The world was quiet.
Damien slept, breath slow, limbs loose against the silk sheets. No tension, no murmur from the system, no lingering burn of mana or training strain. Just stillness.
And then—
Dark.
Not black. Not void. Just absence.
Everything was gone. No bed. No room. No sky. Just Damien, standing barefoot on a surface that didn't exist, surrounded by a silence that hummed too loudly.
And across from him—
A figure.
It wasn't clear what it was. Human in outline, yes. But tall—impossibly so. Looming not just in size, but in presence. Its form seemed to shimmer at the edges, like the world couldn't decide how to shape it. A coat of shadow, a crown of broken light.
The figure didn't look at Damien.
It spoke.
Not loud. Not soft. Just… inevitable.
"The arranged fates are differed," it said, voice like chimes buried in thunder. "This shall not go on."
The words weren't meant for him.
They were confessions.
Declarations.
Then the figure lifted a hand.
