid ground."

His hood slips back. Hair—ashen blond, tied into a braid—darkened by rain but gleaming under the tavern’s glow.
Earrings catch the light. Across his brow, a faint golden star-mark glimmers like it was carved by the cosmos.
And his eyes—violet, cosmic, starlit—hold the room without trying.
Striking in a way that made heads turn twice, he looked young, but not boyish.
A man in his twenties. Handsome—unmistakably so.

The mirror shows his reflection, cold and damp, but steady.

[??? — focusing]
"Alright. Focus. Start here.
Tavern owners hear everything…"

He braces hands against the bar. The ring at his finger thrums, harder now, syncing with the pulse in his skull.

[??? — distressed, paranoid]
"No… not again. Not here.
Tell me it was just an illusion…"

He jerks his head around—right, left—nothing but tavern noise and clinking glass.
Then—

[Unknown — low, coaxing]
"Eyes forward, little star. Follow the pull.
The path answers—if you dare."

He looks back—two violet glints in the glass, calm, wrong—then nothing.
The glass ripples—subtle at first, then sharp.
His reflection tilts into a smirk—

—
Not his.
—

Laughter unfurls, slow and pleased.

[Unknown — mocking]
"Welcome to your worst fucking nightmare, little star. Let’s see if you survive this one.”

The ring flares once, then stills.

The mirror steadies.
Only his own face stares back.

Rain drums faintly outside.
Inside, the tavern hums like nothing ever broke.

[??? — confused, demanding]
"Who are you? Am I dreaming, or is this real? What the hell is happening?"

[Unknown — chuckling, mocking]
"No dream, boy. Everything you see, everything you feel—this is real.
Though… reality is a word stretched thin, isn’t it? Depends on who’s holding it."
Laughter spills, sharp as glass. Ha… ha… ha…

[??? — angry]
"You didn’t answer me."

He glares at the mirror.
It grins back. Wrong. Crooked.

[Unknown — amused, taunting]
"Questions, questions.
You think reality bends just because you whine like a child?"
"It bends when I say it does."

[Unknown — amused]
"Introduce yourself, then. Manners first, don’t you think? Or did your master never bother to teach you any?"

The ring flickers. Pain surges.
His hand clamps to his temples.

[??? — groaning]
"My… master…?"

Images lurch—blurred flashes, voices half-lost. Pressure drills behind his eyes.

[Unknown — cool]
"Headaches, hm? Yes, they come at the beginning. Though calling this a beginning is generous—there’s never been one quite like you."

He gasps, dragging his chin up, eyes fixed on the glass.

[??? — panicked, desperate]
"My name… why can’t I remember my own fucking name?!"

[Unknown— cutting, mocking]
"You forgot your name? Really? Ha… your memory falters so soon.
Perhaps your cage left deeper cracks than I imagined."

The mirror ripples. His smirk lingers—

—not his.

---

[Unknown — cutting]
“Your name is Valerian. Don’t lose it again… or it won’t mean a damn thing.”

The word lands heavy.
The rain halts for a heartbeat. The tavern stills. Even his pulse hangs, suspended.
Then—the ring thrums once, dragging the world back into motion.

[Valerian — breathless]
"…Valerian."
Breath falters.
"Valerian… that’s… my name…"

The mirror flickers. For a blink it shows him—not smiling, but fractured. Eyes warped, edges shadow-slick, a twisted echo of himself.
Then it smooths back.

[Unknown — cutting]
"Yes. Valerian. Sounds almost noble, doesn’t it? A pity how far nobility falls."

His laugh cuts deep.

[Nularis — amused, mocking]
“Since your master clearly forgot to teach you manners… allow me.
My name is Nularis. Enchanted to finally meet you.
The rest you’ll earn—if you last long enough.”

The ring flares once, then stills.
The mirror steadies.
Only his own face stares back.
Rain drums faintly outside. Inside, the tavern hums like nothing ever broke.

[Valerian — cautious]
"Nularis. Strange name.
Never heard of it before."

[Nularis — chuckling]
"Of course you haven’t. No one has. I’m one of a kind. Just like you, boy."

[Valerian — demanding]
"Why are you here? Why are you following me? Why are you in my reflection? Am I you?
Why am I even here—what the hell is happening to me?"

[Nularis — amused]
"Oh, straight to business."
The voice curls with amusement. "You want answers? No problem.
Why didn’t you just say so?"

Silence. A pause stretched thin.

[Valerian — impatient]
"…Well? Where are they? The answers?"

