Chapter one: The Chapel

May my prayers reach you, O Lord.

May my family live another day.

May we escape this hell unbroken.

May you grant me strength to free my people.

May your light find us before the darkness does. Amen.

A tall, bony figure draped in white robes knelt in the dim chamber, his black hair hanging over his face. Hands pressed together in silent prayer, he sat motionless, the air thick with the scent of melted wax and dust.

He rose to his feet, his gaze lifting to the figure on the cross. Shadows stretched across its motionless form, the weight of silent suffering pressing down upon the chamber. The figure was made of gold, a rare resource that was solemnly found in this land. Draped in a flowing robe, its sculpted folds carved with such precision that it seemed to ripple despite the unmoving metal. The fabric clung to his emaciated frame, gathered at the waist in a simple knot, the ends trailing down like remnants of a forgotten dignity. The cloth was thin, almost weightless in appearance.

He turned his back on the jesus Christ, the weight of its gaze still lingering in the heavy air. Stepping out into the eternal night, the world greeted him with the same darkness it always had. It had been a year since he'd seen the bright blue sky and the glorious sun…

He looked up, his gaze drawn to the only spot of light in the endless expanse of darkness. It flickered faintly, but it was unmistakable—the Tower to Heaven, as it was called by the few who still whispered its name. The towering spire rose high above the desolate land, its silhouette visible from anywhere you stood, as long as your eyes could meet the sky. If you were underground or had your vision blocked by the world's twisted Mushrooms, the Tower was nothing more than a distant myth. But for those who could see it, the light was always there—always faint, always flickering.

It wasn't much to look at, not from this distance. A small glimmer against the vast darkness, like the last dying pulse of a star that had long since burned out. But it was enough. Enough to believe in.

Yet no one who had ever approached the Tower had returned. Those who had sought it out—drawn by its faint glow, believing it to be a beacon of salvation—had all perished, swallowed by the darkness, never to be seen again. The stories were clear: the Tower was no place for the living. Those who tried to reach it met their end, their bones left behind in the shadow of the spire. No one knew exactly why, but the warning was always the same. Stay away from the Tower.

And yet, here he was. With every step he took toward the flickering light, the gravity of the warnings pressed harder against him. Was he a fool for continuing this path, or was he simply desperate? Maybe it was both. There was nothing else to hold on to—nothing but the light.

His feet carried him forward, though part of him wanted to turn back. He had to know. Even if it meant the same fate as those who came before him.

Suddenly, the soft scrape of boots on stone echoed behind him. Someone had followed him, though he hadn't heard them approach. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Lightbringer Lys.

"Still chasing the light?" Her voice cut through the silence, dry and almost amused.

He didn't stop walking, his eyes still fixed on the Tower, though its distant glow seemed even fainter now, as if it was receding. "I'm going toward the Tower."

"Do you think it's different for you?" Lys asked, her words sharp as knives. "Do you think you're special? Do you think you'll be the one to survive where all others failed?"

He glanced over at her, her shadowy figure walking beside him with a confidence that only seemed to deepen the fear gnawing at him. "What do you know about it?"

Lys didn't answer right away. She let the question hang between them, before replying with a cold calmness. "I know that the Tower is not salvation. It's not a cure. It's a graveyard."

The weight of her words made him stop, just for a moment. He turned toward her, eyes searching, as though she might offer some explanation—something that would convince him to turn back, to abandon this path. But there was nothing in her gaze except an unspoken truth he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Then why follow me?" he asked quietly.

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. "Because you'll die anyway. Might as well go out chasing something you believe in."

He swallowed hard, the harsh reality of her words settling into him like a stone in his gut. He turned his gaze back toward the Tower, now feeling the pull of its light even more strongly, despite her warning.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the Tower was a tomb for the foolish. But the light—however faint, however distant—was the only thing left that felt real.

"I'm leaving the safe zone to be chosen by the catalyst"

"Really now? So you're gonna finally grow up and help us?"

His lips pulled into a small frown he ran his long fingers in his hair.

"Well i wouldn't say help you guys more like myself. I want to free myself yet I also want to free my friends and family but in order to release them I must release myself first. Call me selfish if you must. I'll bare any name you'll give me." He stopped talking and looked at Lys as she stared at him. She had not a smile or a frown. Her hands lit aflame, lighting up the surrounding area he could see her face fully now. 

She spoke softly to him "Well… if your going to go to the light" She paused when speaking gathering her thoughts "Make sure you come back for us i'll watch over your family"

He smiled "So you won't follow me Lys"

"No i won't" She gave a curt nod and smiled and turned off the fire and walked back into the darkness.

Walking out the safe zone the sign that showed you were out of the safe zone was invisible from far away but when close a blue barrier appears. 

He took one step past it and he heard an ancient voice that consumed him; he felt like nothing yet everything. He felt whole yet incomplete when the feelings was over. A message greated him.

[You have entered the Genesis Game]