"Don’t go! Don’t leave me!"

  The scream tore through the silence before she even realized she was awake.

  Eve jolted upright, her chest heaving, the ragged edges of a sob caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. A sharp, crushing ache spread through her ribs—not pain, not sickness, but something deeper. Something torn away.

  She clutched at her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt. Her body trembled, a suffocating weight pressing down on her lungs. Her sheets were damp, tangled around her legs. The air in her room felt too still, too empty.

  Her pulse hammered, frantic and unrelenting. She didn’t understand why she was crying—only that she couldn’t stop.

  Her breath hitched as she swung her legs over the bed, bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. She barely noticed. Her body moved on instinct, carrying her toward the door before she even knew what she was doing. Her trembling fingers curled around the handle—

  And then she stopped.

  A sharp, awful silence settled around her.

  Her brows furrowed. Where was I going? Who… who was I chasing?

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat, pressing a hand to her forehead as if that would steady the spiral in her mind. Something was missing. No—someone was missing. She could feel it, like an absence in the air, a space that should have been filled but wasn’t.

  A name surfaced before she could stop it.

  “Ethan…?”

  The word felt foreign on her tongue. Familiar, yet wrong. Like a memory half-formed.

  She tried to latch onto it, to dig deeper—but the harder she thought, the more it slipped away. Like grasping at fog.

  Her breathing grew uneven, her vision swimming.

  "Why does it feel like… something important is gone?"

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  What was this? A dream? A nightmare? It felt real, but—

  Her gaze flicked to her phone on the nightstand.

  Her hands moved before she could think, snatching it up, fingers fumbling against the screen as she opened her contacts. Ethan. She had to call him. Had to hear his voice.

  She scrolled—down, further, searching for the name she knew should be there.

  Her fingers slowed.

  Stopped.

  The list blurred. Her stomach twisted, cold creeping into her fingertips.

  There was no Ethan.

  Her breath stilled. That’s not right.

  She scrolled again. Nothing. No contact. No messages. No proof.

  Her heart pounded in her ears, louder than the silence around her. She knew he existed. She knew she wasn’t losing her mind.

  But the more she searched, the less proof there was.

  A violent shudder racked her body.

  She sucked in a breath, gripping the edge of her nightstand for support. What the hell is happening to me?

  Tears welled up again, spilling onto her hands as she curled in on herself. She didn’t even understand why she was crying.

  All she knew was that something was missing.

  And she didn’t know how to get it back.

  The void shuddered.

  A jagged tear in reality split open, raw and unnatural. Its fractured edges flickered like torn fabric desperately trying to mend itself.

  Then—an orb of light shot through.

  It drifted weightlessly for a moment, pulsing faintly.

  Behind it, the tear snapped shut.

  Where are we?

  Ethan’s thoughts surfaced in the emptiness. He had no voice, no breath—just awareness.

  Orin’s presence flickered beside him, steady but distant.

  "This place…" Orin’s voice was quiet.

  "This is where it all started."

  The void shuddered.

  A jagged tear split open, raw and unnatural, its fractured edges flickering like torn fabric struggling to hold itself together.

  Then—an orb of light shot through.

  It drifted weightlessly for a moment, pulsing faintly.

  Behind it, the tear snapped shut.

  Where are we?

  Ethan’s thoughts surfaced in the emptiness. He had no voice, no breath—just awareness.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Orin’s presence flickered beside him, steady but distant.

  "This place…" Orin’s voice was quiet.

  "This is where it all started."

  Ethan extended his senses. He had no eyes, yet he could see—not with sight, but with something deeper.

  And all around him was nothing.

  No light. No sound. No weight. Just an endless void stretching beyond comprehension.

  Yet, as if guided by instinct, his focus was drawn elsewhere.

  A place where even the emptiness felt thinner. A void within the void itself.

  Compared to the void around him, this space felt wrong. As if something had been carved out of reality itself, leaving behind a wound that had never healed.

  Orin's presence stirred, a faint ripple in the void. "Sharp," he murmured. "Most wouldn’t notice, but you sensed it right away."

  Ethan felt no pride in the observation. Whatever lay ahead, it wasn’t a revelation to celebrate.

  Orin lingered in silence, the weight of unseen sorrow pressing down on his words. When he spoke again, his voice carried something deeper—not just knowledge, but loss.

  "This was meant to be a world." His tone was heavy, as if each word bore its own burden. "A new existence, still shaping itself from the very essence of creation."

  "But before it could take form… it was broken." A pause. "No, worse than that. It was stolen."

  A raw ache pulsed in Orin’s voice. "I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t know… not until it was too late." His presence dimmed slightly, as if he were unraveling under the weight of hindsight.

  "He took it. My brother. The core of its creation—its heart, its life, everything that would have allowed it to be. He tore it away before this world had a chance to breathe."

  For the first time, Ethan felt something different from Orin. Not just resolve. Not just duty.

  Helplessness.

  Orin had carried burdens before, had faced impossible choices, but this—this was something he had lost before he even understood what was happening.

  "If I had been faster… If I had just seen it for what it was—" His voice wavered, a raw edge creeping into it. "Maybe none of this would have happened."

  The silence that followed was suffocating. Not because the void was empty, but because it wasn’t.

  It was filled with something unfinished. Something stolen. Something that had almost existed—but never would.

  Orin exhaled softly. "But there is no point in regret. What’s done is done."

  His presence steadied. The grief did not leave him, but he pushed it aside.

  "We need to move forward."

  "We’re close now." Orin’s voice carried a faint certainty, his presence stirring with purpose. "Veyndral is just ahead."