[Nularis — sharp]
"Ahh, you thought I’d hand them over like drinks at the bar? No riddles, no games, just straight delivery?
What do you take me for—an oracle? A ledger? Information is earned, traded, stolen… never gifted.
What do I look like to you? A fool?"

[Valerian — furious, unraveling]
"Are you fucking kidding me?! I don’t even know where I am, who I am—nothing!
And you sit there smirking like it’s all a goddamn joke!"

[Nularis — mocking]
"Tch tch… temper, temper."
The smirk in the glass bends wider.
"You’ll get your answers in time.
But right now?
You’re at the beginning. And beginnings demand only one thing: adapt, survive, stumble your way forward. Earn the right to know."

Valerian slams his palm against the bar.
The mirror rattles, bottles shiver.
Then his eyes catch—something glinting.
A ring.

[Valerian — startled]
"…What the—? A ring?
Where the hell did this come from?"

The band hums faintly against his skin, almost like a pulse.

[Valerian — confused]
"Since when—? Why am I wearing this?!"

He grips it, fingers tightening as if to pull it free—

[Nularis — warning]
"Stop."
The voice cuts sharp, clean, undeniable.
"Don’t. Don’t even try to take it off."

[Valerian — narrowing eyes]
"Why? What happens if I do?"

[Nularis — razor-edged]
"Not now.
Not ever.
Pull that ring and you'll tear away more than metal—you'll rip out what little of you remains."

The mirror steadies. His reflection stares back, unsettled, silent.
The ring lies heavy on his hand, thrumming low, like it knows something he doesn’t.

[Valerian — bitter, sarcastic]
“Alright—let me get this straight.
I don’t even know where the hell I am.
Got nothing. A mirror that laughs at me.
A ring stuck on my hand I can’t rip off.
Voices in my head… so yeah, maybe I’m cracked in the head. Miss anything?”

[Nularis — amused, warm]
A warm chuckle ripples through the glass, rich with delight.
“Pretty much nailed it, Starboy. You’re right where everyone begins—at the start. Isn’t the start delicious?”

[Valerian — skeptical]
“The start of what, exactly? Don’t play coy.”

[Nularis — playful, cryptic]
“The only thing that ever mattered—your journey. Savor it, Starboy. Most never do.”

The ring on Valerian’s finger hums faintly—an amused purr, almost alive.
His breathing steadies, yet the tavern’s hush stays taut.

[Tavern Owner — dry, mocking]
“Kid.”
A dry voice cuts in, close. “You ordering something, or planning to throw hands with him in the mirror all night?
This is a tavern, not a stage for… whatever that was.”

[Valerian — hesitant]
His tongue feels heavy; he has no idea what to even ask for.
Strong? Sweet? He’s never tasted alcohol—never thought of it as anything but something adults drowned themselves in.

The silence stretches—then, before he can even think, his mouth betrays him.
“…Ember-Ale.”

The Owner raises a brow, then nods once. He reaches for a heavy mug—no ice, no garnish, just the solid weight of drink.

[Nularis — amused, needling]
“Ohhh—so the Starboy drinks now? That’s new. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

[Valerian — unsettled, defensive]
“…Yeah. Neither did I.”

The Owner glances toward the mirror—pointedly, as if waiting.

[Nularis — mocking, cheerful]
“Oh, nothing for me, good sir,” the voice says with cheerful courtesy.

The Owner twitches a smile, nods once at the glass, then again at Valerian, and turns away.

[Tavern Owner — neutral]
“You got it.”

Bottles whisper against wood.
A mug thuds solid on the counter.
The pour is thick and steady; Ember-Ale foams dark, its bitter edge cutting through the damp air.

[Valerian — muttering, unsettled]
(under his breath)
“He looked straight at you.”

[Nularis — smug]
“Yes, he did. Ha.”

The Owner slides the drink across polished wood in a practiced push. Valerian catches it at the edge.

[Valerian — polite, faintly distracted]
“Thanks.”

He lets the cold bite into his palm, turning slightly to angle the mirror out of view.

[Valerian — sarcastic]
“So I’m at the start. Great. Do I get a map, Nularis?”

[Nularis — dry, mocking]
“Maps are for people afraid of being lost. You?
You should get comfortable with it.”

[Valerian — annoyed]
“I’m not in the mood for poetry.”

[Nularis — amused]
“Oh, we’ll fix that.”

The Ember-Ale catches lamplight; its surface glows dark amber, foam shifting like restless smoke.

[Voice, male, distant — mournful]
“…lost her in the chaos.”

[Voice, female, nearer — grieving]
“…he never came back to me.”

