Heartless, A Mythology Story

(Chapter 1)

The storm raged like no storm should. It tore through an immortal plane that had once been calm, untouched by time or by anything that could change it. The sky had no color, no shape. The ground, if there was any ground at all, was soft like a breath and endless like a thought forgotten. But then came the storm, a wild thing that knew no boundaries, as if it had been waiting all along to tear everything apart. The air cracked, loud and sharp, like the first noise in the universe, a scream from the void. It moved in all directions at once, like it was trying to swallow the world. It was not just wind or rain, but something much more. The storm was alive in its own way, curling, spiraling, smashing pieces of the plane together, tearing apart anything it touched. There was lightning, though not the kind you would know, but bolts of light that stayed in place, hung in the air like broken glass. And there was sound. The storm sang a song that no one could hear without going mad, a deep hum that vibrated in the bones of anything caught inside.

And inside the storm, something was being born.

It was not a slow birth. It was sharp and violent. The being that was created did not come to life with peace or grace, but with pain. The storm, the same one that could rip anything to shreds, was pulling together the first being. The shape that formed was unclear at first, spinning in the madness of the storm. It was tall. So tall that its height seemed impossible to measure. And it wore a mask. A mask that shone with rays of light, bright and sharp, cutting through the chaos around it. The being did not know what was happening. It only knew pain. The storm pressed into it, sharp as knives, as if the wind itself was trying to tear it apart. But it did not break. It was alive, but being alive in this storm was like a curse. Every gust of wind was a slap. Every flash of light was blinding. The being's body shook, twisted in the storm's grip.

Slowly, very slowly, the being began to see. Its vision came in flashes. At first, it saw nothing but streaks of light, then dark clouds swirling all around it. It was caught, spinning endlessly, a part of the storm yet separate from it. Its body felt like it was being torn and pulled in every direction, but it did not die. Instead, it lived. It saw more of the storm now. The flashes of light came quicker. The sounds were louder. It felt the nausea rise in its chest as it spun faster and faster.

And then, a name. One memory, just one, stood out through all the pain and chaos.

Cross.

It knew that name. It was its name. Cross.

Cross's senses came back, slowly. The storm was still there, violent and raging, but now Cross could feel the air on its skin, could hear the scream of the wind, could see the wild flashes of light. The pain was still there, burning, but it was no longer new. Cross's mind, sharp and alert, woke up fully.

And then, there was another.

Not far from Cross, another shape was forming in the storm. This one was smaller, shorter than Cross, but still too tall to be called human. This being's skin was dark, almost black, and they had no mask. Instead, they had a face, one that was clear and sharp. They had silver eyes that seemed to catch every flash of light in the storm. Their body was strong and solid, but they, too, were caught in the storm's rage, being twisted and tossed about.

This being, like Cross, came to life with pain. Their hands clenched as they woke up to the storm, their breath coming fast, their eyes wide with the shock of existence. They struggled, just as Cross had, to understand what was happening, to make sense of the storm and the pain.

A name came to them, too. Hito.

Cross and Hito saw each other through the storm. They both struggled, bodies still twisted by the storm's force, but they saw. They were not alone.

And then came the third.

The third being was tall and thin, with skin like pale moonlight. Their hair, white as snow, whipped around their face, but their eyes were closed, as if they were still asleep. They wore a long robe, light and flowing, though it did nothing to protect them from the storm's fury. As they spun in the storm, their eyes finally opened, and the storm seemed to pause for just a moment. They blinked, and the wind tore at them again. But they were awake now.