ice_penguin

In a world without day, where the sun is dead and monsters roam the blackened wilds, survival hinges on a single, brutal truth: if you do not bond your soul to an effigy, you will die.

Sixteen years ago, Silas was torn from his old world and thrust into this ruinous city of a thousand starving souls, believing—naively—that transmigration had chosen him for greatness. But when his talent test brands him pathless and his mind collapses into madness, that hope dies. Now deemed useless by the clergy and society, Silas is left clinging to two things: a cursed second chance and the company of his two friends—Cassian, a rare Light-path prodigy, and Velira, a water-path orphan with more resolve than strength.

When Silas undertakes the dangerous soul-refinement ritual, his effigy twists into something unnatural—part effigy, part monster

What begins as a fight for survival becomes a descent into a deeper mystery: one that ties Silas’s unstable soul to forbidden relics sealed beneath the cathedral, hybrid monsters stalking the outer darkness

With every refinement, every soul-splitting ritual, the cost grows heavier. And in a city where the clergy would sooner let you die than help you rise, Silas must decide:

Will he follow the broken paths laid before him…
Or carve a new one, even if it damns him?

Chronicles of the Untalented

The warmth of the festival lingered.

Even days later, Silas found himself humming tunes he didn't remember learning, his body still recalling the rhythm of the dance with Velira. The streets of the city, usually veiled in gloom and silence, still carried echoes of laughter and footsteps. A rare, residual joy.

He was on his way to the upper side of the city—closer to the cathedral, where the air always felt heavier. Less soot and dust here. More silence. More eyes watching.

Cass had sent word that morning through a cathedral runner.

"After final rites. Meet at the fountain."

Silas had stared at the note for a long while. It felt like a ghost had written it. And yet here he was, climbing the long, curved path to the central fountain that hadn't flowed in years.

Cass stood waiting under the dim city sky, wearing the muted robes of a Light Path initiate. He had grown taller. His features sharper now, more carved than soft. But it was the eyes that hadn't changed. Still filled with that strange mix of hope and weight.

Cass turned first. "Took you long enough."

Silas smirked. "You always say that. Even when I'm early."

Cass stepped forward. They didn't hug. Not really their way. But they stood close enough that the silence between them felt full.

"I heard," Cass said, voice low. "About the hellhounds. The mines."

Silas looked away, jaw tightening. "I'm fine."

Cass placed a hand gently on his shoulder. No light, no spell. Just a weight that said: You don't have to carry this alone.

They sat by the edge of the dry fountain. Neither spoke for a while.

Eventually, Cass broke the silence. "It's strange. I thought I'd be the one buried in study while you ran wild outside. But you—" He looked sideways. "You changed."

"So did you," Silas said, a bit more softly than intended. "I remember when we were kids and you said Light would burn your hair off if you ever got picked for it."

Cass grinned. "Still have all my hair. See?"

Cass leaned back, arms resting on the cracked stone behind him. "It's not easy, you know. The training. The rituals. They teach you how to use light to heal, to see. But they also teach you how to endure. How to resist. And how to keep your heart from splitting open."

Silas blinked. "That last one… not sure I've figured that out yet."

The conversation turned lighter as they walked through the cathedral gardens. Silas teased him for how formal he'd become. Cass retaliated by recounting the time Silas fell face-first into the public bathhouse because he tripped over his own foot.

By the time they parted, something unspoken had mended.

Cass offered a small smile as he turned to leave. "Come visit the cathedral sometime. I'll show you how to bend light without setting your sleeves on fire."

Silas called back, "No promises. You people wear too much white."

"Coward," Cass laughed, and disappeared into the mist of the higher city.

Silas stood alone now, the joy of reunion still warming his chest.

But deeper inside, another thought settled—a quiet understanding:

Their paths had truly begun to diverge.

But even so… it was good to know some light still walked beside him.

Old Light, Familiar Shadows