  Ethan barely had time to process the name before his form began to move, drifting forward as though pulled by an unseen force. He wasn’t controlling it, but neither was he resisting.

  Then, suddenly—

  A sensation.

  It wasn’t sight. It wasn’t sound. But something within him reacted.

  His awareness flickered back to the hollow space he had sensed earlier. There, amidst the nothingness, was something different. A pulse, faint but real—a trace of life.

  He stopped. Or, rather, something stopped him.

  "Wait."

  Orin’s presence sharpened. "You felt it too." His voice was no longer distant. It was focused.

  Ethan didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. The flickering force had caught both of them. It was weak, barely noticeable, but undeniably there.

  Without hesitation, they altered their course, drawing closer to the core of the broken world.

  At first, there was nothing.

  Ethan reached out again, stretching his senses, but the presence was gone.

  Had they imagined it? Had it been a mistake?

  No. It couldn’t be. They had both felt it, however brief. A flicker, a whisper of life, impossibly faint but real.

  Orin lingered, his presence taut with uncertainty. “This doesn’t make sense…” His voice carried something uncharacteristic—hesitation. “But I know I felt it.”

  Then—

  Something stirred.

  A pulse. Barely there. Fading almost as soon as it appeared.

  Like a whisper in a storm, like the last flicker of a candle drowning in the dark.

  Ethan reached out again, stretching his senses, but the presence was gone.

  Had they imagined it? Had it been a mistake?

  No. It couldn’t be. They had both felt it, however brief. A flicker, a whisper of life, impossibly faint but real.

  Orin lingered, his presence taut with uncertainty. “This doesn’t make sense…” His voice carried something uncharacteristic—hesitation. “But I know I felt it.”

  Then—

  Something stirred.

  A pulse. Barely there. Fading almost as soon as it appeared.

  Like a whisper in a storm, like the last flicker of a candle drowning in the dark.

  Orin froze.

  “No… It can’t be.” His voice trembled with something Ethan had never heard before.

  Disbelief.

  Shock.

  “A Silven?”

  Ethan latched onto the word. “A what?”

  Orin remained still for a long moment before speaking, his voice laced with something unreadable. “A Silven is a being that was never meant to exist.”

  His presence rippled, as though recalling something distant. “Legends speak of the first Silven, born not from life, but from death. When a world was consumed by an unknown force, its energy did not simply vanish—it folded into itself, forming a singular, conscious entity. A being neither alive nor dead, neither solid nor intangible.”

  Ethan felt a strange unease settle over him. “You’re saying this thing… came from a dead world?”

  Orin exhaled. “Perhaps. Silvens manifest where existence has fractured. Where energy, life, and purpose have been stripped away, leaving only raw potential behind.” His tone darkened. “The higher entities who govern the universe saw the first Silven as an anomaly. Something that defied the natural order.”

  “Some say the true purpose of Silvens is to restore balance—to reclaim energy that is wasted, to absorb what has been hoarded by the strong, to correct what has been broken.” He hesitated. “Others believe they are merely the result of universal correction. A phenomenon meant to take form… only to fade before it ever fully becomes.”

  Ethan didn’t respond immediately. The weight of Orin’s words hung in the void between them.

  “And this one?” he finally asked. “It’s fading?”

  Orin’s presence was solemn. “They always do.”

  Orin focused on the Silven, his presence pressing closer, searching—examining every fragile thread of its existence. It pulsed faintly, struggling to hold itself together, its form unraveling at the edges like a dying ember.

  "It has no consciousness," Orin murmured, his voice tinged with something unreadable. "No will. No awareness. Just raw existence, barely clinging on."

  Ethan sensed it too. The Silven was failing. Even now, its energy was slipping away, scattering into the void like sand through open fingers.

  "It won’t last much longer…" Orin’s voice was solemn. There was nothing they could do. Nothing except watch it disappear—

  Then he froze.

  A possibility surfaced in his mind, fragile at first—then solidifying into something undeniable.

  Was it possible?

  His presence sharpened. "Ethan." Urgency flickered through his tone. "Maybe… just maybe…"

  He hesitated, as if speaking the idea aloud might shatter it.

  "You are nothing but consciousness right now. No body. No anchor to existence." His voice grew heavier. "And this Silven… it has a form, but no self."

  A beat of silence stretched between them.

  Ethan’s thoughts stirred. "Are you saying I should take its form or something?"

  Orin remained quiet for a moment before answering. "I don’t know what the outcome would be." His words were measured, stripped of certainty. "There are risks. If the merging fails, you could fade along with it."

  Ethan hesitated. The thought of merging with something so unstable, so alien, twisted uneasily in his mind. "I don’t think I want to risk it. Not when Eve's future—her life—depends on me."

  Orin’s presence flared slightly, his response sharp. "That’s an even bigger reason to try." His voice carried weight, unwavering. "Once we reach Veyndral, the world’s energy will shape you, anchoring your existence there. You will belong to that world and be bound by its laws."

  He hesitated before continuing. "This Silven… it’s different. It is the rawest form of energy, belonging to no world—only the universe itself. If you merge with it, you won’t be tied down. You will have the freedom to exist beyond one world’s limits."

  His presence steadied, the weight of his words sinking in. "Ethan… this might be your only chance to return to Eve."

  right—and I knew that if I didn’t fix it now, it would weaken everything moving forward.

  fully revise Chapter 4 from the ground up. This new version expands on key moments, enhances the pacing, and strengthens the foundation for what’s to come. I believe this version is much stronger, richer, and more immersive—and I hope you all enjoy it.