The real world slept. But his soul did not.
As Knnight closed his eyes, his body lay motionless on the cold, fractured floor. Yet within him, the door opened once more—a door to a place where even time refused to linger.
Remnanctum.
A dimension born of one's inner self. Each person has their own, and for Knnight… it was a space of silence without boundaries, like a broken subconscious. The sky held no color. The ground was shattered, laced with deep cracks and gaping chasms. A black mist covered every inch of space, flowing like rivers of unending sorrow.
Tall, ruined walls loomed—cracked and fragmented, as if once burdened with a weight too heavy to bear. Shards of mirrors floated mid-air, reflecting his face—expressionless, neither sad nor smiling. Just… empty.
In the distance stood ruins of buildings, silent remnants of forgotten memories. Mountains had collapsed and buried paths leading to the core of his soul. And there—in the heart of that devastation—was a faint light, barely flickering, yet never extinguished.
Knnight walked slowly through the fog. Each step sent out ripples like water disturbed in a still lake. But within that silence… something stirred.
Shadow creatures.
They had no eyes, but they saw everything. Their bodies morphed and twisted—sometimes resembling giant bats, other times black hands clawing at the sky. They emerged from the mist, circling Knnight with whispers that pierced the soul.
> "Why have you returned?"
"You've already given up, haven't you?"
"Your memories are poisoned. They no longer belong to you."
He didn't reply. He had heard these whispers too many times—voices of his own emotions, guilt, and wounds that refused to heal.
His steps stopped at the ruins of a once-familiar office. In the real world, it might have been a small law firm he entered every morning. But here… only a scorched chair and a broken desk remained.
He approached.
The moment his hand touched the chair, the memories surged like a tsunami.
---
[FLASHBACK]
"Knnight… sorry. The client backed out again. Said you're… too slow."
Colleague laughter. Fake smiles. A world that demanded he stay strong and act "fine," even as his days folded like soggy paper.
Every day was the same. Overwhelming work. Lost clients. A boss who mocked with words sharp but polite.
But none of that compared to the worst part: the numbness.
Once, he could laugh. He could get angry. He could enjoy the warmth of fresh bread in the morning. Then… it all vanished. Emotion became a ghost. Smiles became formalities. His heart… like a broken TV screen displaying nothing but black-and-white noise.
Then came the déjà vu—visions of memories that either never happened or occurred in some alternate time. A loop with no end. Life felt like scattered puzzle pieces from a nightmare.
He tried to scream—his voice echoed into emptiness.
He tried to cry—his tears wouldn't fall.
And in that moment, Knnight understood something: He wasn't insane.
But he was no longer the man he used to be.
---
Back to Remnanctum.
The office crumbled before him. The fog thickened. The shadow creatures drew near again.
But this time… Knnight didn't back down.
His hand clenched. His memories took form. Rage, disappointment, helplessness… they converged.
Memory Bank: Anger.
His bleeding hand slamming the table after being wrongly accused.
Memory Bank: Despair.
His mother's words: "Be strong, my son… but don't stay like this forever," while he nodded, already shattered inside.
Memory Bank: Loss.
Elara. The only light in his life. Gone. Taken by fate—or his own weakness.
Those emotions boiled. Not to destroy…
But to awaken.
From that whirlwind of darkness, a power emerged—like sparks from a long-suppressed ember.
The Law of Remnant.
A power not from the heavens. Not from the earth.
It was born from the negative energy of the human soul—the remnants of emotions trapped in forgotten memories.
The shadow creatures shrieked. The mist spiraled wildly. The ground trembled beneath Remnanctum.
Knnight's unstable aura surged. The world inside his soul began to distort.
But the shadow creatures stopped. They did not attack.
They bowed.
For Knnight was no longer just a wounded soul.
He was the wound.
A soul that never died in silence—but instead learned to speak through prolonged quiet.
---
Knnight fell to his knees. His chest tightened. His hand trembled. He knew well that invoking the Law of Remnant could cost him his sanity.
But he also knew this:
He had spent too long holding back destruction.
He no longer ran from himself.
And the flickering light at the center of Remnanctum—grew.
Not enough to heal.
But enough to prove…
Hope still existed.
---
That tiny light shone a little brighter, though still fragile. Remnanctum—once a place of pure ruin and despair—now looked slightly different. Something stirred within it, something even Knnight couldn't quite understand yet.
His memories still ached. Every moment he recalled, every pain he endured—was a chain of sorrow, tightening with hatred toward the world and toward himself.
One by one, the shadow creatures began to retreat—not in fear, but in recognition. They knew:
Knnight was no longer prey.
Among the ebbing fog, Knnight stood. His eyes focused on a single point, still shrouded in mist. But this time… he could feel it.
A new energy—flowing not from the outside, but from within.
From buried memories.
This was where the Law of Remnant was born.
Not merely a force of destruction.
But a tool for survival.
For this power was not fueled by vengeance, but by the desire to understand. To accept. To heal.
Not to rewrite the past. But to wield its pain and stand again—not as a victim,
but as the hero of his own story.
His steps grew steadier, though still heavy with lingering pain.
With the Law of Remnant, he could command these fragments.
He could face them—not as enemies,
but as pieces of himself that deserved recognition.
He raised his hand slowly. In his palm, black and crimson energy flowed—power drawn from long-locked emotions. A symbol glowed beneath his feet, expanding, reaching the very edges of Remnanctum.
> "This isn't for destruction," he whispered to himself, voice thick with weight.
"It's… to understand."
Suddenly, a voice broke through the fog. Familiar. Gentle, though distorted.
> "Knnight…"
That voice. Elara… Or maybe the girl from school…?
He turned his head, though her figure remained unclear. What mattered was her presence—it was real.
Soothing.
Opposing the darkness within him.
Born from good memories.
They surfaced again—those moments when, no matter how dark the days became, she was always there.
Even if he didn't know who she truly was,
a part of him longed to change.
To hope.
To feel her presence.
Who was that tiny light…?
And though Knnight couldn't fully understand or resolve everything… he knew one truth:
He didn't have to walk alone.
In Remnanctum, the fog began to thin. The shattered ruins slowly reformed. Not returning to what they once were, but becoming something new—something stronger, something whole, even if still cracked.
Knnight lifted his head. The once-faint light now shone brighter.
And at the center of Remnanctum,
something new began to form.
A place that wasn't just destruction…
…but a home—for someone who had finally stopped running.