The air in the cell was heavy, almost palpable, an invisible pressure that weighed down every breath. The silence, deep and oppressive, was not just the absence of noise; it was an entity in its own right, a specter that twisted the souls of those who dared to confront it. There, in this suffocating solitude, the shadow of a man stood, alone but far from isolated. The Nameless One. He was the one who had crossed the darkness to no longer know who he was, but above all, he was the one whom time had not spared.
His eyes, empty yet burning, scanned the room. They belonged to a man who had lost everything, even his own identity. But this gaze was not that of a broken being, no. It was a determined look, filled with the promise of change, of a new quest. Behind this emptiness, a flicker of hope wavered, fragile yet persistent.
Around him, the other occupants of the cell also seemed dispossessed of their name, of their past. But each carried within them a story, a burden, a secret. Their shared silence created a silent symphony, where the unspoken sang louder than any words.
Émilie, the young girl with black wings, stood in the shadow of a fold, like a specter frozen in time. Her wings, spread around her like a shield, created a heavy, oppressive, almost supernatural atmosphere. She did not speak, but her presence was more tangible than that of anyone else. Her body seemed suspended between two worlds, between earth and sky. It was not just her weight that deformed the air around her, but gravity itself that seemed to bend to her will.
Modigeur, the small, round man, was the antithesis of the anxiety that reigned. Always chewing on something, a piece of bread or perhaps a candy, he wore a smile that never left his lips. But his eyes betrayed something much darker. Despite his carefree appearance, he was the one who had lost far more than he was willing to admit. His laughter, sometimes forced, hid a fear he dared not share.
Vichir, on the other hand, was a mystery. His metallic, almost robotic eyes scanned the horizon without a word, without a gesture. His body bore the mark of transformation, one that erased the traces of humanity to make way for the impersonality. But his eyes… his eyes still betrayed a past he had not chosen. A past where the machine was not yet a part of him.
Leonardo's gaze, nervous and evasive, flitted between the others, as if he no longer knew where to settle. A whisper, almost inaudible, sometimes escaped his lips. Was it an inner conversation? A reflection of himself, of his own struggle against thoughts that intertwined and blurred? Or was it a desperate call to someone who no longer existed? He himself knew nothing.
The boy with light hair seemed to live in a parallel world. His hands drew invisible circles in the air, like a creator tracing constellations that only he could see. The Codex he carried, always open, seemed to whisper secrets to him that he had not yet understood. He wandered, lost in his thoughts, in a reality that slipped away from him at every moment.
Leira floated, her body barely grazing the ground. She moved with the grace of a specter, as if she did not quite belong to this world. Her eyes, a deep blue, seemed to probe horizons that others could not imagine. But in her silence, in her eternal floating, lay a silent pain, a desire to free herself from what held her back.
Finally, Eryx, who seemed carved from shadow itself. His gaze, piercing, captivating, rested on each of the others with an intensity that left no room for ambiguity. But behind this almost perfect beauty, there was an abyssal void, a pain he had never shared. He was a man who had everything but had lost everything that mattered. And he knew it.
Derrick, the cyborg, was a living contradiction. His flesh and metal blended into a strange, almost grotesque fusion. His eyes, once full of life, now shone with an artificial green, devoid of human warmth. The sacrifice he had made to become stronger had transformed him, but not for the better. He had sacrificed everything for power, and in return, he had lost a part of himself that he would never regain.
As silence stretched on, a door slammed open, breaking the fragile balance of the room. The general entered, his sharp gaze sweeping over the occupants of the cell. He paused for a moment on Derrick, a furtive approval in his look. He knew that Derrick was a marked man, but that his suffering made him stronger.
"Derrick, you have sacrificed your Codex, sacrificed your humanity for power. But the price is heavy," said the general in a grave, almost ritualistic voice. "You have lost a part of yourself, but it is time to decide what you will do now. You can still come back, if you wish. Or you can choose to go further."
Derrick's eyes, hard and cold, remained fixed on the ground. He knew that what he had lost was irreparable. But a part of him still hoped to regain that lost humanity, or at least a fraction of it.
The general then turned to The Nameless One, whose eyes shone with a new intensity. He handed him his Codex and placed the keys to the cell on the table. "Here is your future," he said, in a straightforward voice. "You are no longer what you were. The past no longer defines you. It is up to you to choose what you will become."
The Nameless One took the keys, his hands trembling slightly. The Codex, which had been his burden, now seemed to be the key to his redemption. He stood up slowly, his gaze meeting Derrick's. "There is a price for everything. But there is also a chance to erase everything. I will choose my future. Mine."
Derrick, in a final glance, murmured: "Don't make the same mistake I did."
The Nameless One turned the doorknob. The light from outside filled the room, pushing back the darkness. Beyond that light, he knew his future was uncertain. But he also knew it was up to him to shape it. One last breath, and the door closed behind him, taking with it the chains of his past.