Time slowed as Haruto stepped into the vision.
The world around him shifted. The chamber, the Herald, even Serenya and Lucien dissolved into smoke.
He stood on scorched stone.
Ash rained from a blood-red sky. A once-great city lay in ruins, black spires crumbling beneath a silent wind. The throne at its center—made of broken blades and shattered banners—sat empty.
Until he approached.
And saw himself sitting on it.
This Haruto wore no armor. His eyes glowed with an unnatural silver light. He was older—colder. His expression held no warmth, only a calculating detachment.
"You finally arrived," the throne-bound Haruto said, his voice like thunder trapped in a box.
"Who are you?" Haruto demanded.
"I'm what you become if you break the seals without understanding the cost," the future self replied. "You save the world. You unify the realms. But you do it by becoming the very tyrant you once feared."
Haruto clenched his fists. "I would never—"
"You already are," the vision snapped. "The moment you chose the Tactician's path, you sacrificed compassion for strategy. You will make the hard choices… and you will lose everything for them."
Behind the throne, shadows moved—Serenya, silent and lifeless. Lucien, turned to glass.
The vision Haruto stood.
"The seal demands a price. If you want its power—then prove you have the will to carry it. Face me."
Haruto raised the Nullblade. "If I must fight a future ruled by fear, then I'll cut it down."
The two Harutos charged.
The sky screamed.
The vision cracked.
And in the real world, Serenya cried out as Haruto collapsed, his eyes glowing like burning moons.
"Haruto! Say something!"
But he didn't move.
The Herald's voice echoed once more.
"The seal has accepted him. But the path ahead… has already begun to bleed."