34-

Echo of Darkness – Chapter 2: Awakening

When a door opens, it doesn’t just lead to another place… sometimes, the past, the lost, and forgotten gods pass through it as well.

Time had become like a reflection in a shattered mirror. Each second pounded like a pulse echoing in Wanda’s mind; each beat widening the emptiness inside her chest. And that night, when the moon turned completely black — as even the stars seemed to shiver, holding their breath — the door opened.

She stood in the very center of the magic circle. Her hands were still stained with blood; per the parchment’s demands, she had sliced her left wrist and spilled her essence into the circle’s core. The moment her blood touched the earth, the air changed. In the silence, a hum had begun — deep, soul-devouring. Then, the earth cracked, symbols began to glow, and the wind blew not inward, but outward — as if exhaling from within.

And then, the moment came.

A shadow appeared in the center of the floor. But this was no ordinary darkness. The shadow twisted and swelled and shrank as though something alive was breathing beneath it. When Wanda’s gaze locked onto the darkness, she realized — the ground was no longer solid. Beneath… was something else.

The door had opened.

The world beneath her feet collapsed into a silent fall. Air vanished. Light faded. And for a moment, Wanda thought everything had stopped. But time was still flowing — only now, in another direction, into another plane, into a reality ruled by something else entirely…

She stepped forward.

With her first step, the earth beneath her disappeared. With the second, the world was drowned in silence. She closed her eyes, though it wouldn’t have mattered — the darkness was absolute. But this darkness was not mere blindness. No, it was something else. This was a felt darkness — one that seeped beneath the skin, into the bone, that filled the lungs like black mist with each breath, and dulled her thoughts.

She had entered the Shadow Dimension.

At first, there was nothing. Just an endless void. But with every step she took, something seemed to stretch beneath her feet. It wasn’t soil. Nor was it stone. It felt more like… the texture of forgotten memories. Each step echoed. Each breath carried a collapse.

She walked for a while. She had no sense of how much time had passed. Time in the Shadow Dimension was different — perhaps a second, perhaps a century.

Then… sounds came. Not heard, but felt. Not whispers — more like the echoes of memories, the internal vibrations of cries long dead. Sometimes a sob, sometimes a name being called, sometimes the shrill echo of a sorrow too ancient for words.

Wanda inhaled sharply. Her breath caught in her throat. A vision pierced her mind: Pietro, reaching his hand toward her… only to be swallowed by shadows.

“No…” she whispered. Even her own voice startled her. It didn’t echo. The Shadow Dimension did not welcome echoes. Sounds didn’t live here — only emotions did.

What emerged before her suggested she now had a direction. Within the darkness — far, yet oddly near — a faint shape began to form. A structure. A temple? A palace? No… more like a tomb. But alive.

Wanda began walking toward it. With each step, the shadows thickened, and the darkness around her deepened. But curiously… she wasn’t afraid. Varg’s echo still resounded in her mind. It was as if she was being watched by him — or summoned.

At some point, the ground changed. The earth gave way to pitch-black glass. Beneath it, silhouettes moved — formless beings, twisted faces, bodies without mouths. She was not alone in the Shadow Dimension. She had never been alone here.

Then, the structure became clear.

A vast hall surrounded by towering, spiraled black columns. The ceiling was invisible; when she looked up, there was only infinite darkness. In the center of the hall stood a massive platform… and upon it, a throne.

The throne simply was. It was neither of stone nor metal. It looked more like a piece of bone torn from the back of an ancient being. Shadows clung to it, making it seem alive, constantly shifting, creating the illusion that it might move at any moment.

And on the throne…

Varg.

Or rather — V.

A colossal silhouette. Even seated, he loomed like the shadow of a mountain. His body was humanoid, but the proportions were wrong — his neck slightly too long, shoulders broad but hunched. He had no skin tone; just a dark texture, as though forged from the shadows themselves. His face… was indistinct. Eye sockets existed, but held no light. He had no lips, yet they quivered as though always on the verge of speech. From his torso extended long, slender black wings — bony, semi-transparent, and rippling like smoke.

Wanda tried to approach, but her steps grew heavy. The air thickened. Something was pressing in on the space around her. With every step, her soul felt more crushed, her knees trembling. V’s aura filled the space — it wasn’t power, it was pressure. A force that could crush will with presence alone.

