Kael Draven, 20 years old, was an utterly ordinary human being.

  But his life was filled with misfortune—his parents died in an accident when he was only ten. Left to fend for himself, he struggled through a harsh and bitter life. And as the saying goes, "Misfortune never comes alone," Kael’s hardships did not end there.

  He was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, cutting his time in the world short by several decades. In his final days, Kael turned to spirituality—a seemingly irrational pursuit in a world dominated by science, the supposed foundation of life.

  Kael exhausted every last bit of his wealth, selling his house and all the assets left behind by his parents in search of a cure—an ancient ritual. The seller was a devout worshiper of the gods. In this era, such individuals could be imprisoned, yet this man had managed to remain hidden. Kael hesitated for a moment when he saw the man’s sly, almost deceitful expression.

  But he had made up his mind. He was willing to do anything for a chance at a better life. He and the man discussed to find a suitable day to perform the ceremony.

  Deep underground, in a vast stone chamber, two figures stood engaged in an ominous act. One was an ordinary-looking man, with black hair, a slightly haggard face, and deep, dark eyes—Kael himself. The other was none other than the devout seller, Kenl. He was disheveled, his long black hair unkempt, dressed in a dark green-blue robe, exuding an eerie, secretive aura.

  Before them lay a large stone altar, just big enough for a person to lie upon. Intricate carvings adorned its surface, and at its center was a five-pointed star.

  Kael was admiring the scene when Kenl’s voice snapped him out of his trance.

  "Hurry up! It’s almost time."

  Kael nodded without hesitation. Then, without shame, he removed his clothes. His illness had left him gaunt, his once-fit body reduced to nothing but faint traces of muscle. He stepped toward the altar and lay down, feeling the cold, dust-laden stone against his bare skin.

  Kenl walked to the left side of the chamber, where a large wooden chest rested. As he opened it, a foul stench of rot and blood filled the air, causing him to grimace in disgust. Inside were five small blood-stained cloth pouches, each about the size of a human hand. Beside them sat a white skull—shaped like that of a bull or a goat.

  Suppressing his revulsion, Kenl picked up the pouches and the skull, cradling them as he returned to the altar.

  "Kael, are you certain about this?" Kenl hesitated, his voice laced with doubt.

  This ritual had come to him in a dream after Kael sought him out. He believed it to be divine revelation, a prophecy from the gods.

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  Kael responded with a cheerful certainty, "I’m sure. If this works, people will finally believe in the gods. They’ll start worshipping, and you’ll be seen as a messenger of the divine. You won’t have to hide anymore."

  Kenl’s heart swelled with excitement at the thought of his future. He would no longer be a fugitive but a revered prophet.

  His doubts vanished.

  "Put this on and wait," Kenl instructed, handing Kael the skull mask.

  He then unwrapped the five blood-soaked pouches, revealing their grisly contents—five human hearts, each belonging to a virgin.

  Kenl grimaced, turning to Kael. "Are these really the hearts of virgins?"

  Kael merely nodded.

  Kenl cursed inwardly. "Damn it. You’re a good buyer, but don’t be so cold! We’re about to change the world, after all!"

  Pushing aside his discomfort, Kenl carefully placed the five hearts on the points of the star surrounding Kael.

  With the mask obscuring his vision, Kael could only rely on his other senses. The air grew thick with the scent of blood—preparations were complete.

  Kenl retrieved an ornate dagger from his robes and approached Kael’s exposed body. His voice trembled slightly. "Bear with the pain. You only need to survive for ten seconds."

  He needed Kael to endure for ten seconds—the exact duration of the incantation.

  Kael’s reply was cold: "Alright."

  But inside, he was terrified. Would he survive? Would he die instantly?

  He took a deep breath. Fear faded into acceptance.

  Kenl climbed onto the altar, kneeling beside him. Kael felt the weight settle beside him and closed his eyes.

  "If you die, don’t haunt me," Kenl joked suddenly.

  They both chuckled, easing the tension.

  Then, without warning, the dagger plunged into Kael’s chest.

  Kenl wasted no time—he clasped his hands together and began chanting, his voice slow and deliberate.

  "O you who listen within the deep dreams,

  By blood and heart, I etch this offering.

  Accept this sacrifice, and grant us rebirth."

  Kael’s blood flowed into the altar’s carvings, filling the intricate patterns.

  Pain erupted through his body. He gasped for air, his mind consumed by agony. Memories of his life flashed before him. His regrets, his joys—all of it surfaced in those final moments.

  His vision darkened.

  Then, he heard a voice.

  A voice unlike any he had ever known—mysterious, ancient, and powerful.

  "The chosen one should seek the meaning of..."

  The voice was suddenly cut off.

  And Kael’s consciousness faded into oblivion.

  At that very moment, something happened. The room trembled violently.

  Kael’s blood rose into the air, forming a crimson vortex above them. The five hearts and the skull mask were pulled into its spiraling mass.

  Kenl’s face twisted in horror. He had never truly believed in gods—until now.

  Tears streamed down his face as he clasped his hands in reverence.

  But then, his body began to dissolve.

  Slowly, gently—his flesh and blood turned to mist.

  He felt no pain, only an overwhelming sense of euphoria.

  "I’ve been chosen..." he thought, ecstatic.

  But it was only a delusion.

  Within moments, Kenl had completely vanished.

  Kael’s body remained, but his soul was gone.

  A faint smile lingered on his lips.

  The blood vortex suddenly collapsed, shattering the underground chamber. The entire structure caved in, burying its dark secrets beneath the earth.

  A massive explosion followed, wiping out everything within an 800-meter radius.

  In the aftermath, a giant crater remained.

  And within that crater, a strange sigil was burned into the ground:

  A hollow eye, crowned with a twisted wreath of thorns.

  That night, the world gained a new mystery—one that would be recorded in history forever.