Shadow Slave: Flaw of Gods.

In this moment, among the stone corridors and the shadows of forgotten fates, his "self" awakened – quiet, persistent, and eternal, like a flickering flame in the heart of the night. It was not merely memory – it was his very essence.

He did not know his name, did not remember who he had been or where he had come from. All that remained was a vague sense of pain, loneliness, and longing, a restless feeling that would not leave his soul. But as the labyrinth of his mind began to react to echoes of the past, fragments of childhood began to surface, painful enough that their weight seemed unbearable.

He remembered walking the dusty streets of the outskirts at a young age, where darkness and cold merged with eternal poverty. On that fateful day, when the unknown gates of nightmare opened over the city, his parents, who had offered comfort and hope, disappeared under a wave of foreign shadows. The little boy, left an orphan at seven, was forced to learn to survive on forgotten streets, where every morning began with hunger, and every night with the nightmarish loneliness.

For six years, he fought for survival on the cold outskirts, where trust was a luxury, and hope an illusion. In this world of shadows, his soul was scorched by pain, but also gained a quiet determination, flickering like the last light in the dark.

Guided by an unknown force, he found himself in an endless labyrinth, where the real walls intertwined with the images of his inner world. The corridors, constantly shifting, hid lost memories, leaving only echoes of long-gone days. Each step he took reminded him of who he had been, and tried to erase the remnants of his essence.

In a narrow passage, a familiar pain suddenly sounded. His mind flashed with vague silhouettes: the face of his mother with a gentle, soothing gaze, and the silhouette of his father, whose silent presence offered some semblance of protection. But these images were distorted by the mist of oblivion, as if they had never existed, and only an echo tried to restore the lost.

In one of the corridors, he noticed a faint gleam – a shard of an ancient object, forgotten by time or left by someone who had once tried to preserve their story. Touching the cold metal triggered an avalanche of memories: moments of joy, flashes of tender words, promises that would never come true. Each warm vision was immediately replaced by the cold of loss, turning into a trial for which he had to pay with pain.

Driven by an inner impulse, he continued forward, and the labyrinth closed in tighter around his mind. The voices of the past whispered his name, even though he didn't know how it sounded. Fear and the desire to know the truth about himself pushed him forward, despite the unbearable pain and the tormenting visions.

In one hall, where time seemed to have stopped, a scene from his dark past unfolded before his eyes. He saw himself – a small, frightened boy standing by a ruined house on the outskirts, where the remnants of the city's bustle were now only shards of warm memories. A storm raged around him – light and darkness, love and fear merged into a single stream. It was a moment of realization: he had lost everything that had made him human.

His heart tightened with pain. Through the labyrinth of agonizing visions, memories began to distort and turn into a nightmare – the faces of his parents changed into ominous shadows, and the voices that were once full of comfort became cold whispers of accusation. And when the fragments of memory, like fragile shards of glass, began to fall into the abyss of oblivion, his mind, overloaded with pain, barely held on to the edge.

Unable to bear it, he took the final step – a step into the abyss, where the losses of childhood and the shards of memory merged into a feeling of inevitability. The darkness swallowed him, and he fell into the depths of nightmare, where the past and present blended, and every second became an eternity of pain.

The labyrinth of memories, so painful and fragile, revealed to him the truth about the past, but the price of this truth was too high. Lost in the whirlpool of nightmarish visions, he became a reflection of who he had once been, waiting for the next glimpse that could return a piece of his lost soul.

But among the shadows, a desire to continue the journey began to emerge – a desire to find the spark that would dispel the darkness of oblivion and return the light of his essence. Every drop of pain and every moment of suffering became a step toward rebirth.

Now, this is where the path begins.