Time: 9:56 PM
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New Novel Created: Bloom of Ananta
Author: Dibz
Genre: Fantasy / Cosmic Mystery / Reincarnation
Main Character: Anikar Soren
Click to add Chapter 1 — [✔ Enter]
There was no light. No edge. No bottom.
It wasn't just dark—it was absence, silence so vast, like it questioned his existence.
He opened his eyes.
Mist curled beneath him, coiling and uncoiling without purpose. His limbs floated weightless. He couldn't feel his heartbeat—yet he was chillingly certain he hadn't stopped existing.
"Am I dead?" The thought wasn't a question; it was a desperate plea to be answered from the suffocating darkness.
His last memory was ordinary: the hiss of a soda can opening. College files submitted, the weight of a semester finally lifted. Crossing the street, the hurried honk of a distant car. And then, a moment suspended in time, an old man stumbling on the pavement. He reached out to help—
But the man froze.
His face twitched—then fractured, like a frame drop in reality. His voice tore open like corrupted code:
'You have… great… this is your… Ar…k…'
The sound didn't come from his mouth—it came from everywhere.
Like resonating inside his skull.
Then—
Silence like darkkness swallowed everything.
"What a pathetic death," he muttered, "I don't even remember dying properly."
He attempted to move—to push off, to grasp, to swim—and failed. There was no ground, no air to breathe, just an endless drift.
What is this place? Is this hell? Heaven?
As he questioned, something flickered beneath his skin.
A pulse.
His wrist glowed faintly. Just for a second. A jagged line of light, passed through his veins, pulsed and faded.
His breath caught.
He stumbled back. Looked at his palm. Nothing.
"What is happening to me?" he whispered—aloud. His voice cracked.
A single glyph lit up on his chest.
A black sphere shaded with a gradient that gets darker toward the center — as if it's sucking in light.
Suddenly, a pulse. Not his heart, but something within him. Lines of faint golden light, like intricate circuits, began to trace beneath his translucent skin. His veins; they pulsed with an ethereal energy that made his non-existent blood hum.
The sphere responded and everything shifted in the realm.
The coiling mist began to stretch outward, pulling back to reveal a far-off space. A colossal, shadowy hall.
He drifted toward it, pulled by an invisible current in the nothingness.
A throne palace hanging in middle of universe itself.
A table of obsidian stretched endlessly across the darkness. Around it—six figures cloaked in silence, their hoods stitched with the stardust of dead galaxies.
Their laughter rang out—shards of mockery, brittle like glass breaking inside your bones.
"We finally killed that bastard, Now no one can challenge our order."
One of them said
"Let them watch. Let them tremble. We hold the fragments. Power won't slip again.' the other followed
The words, cold and absolute, dropped into the silence. The moment they landed, the shadowy scene fractured.
He didn't just observe; he was ripped, disoriented, into a new, horrific reality. A battlefield, choked with the smell of ash and forgotten dust.
In the distance, a woman stood. Her expression was unreadable. In front of her—a body, suspended mid-air as if caught in an invisible current. It was impaled by countless weapons: arrows jutted from its chest, blades pierced its limbs, and cruel, sharpened spikes protruded from its back. Not a drop of blood spilled. Only black mist, thick and noxious.
A corpse cradled by cruelty.
He couldn't gasp. Air burned in his lungs.
His thoughts spiraled, disconnected and frantic.
"No. No. This can't be right.
What… who is that?
What nightmare am I inside?"
The world snapped again.
He was back in the realm. But now—he wasn't alone.
Four shadows, deeper than the darkness itself, drifted toward him.
Formless at first… until they stepped closer, resolving into distinct figures. Their faces became horrifyingly clear.
They were the same people from the obsidian table.
Smirking. Watching.
And he looked down—his own body, impossibly, now impaled. Suspended just like the black corpse, pierced by weapons that pulsed with that same golden light.
His scream, raw and visceral, tore through the realm.
The scream shattered the realm—and he fell.
Not into pain.
Not into peace.
Into a memory. But not his.
Watching a world not his own. A vibrant tapestry woven under a starlit sky, familiar and yet utterly different.
A village nestled among ancient mountains, silent guardians watching over a quiet town.
He entered a house.
A small, creaking porch, a boy sat, eyes wide with wonder, clutching a star-shaped pendant. He was no older than seven.
"Grandma," he whispered, "how do Fragmenters become so strong?"
He watched, unseen, unheard, as the old woman beside him paused her knitting. She smiled.
"And what else did your teacher say, little hero?"
The boy puffed out his chest, radiating pride. "That they're blessed! By gods! The Archons!"
She chuckled softly, pulling him gently onto her lap, her voice becoming soft. "Long, long ago, the world was silent, A vast, empty canvas. Then came a burst—the first heartbeat of the cosmos, a thunderclap of creation."
He leaned and replied. "The Big Bang?"
"Yes, The Big Bang. From that burst came six beings. The Archons of Light, Time, Spirit, Gravity, Elements, and Veil. Each one, in their boundless wisdom, gifted fragments—a small sparkle of their very essence—to help mortals survive."
"Survive what?" The Kid asked.
The old woman's gaze drifted to the shimmering stars above, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Anantnir. A creature born from the very same spark as the Archons. Hollow. Soul less. A devourer of all light and meaning."
"Three wars they fought. The last one… it nearly erased existence. But the Archons won. Or… that's how the story goes."
Kid's innocent face held a flicker of doubt. "You don't sound sure, Grandma."
The old woman hesitated, her gaze distant, fixed on something beyond the stars. "I think something is missing from the story, a missing piece.
But Some truths, Ryen, are too heavy for your young shoulders."
Above them, the countless stars shimmered uneasily, as if listening, as if disturbed.
And somewhere, beneath their warmth—he trembled.
Not from fear.
But resonance.
This wasn't just a bedtime tale.
This story was in his bones. He felt a connection, a chilling familiarity, to the tale of Archons and Anantnir, to the fragile balance of a world he had never known.
Then came a whisper, not from the grandma or the kid, but from the place he couldn't escape, The realm.
"Wake up. They're waiting."
A different voice, way closer now, sharper, more real, like someone was standing behind him
He turned back but no one was there.
A scream echoed throughout the realm. Like a crack between two worlds.
"Stay strong, ma'am. Baby's crowning!"
The mist, the golden veins, the impossible horror, the ancient tale—all of it spiraled, coalescing, funneling into the sphere on his chest.
Memories of his life flooded around him, —the echoes of laughter, the ache of grief. His life, a lifetime, compressed into his chest.
His body collapsed. Or rather, he felt the impossible sensation of falling into a new form.
His eyes opened.
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'"Dinner's ready! Don't bury yourself in that screen again."
"Yeah, yeah—coming! You don't have to say that every night…"
[SHUT DOWN]
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"And People think writing a story's easy… try carrying one inside your head for years."
The screen glowed again.
Novel: Bloom of Ananta
Prompt: Are You Sure You Want to Rename The Novel?
New title: Shards of Nexoria
Author: Dibz
Main Character: Anikar Soren → Reincarnated as Arvik Rox
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"So he began to write it…"[a voice fading in room's darkness]