The Echoed Of Remnant

Chapter 1

I'm Malik. That's my name, though it feels like a label that doesn't hold much significance. If you were to ask me who I am, I might answer with a shrug. Not because I'm mysterious, but because there's not much to tell. I don't think there's a person on Earth who'd know my name or care to remember it if they did.

I came into this world as an only child, and I grew up facing all the usual struggles you'd expect. You know, school, awkward teenage years, trying to fit in, and dealing with the constant feeling that everyone else had a manual for life that I somehow missed out on. I pushed through it all, though. I managed to survive, which is more than some can say. But that's about it—just survival. I wouldn't call it living, because living implies there's something more, something worth waking up for.

Now I'm 25, and I find myself drifting through life without a clear direction. I'm single, with a job that pays just enough to cover the basics but leaves little room for anything else. My salary is average, maybe even below average, depending on who you ask. And as for my social life, well, let's just say it's not exactly bustling with activity. I have a few friends, but even they seem to be moving on with their lives, leaving me behind in the dust.

Sometimes, I wonder if there's more to life than this endless cycle of work, sleep, and the occasional weekend where I try to distract myself from the monotony. But then I look around and realize that everyone else seems to be doing just fine. They've got careers, relationships, and a sense of purpose. Meanwhile, I'm stuck in this perpetual state of mediocrity, with no clear path forward.

I guess that's why I say my life feels like a waste of breath. It's not that I'm unhappy all the time—there are moments of laughter, and I do find joy in small things. But those moments are fleeting, and they're overshadowed by this nagging sense that I'm not where I'm supposed to be. That I'm not who I should be. It's like I'm stuck in a holding pattern, waiting for something to change, but not knowing what that something is or how to make it happen.

So yeah, that's me, Malik. A nobody with a name that doesn't matter, just trying to make it through each day without feeling like I'm sinking deeper into this gray, directionless existence.

But honestly? Even someone like me, a nobody, has an instinct to survive. Which brings us to this moment—everyone's panicked faces as we're all trapped inside this bus. How did I end up here?

Well, there's a lot to explain, but I'll start with the most striking part: those glowing eyes in the darkness outside the window.

It was clear to me then that the bus was surrounded by the Artifacts.

"Everyone, stay calm!" a voice called out through the chaos. "Stay down and avoid the windows!"

I turned to see who was speaking. It was a young man, probably in his twenties, with a voice that seemed steady, even as everyone else was starting to lose it. He was handsome, sure, but it was his demeanor that caught my attention. He seemed calm, like he had been in situations like this before. I wish I could say the same for myself. My heart was racing, and I felt like I was on the verge of losing control.

These Artifacts—they're not something you take lightly. They've been a part of Earth for who knows how long, and there are plenty of theories about them. Some people call them gods, others say they're angels, and then there are those who label them as devils. Whatever they are, they're not to be messed with. I've had my own encounters with them, and let's just say they don't make for good bedtime stories.

Just then, a panicked voice from among the passengers caught my attention. I turned to see a group huddled together, trying to stay low but clearly on edge. Their eyes were wide with fear, darting around the bus as if expecting one of those creatures to break through the windows at any moment.