Apotheosis of a Cynic

The corpse in his home, his mother's reckless driving, the pursuit by a metahuman, and his mother's death. It was all just too much, and Mathew was ready to give up and rest. An eerie silence fell upon him and pressed against his ears, swallowing his every thought from then on whole.

He felt a cold breeze around him, or was it within him? Wherever it originated from, he couldn't tell the difference anymore and honestly couldn't care less. Whatever it was, it seemed to seep into his soul, leaving behind a bitter and hollow ache.

Time felt meaningless right now. Whether it stretched on endlessly or became stagnant was of no concern to him. For as long as he could, he just drifted with no sense of presence. All he could feel, or care to feel was the gnawing sense of absence of everything he was. Everything he had been and everything he would never be again.

What was the point anyway?

After what felt like an eternity, Mathew found the strength and opened his eyes. He looked from left to right then back again and raised a brow.

'What the hell?'

For a moment, he questioned whether he had opened his eyes or was just dreaming it, and his mind was playing cruel tricks on him. Before him was an endless expanse of stark, blinding white.

Whether he looked up, down, left, or right, there was no horizon, no floor, no sky, absolutely nothing. Just an infinite and seamless canvas erasing all sense of direction or distance. For a human that had spent their whole life living with the existence of these concepts, their absence was quite jarring. As if the world itself had been stripped away, leaving only this blank, featureless void.

"Great, I'm either dead, hallucinating, or stuck in some pretentious modern art exhibit. Just perfect."

Could he actually be dead? He did have an encounter with a metahuman but they didn't do enough damage to cause death. So what in the world was happening to the young cynic?

Then as if to answer the questions that raced through his mind, a series of symbols appeared before him, in a language he had never seen before. But for some strange reason, he immediately understood them. Floating mid-air and glowing with a faint light, Mathew stared at them, and his brows furrowed.

'And what's this?'' he thought as he read through.

[Name- Mathew]

[Title-]

With barely a second to take in anything other than his name, Mathew's thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

[Harold candidate. Welcome to your soul sea.]

Soul sea. The wellspring of power where a Herald's ether is gathered and stored. By passing the first trial, and graduating from Herald candidate to a Herald a person unlocks the ability to access their soul sea at will.

Recognizing it to be the same one that echoed in his mind before he lost consciousness he was filled with disbelief.

'Wait, me? A Harold candidate?'

It was only natural he thought this was not possible, as Heralds were no ordinary people. Each one was a person who had passed the first trial of the codex and earned the right to possess unique abilities that set them apart from the rest of humanity.

These powers granted them the ability and right to traverse the forgotten lands, a place long abandoned and fraught with danger, and to hunt and destroy the terrifying corrupted beasts called void born that roamed its expanse. Creatures that were thought to be native beings of the forgotten lands, but were somehow corrupted by a murky and evil power known as void energy.

Guiding the Harold candidates to the forgotten lands for the first time was the job of the codex. These chosen few, called Heralds, are tasked with venturing into the desolate and perilous Forgotten Lands. The purpose of the Heralds? This was unknown as that much, the Codex did not reveal. Whether they were saviors to their world, conquerors of others, or even unwitting pawns in some unfathomable game, none could say.

He was shocked as he never thought he as a poor bastard always on the verge of being thrown into the slums wouldn't ever be granted the rights to such power. For some reason, whether by design or just a cruel fate, it was a rare occurrence for those living in the lower echelons of society to be granted the opportunity to become Heralds.

And even if they somehow did, it was rare for them to survive, as those living in the higher echelons had been well-trained and prepared for what would come.

To be brutally honest, because people like him rarely had the opportunity to see these individuals, he didn't even believe the Heralds existed. Believing in the stories of unrealistic and fantastical powers like those seen in movies or comics wasn't exactly his style. At least not before today. He had gotten enough proof of their existence firsthand to never again doubt.

Before being able to put his thoughts in order, the codex spoke once more.

[Harold candidate, prepare to face your first trial.]

The runes vanished, and the void around him began to twist and shift. Mathew staggered, feeling the ground beneath him dissolve into nothingness.

"Wait! What trial? What am I supposed to do in this trial?!"

But the Codex was unrelenting. Giving him nothing but a simple instruction.

[Survive.]

With that single, chilling word, Mathew's vision blurred, and the white expanse faded away, giving way to darkness.

After an unknown amount, but short amount of time, the young cynic could no longer feel the emptiness of the void and his eyes fluttered open.

He felt a cold and uneven surface press against his cheek. Shaking off his grogginess as he pushed himself off the cobblestone ground beneath him with great effort. His surroundings slowly, but surely began coming into focus.

On the walls around him were wooden torches spaced a doze steps apart and dimly lit up the wide passageway he found himself in.

Then as if struck by a wave, a heavy metallic scent stung his nostrils. The smell was all too familiar to him as a dweller of the fifty-eighth district.

He turned his head slowly, his eyes scanning the dimly lit passageway. The flickering of the torches made it hard to focus, but his instincts told him exactly what he was looking at without him having to look any closer.

At his feet was a pile of corpses, and surrounding them was a pool of blood.

The only sound that broke the silence was the crackling of fire, and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.