[Voice, older — broken]
“…both of them—both, gone.”

The room tilts with grief, shadows thickening at the edges.

[Stranger — quiet, sudden]
“Rough night?”

The words come sudden, close.
A man sits on the stool to Valerian’s right, heavy coat still wet, rain dripping from the hem.
His presence hadn’t stirred the air; the seat hadn’t scraped wood.
He’s simply there. His shoulders slump like stone eroded by years.
He doesn’t look at Valerian.
His eyes stay forward—fixed on some distance only he can see.

[Valerian — guarded]
“…Yeah. Rough.” His knuckles tighten around the mug.“…You?”

[Stranger — hollow, grief-worn]
“My family. Lost them all.”
The voice is flat, worn thin, as if grief has sanded it smooth.
“One breath, they were here. Next—gone.
Like the sky blinked… and the stars went out.”

Valerian swallows, throat tight. His chest aches as if the stranger’s words have weight of their own.
The ring at his finger warms, pulsing once, in quiet sympathy.

[Valerian — sincere]
“…I’m sorry. My condolences.”

He lifts his mug; the stranger raises his own—both heavy, dark pours, no gleam in them.
The mugs meet with a dull thunk, solemn as bells for the dead.
They drink. Ember-Ale burns slow and bitter; for a heartbeat Valerian feels something heavy, real, grounding.

[Valerian — tentative]
“If you want to talk,” he says, turning back, “I can—”

The stool is empty.
No coat. No glass.
Only dust whirling faintly where weight had been.

Valerian freezes. He scans left, right—nothing. Then back to the mirror.

[Valerian — panicked, angry]
“What the fuck—where did he go? There was someone here. I just talked to him.”

He scans the room, then the mirror, jaw tight.

[Valerian — frustrated]
“Are you fucking kidding me? There was someone here! What was that?”

[Nularis — cryptic, tender]
“A lesson,” the voice says at last, almost tender.
“Or a memory that doesn’t belong to you yet.”

[Valerian — wary]
“Yet?”
[Nularis — deliberate]
“Yet.”

A chair thumps from somewhere behind; conversation resumes in scattered currents.

[Tavern Owner — knowing]
“You look like a man with more questions than answers,” the Owner says, returning with a pointless towel and a knowing eye.
“You want another, just say so.”

[Valerian — curt]
“Thanks— I’ll hold for now.”

[Tavern Owner — neutral]
“Suit yourself.”

He sets the mug down, registers the dull thud of wood on wood, the faint hiss of foam settling.

[Valerian — contemplative]
“…Weird. This is… actually the first time I’ve ever had alcohol. Huh. Feels… strange.
Can’t say I’m used to it.”

He lifts the mug again, takes another measured sip.
The Ember-Ale scalds down his throat—harsh, but almost… honest.

[Nularis — amused]
A low chuckle curls through the mirror.
“Well, there’s a first for everything, Starboy.”

Silence stretches for a moment, filled only by clinks of cutlery and a muffled laugh from across the tavern.
Valerian drinks again, letting the burn fade.

[Nularis — thoughtful]
“That was kind of you,” the voice muses, softer now.
“Chatting so casually with a phantom.”

[Valerian — uneasy]
“…I did wonder. Why couldn’t I see his face properly?
It was… like a slit of light on the street—blurred, broken. No real features.”

The mirror stays silent.

[Valerian — exasperated]
He exhales sharply through his nose.
“Great. Another mystery. Questions piling up, answers nowhere in sight. Wonderful.”

He tilts the mug once more, letting the last sip sting his tongue before setting it back on the bar.

[Valerian — impatient]
He drains the mug, the burn crawling down his throat.
“Alright—what now? Sit here, memorizing songs till I can sing along?
This ‘journey’—no map, no clue, no purpose. Am I meant to move, or just drown in the booze?”

[Nularis — cryptic, calm]
“If the time is right, you’ll know. Purpose reveals itself, never before.”

[Valerian — sarcastic, bitter]
He exhales hard, throws both hands up, palms open.
“Fantastic. Thanks, Great Oracle. That really clears things up.”

[Nularis — needling, amused]
A chuckle, low and needling.
“Always a pleasure.”

Valerian drops his hands, drags the back of one across his damp forehead.
He lifts the mug, drains what’s left, sets it down with a flat clack.

[Nularis — amused, darkly playful]
“Oh, Starboy…” The voice purrs, sharp with amusement.
“Brace yourself. The show’s about to begin.”

The mirror rippled, light bending like liquid for a heartbeat.
Countless eyes blinked back at him—none his own.

Then the reflection smiled.