Then, Wanda paused.

Shadows moved in the corners of the hall. Not human-shaped, but conscious. Watching. Recording her every move, measuring her every breath. Wanda felt this sensation gnaw at her insides. But there was no turning back. The way had already closed behind her.

And then… a flicker appeared in V’s eye sockets. A faint, gray spark. Perhaps a glance. Perhaps only awareness. But it was there.

He was awakening.

Her steps now trembled. Not from exhaustion, nor fear… This was something else. A burden — sharing the same ground as a being that recognized her without touch. With each step, Wanda’s existence grew heavier, and the shadows drew closer. They were no longer watching — they were waiting.

When she stood before the throne, the veins in her neck forgot their rhythm. Her heartbeats slowed, then quickened, then drowned in silence again. As she looked at the figure seated upon the throne, she realized she was not staring at a myth — she was gazing into the eyes of a slumbering god. This being was beyond life and death, beyond light and dark. V was not merely a summons — he was an echo, a whisper that did not die even at the root of creation.

The shadows coiled around Wanda’s feet. As if trying to lift her… or perhaps force her to kneel. She dropped to her knees involuntarily. There was no sky above, but a weight pressed upon her — like an ancient verdict suspended in the air. As if her very soul was being judged, her essence measured.

And then, sparks once more ignited in V’s eyes. But this time, they were sharper. Not just a flicker — an intent.

When Wanda met his gaze, she did not see a face — she faced the darkest memory of the universe.

The first sound in her mind was not a word. It was a feeling. A vibration. A moment of recognition — as if a memory buried beneath even the subconscious had surfaced. Then… came words. Not heard by ear, but rising from within the heart, etched into the fabric of the soul:

“Are you… the first spark?”

Wanda’s eyes widened. She tried to take a step back, but her body would not move. The voice had no origin — it wasn’t coming from outside. V was inside her now. Or at the very least, he had touched her.

“You bled from your veins. Were born from your grief. I did not summon you… and yet you came.”

These were not ordinary sentences. As Wanda heard them, she didn’t just understand them — she lived them. Each word brought with it a vision. Mountains cloaked in shadow, cities drowned in darkness, and vast, shapeless beings drifting through the sky… They were V’s memories. Or perhaps his dreams.

The shadows began to rise. Stretching from between the columns to the walls, to the ceilings. The entire hall seemed to breathe. It was as though the space was tied to the one who sat on the throne. And now, his pulse was beginning to beat.

Wanda tried to gather her thoughts. For a brief moment, she thought of Pietro — his smile, his touch on her shoulder on the battlefield… She tried to draw strength from that memory. She was here for her brother. This being might show her the way. Even if it was just a chance…

She stepped forward.

“I came to wake you,” she said.

Her words did not fall into the hall. They vanished into the dark air. But a response was born. The ground beneath the throne cracked. A tremor rippled through. The shadows quivered. And V’s body stirred.

He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t look away from her. But somehow… the entire hall was now looking. The entire Shadow Dimension gazed through his eyes.

“Awakening has a cost.” the voice echoed again. This time, clearer. Deeper. Wanda nearly fell to the ground. Her legs couldn’t bear the weight of that voice.

“Every spark either burns… or is extinguished.”

Tears slid down her cheeks. From fear. From helplessness. And from a closeness she couldn’t quite explain. When she first saw V, she thought she had merely touched a legend. But now, that legend was looking into her. Into her broken parts, her dark desires, her twisted hopes.

And then… V moved.

His shoulders trembled first. His wings spread. The air ceased. The hall had drunk its fill of darkness. Wanda, for the first time, felt absolute void. The shadows no longer danced around her; they were pulling her in. The ground around the throne cracked. Black flames seeped from the earth. The sky darkened — not with night, but with oblivion. Reality lost its color.

V’s head tilted slightly forward.

And Wanda’s mind was struck by one last image:

An endless battlefield.

V stood at the heart of the darkness. The sky burned. Gods died. Reality was torn. And Wanda — in every version of this scene — stood at his side. Sometimes commanding him. Sometimes walking beside him. But always, her eyes were made of blood, and her soul woven from shadows.

Then, everything vanished.

And V’s voice, this time like a whisper but with razor clarity, reached her:

“You have awakened me.”

Wanda closed her eyes. And in that moment, silence reigned once more.