Far beyond the edges of Valeria…
Beyond fractured rifts and dead lands where even Essence refused to gather…
A silence reigned that was not of peace, but of waiting.
Deep within a sunken basin — a crater older than recorded history, filled with petrified bones and blackened ruins — the sky above warped. The stars twisted unnaturally. Not a single bird flew overhead. Not a single breath of wind stirred the ash-choked air.
And in the center of it all…
A Gate stood.
Colossal.
Not crafted — but grown. Not ancient — but eternal.
Forged from twisting, oily metal that pulsed like veins, with concentric rings orbiting it, slowly, tirelessly, whispering a constant, low hum. Etchings that didn't belong to this world moved along its surface, changing language every time one blinked.
It was not dormant.
It was hungry.
A presence loomed at its threshold, cloaked in smoke and shadow. And from its midst, he emerged.
The Varnok Sovereign.
A being too massive to measure in human scale. A silhouette of wings and writhing tendrils that burned with living darkness, and yet eyes that shimmered with ancient clarity — as if it had seen creation, and judged it insufficient.
It stared at the Gate.
Then it spoke.
"Nearly ripe…"
Its voice echoed in dozens of overlapping tones—some low, others like piercing wind through shattered glass.
"A hundred civilizations slaughtered. Thousands of cycles collapsed. The Gate grows stronger with each failure. With each betrayal. With each reset."
It turned its gaze east—toward Elandor. Toward Kael.
"The Ethereal one awakens again. Earlier this time. Stronger. Angrier."
It did not sound afraid.
It sounded… satisfied.
"I wonder… Will he open it willingly, this time?"
A shape stirred behind the Gate. Massive. Sleeping. No—watching.
The Sovereign stepped forward, claws scraping against the black stone, tail dragging furrows in the dead earth.
"The Gate is not a door. It is a seal. And behind it lies not salvation…"
Its mouth widened into a jagged grin.
"…but Origin's womb."
It placed one clawed hand upon the Gate.
"Everything this world calls 'power'—is but runoff. Leakage. Leftovers from what's inside."
The metal pulsed. A low, wet groan rumbled through the ground, and the sky dimmed.
"You call yourselves Origin-ranked, Ethereal, gods, kings…"
The Sovereign leaned in, its glowing throat filling with cold laughter.
"You have never seen a true being of the other side."
—
—Elandor, Moments Later—
Kael stood on the cliffs outside his hidden training ground. Wind blew past him, untouched by his presence, yet the sky above seemed dimmer — as if the world sensed something was stirring beneath its surface.
His body… trembled.
Not from fear. Not even from exertion.
But from pressure.
Power.
He had stepped into Ethereal — and it showed in every fiber of his being. He could feel every mote of Essence in a hundred-mile radius, hear the whisper of lightning arcing between clouds continents away. If he moved without restraint, the world would crack.
"I was right to keep myself controlled," Kael muttered, tightening his fists. "If I even twitched wrong earlier… I wouldn't have split the earth…"
He looked up.
"…I would've destroyed it."
He exhaled — but no steam escaped, only faint ripples of distortion.
He could feel them again. Visions. Memories. No — warnings. The Gate. The Sovereign. The loops.
His jaw clenched.
"I've been here before."
In his mind, images flashed — a thousand battles. A thousand losses. Arkzen's face over and over. The Sovereign looming at the threshold. The Gate opening, and something unspeakable stepping through—
Kael's heart thundered.
He turned, thrusting his palm outward toward a dense forest miles away. The movement was restrained, deliberate.
But the result…
A shockwave tore through the terrain. The forest was obliterated in a blink, uprooted and vaporized. A distant mountain cracked down the middle, and the sky pulsed as the very air screamed.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"I'm not ready yet. Not for that."
And so, he returned to the depths of his hidden sanctuary. And summoned twenty Essence Echoes — each now wielding eighty percent of his speed, strength, and technique.
They circled him like wolves.
Kael exhaled, dropped into a low stance, and whispered—
"Come."
The battle exploded with terrifying elegance. No wasted motion. No words. Just pure adaptation. Kael weaved through his own reflections, striking down the first Echo, absorbing its experience, then flipping off another's shoulder to decimate three more. His battle IQ evolved with each clash, turning the duel into a high-speed chess match where he always moved three steps ahead.
One by one, the clones fell.
And Kael — smiling, bloodied, sweatless — stood alone.
Again.
Stronger.
And yet… his mind drifted.
To the Gate.
To the Sovereign.
To Arkzen.
His eyes darkened.
"I'm not your piece," he whispered.
—
—Beyond Valeria—
The Sovereign froze.
Its hand withdrew from the Gate.
It turned… as if sensing something shift.
"…he remembers."
The Gate pulsed.
And then, with a sound like a heartbeat—
BOOM.