Chapter One: Light and Shadow
Since the dawn of time, light and darkness have danced a violent waltz.
One seeks to preserve. The other, to consume.
Some call it fate. Others, war. But to the people of this world, it is survival.
The Holy Faction—the Knights of Light—hold fast to divine power, protectors of humanity's final hope. Against them stand the Abyss, a cabal of dark zealots who worship ruin, hunting down sacred relics to unlock the gate to the underworld.
Seven relics.
One door.
An apocalypse waiting to rise.
Yet destiny doesn't always begin with trumpets or grand pronouncements. Sometimes, it begins with sweat.
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Grunt.
"Ninety-four."
Grunt.
"Ninety-five."
Orion's arms shook as he lowered himself toward the dry earth, sweat falling like quiet raindrops. The sun above was sinking behind the far hills, casting golden light across the plains. His orphanage, small and tucked between the trees far below, glowed softly in the distance.
He exhaled hard.
"Ninety-six."
His shirt clung to his thin frame, but lean muscle rippled with each movement. Despite his build, he had trained alone like this every evening for the past year. Not because someone told him to. But because he wanted to become strong enough to protect the ones he loved.
"Strong enough to matter."
He collapsed to the side, panting. The rocky hilltop was quiet except for his breathing and the occasional whisper of wind. Orion sat up, wiping sweat from his brow with a cloth, yellow-gold eyes catching the last rays of sun.
His gaze was intense. Sharp. And almost… glowing.
He didn't notice.
Behind him, the breeze played with his long blue-black hair. Unusual, but not impossible. The caretakers at the orphanage joked that he looked like a moon-touched prince.
Orion didn't feel like royalty.
He felt like someone standing still while the world moved past him.
His thoughts drifted. To the strange dream he had the night before:
A massive door, wreathed in chains of shadow. Seven glowing relics orbiting it. And a blinding star above, bursting with light—its rays taking the shape of wings. He had reached out in the dream. Just as his hand touched the star… he woke up.
Orion stood, shaking off the memory. "Weird dream."
He grabbed his towel and small water pouch, slinging both over his shoulder. From his hilltop perch, the winding path to the orphanage lay ahead. The scent of evening dew mixed with the earthy smell of wild grass.
The orphanage was quiet this time of day. Most of the younger kids were inside, probably preparing for dinner.
He started walking down.
Halfway down the hill, his foot caught a stone. He stumbled, caught himself, and chuckled. "Smooth, Orion. Real smooth."
He continued, humming faintly. The melody was something one of the other orphans had made up. It had no name, but it calmed him.
Until the smell hit him.
Smoke.
Orion froze.
He looked up.
The faint peaceful glow of the orphanage was gone.
In its place, orange fire flickered against the darkening sky. The roof was ablaze.
Screams followed.
His heart stopped. Then restarted with a violent surge.
"No..."
He dropped everything and sprinted down the path, legs pumping like thunder.
Trees blurred past. Rocks flew beneath his feet. The sound of crackling fire grew louder. Then he broke through the final tree line—
Hell.
The orphanage courtyard was a battlefield.
Bodies. Blood. Screaming children.
Figures in black armor with crimson cloaks moved like specters, cutting down anyone who ran. Their faces were hidden by horned masks. A glowing sigil—a crimson spiral with jagged lines—burned on their armor.
One of them raised a dark staff. A surge of purple-black energy roared from the tip, smashing the side of the chapel into rubble.
Orion saw nothing else.
He ran.
One of the cloaked figures turned, surprised by the blur charging at him.
Orion slammed into the man with all the force of his momentum. The impact sent the attacker flying into a nearby wall.
The others turned.
"Heh," one muttered. "The brat has teeth."
Two more rushed at him.
Orion's stance dropped. He sidestepped the first dagger, grabbed the wrist, and twisted. But the second enemy kicked him square in the ribs.
Pain exploded through his side. He grunted, rolling as he hit the ground.
The first one recovered, slashing down—
Orion caught the attacker's wrist.
With a roar, he twisted again—SNAP.
A howl of pain. The dagger dropped.
Orion grabbed it midair and drove it upward.
Before the strike landed, another figure appeared. A higher-ranking Abyss warrior, robed and hooded, eyes glowing with dark fire.
A black sphere formed in the air.
It slammed into Orion's side.
He flew.
Wood shattered as he crashed into the orphanage wall.
Smoke and debris rained down.
Orion gasped, clutching his side. Blood poured from the dagger wound in his gut.
The robed figure stepped forward, smirking.
"Troublesome boy," he muttered. "You'll die anyway. No need to resist."
Orion tried to stand. His legs trembled.
He couldn't.
He looked up at the burning sky, heart pounding, breath shallow.
And then
The air turned cold.
Not natural cold. A chill that cut into the soul.
The Abyss warriors paused, sensing it.
From the edge of the burning ruins, a figure emerged—He wore a long, white battle cloak that swayed in the breeze, the edges faintly glowing with golden light. Beneath it, his tunic was simple—sleeves rolled up to his forearms, loose-fitting, marked by faint silver runes that pulsed gently like a heartbeat. A wide sash of pale blue wrapped around his waist, engraved with the crest of the Holy Order.
The man cracked his knuckles.
"I was hoping for a quiet walk tonight," he said, tone easy. "But looks like someone invited the wrong guests."
The Abyss warriors took a step back.
Orion stared, heart pounding.
Who was this man?
"Don't blink," the stranger said.
And then—
He moved.
Thank you for reading the first chapter of Dance Between the Holy and the Abyss.
Orion's journey is just beginning, and what comes next will challenge everything he knows.
Keep reading—light and shadow are only starting to clash.