_Majin_

Betrayed. Buried. But never broken.

Lucien was a prodigy—gifted with a power the world feared, envied, and ultimately destroyed. Framed by his mentors, abandoned by his lover, and cast into the deepest prison by the gods themselves, he was left to rot in darkness… alone.

But in the silence beneath the realms, something ancient whispered to him.

Centuries passed. Kingdoms rose and crumbled. Gods fell. And in the depths, Lucien changed. Hardened by solitude. Sharpened by pain. Molded by the Void.

Now, the world has forgotten him.
But he remembers everything.

He walks free—not as a hero, not as a villain—but as a force that bends reality itself. As realms clash and war consumes the skies, one name will echo louder than the gods:

Lucien. The Void’s chosen.

Whisper of the void

Like a silent god had taken a breath after a thousand years of stillness.

Lucien walked with no destination — or so it seemed. But the land responded to him, warping subtly. Trees wilted in his presence, the sun dimmed above him, and the winds died before reaching his skin.

An elder knelt beside an ancient orb of memory and divination, sweat beading down his forehead. "It's impossible… the seal was eternal—"

"It was made by the Heavenly Emperor himself," another muttered, eyes bloodshot. "Unless…"

The elder looked at the floating image above the orb: a single man walking alone through the wastelands — and space around him warped like glass near flame.

"He's not just alive," the elder whispered. "He's transcending."

He stood at the edge of a ruined battlefield, where ancient bones littered the cracked earth. Weapons from forgotten ages lay rusted and scattered, and broken banners flapped weakly in the dead wind.

He lowered his hand to one such blade — its handle half-buried in ash.

The moment his fingers brushed it, the blade crumbled.

"Still… not worthy," Lucien murmured, his voice more echo than sound.

A moment later, a whisper cut through the stillness. Faint. Female.

Lucien's silver eyes didn't move, but his expression changed — faintly.

"You're still watching," he said softly.

From the shadows behind a ruined pillar, she emerged.

Veiled in dark silk. Hair drifting like ink in water. Bare feet never touching the ground.

The girl who once called herself the Whisper of the Void.

He didn't smile. She didn't speak again.

But something passed between them. A recognition. A silent truth: She had waited.

Meanwhile, in a palace bathed in divine flames

A young ruler — one of the betrayers — stood at his window, gazing toward the horizon. His robes were regal, his crown forged of starlight. He had everything.

When the Void Breathes