The world around Reve warped.
One moment, he was standing beside his siblings and Eiran at the grave of his father… and the next, the very air shattered like glass. In an instant, everything dissolved into silence.
He stood alone.
The ground beneath his feet was cracked obsidian, tombstones jutting out in crooked, ancient rows. A heavy mist blanketed the land, and dull gray clouds churned in the sky like boiling smoke. It felt like time itself had stopped breathing.
From behind one of the tombs, a presence stirred—not the sword at Reve's side, but something older. Deeper. A fragment. A shadow of a creature from beyond comprehension.
The same presence whose aura had struck down his siblings and stunned even Eiran.
Reve's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't scared—but whatever this was, it wasn't something he could understand. Not yet.
"You were not chosen by prophecy," the voice came, layered in echoes, "but by chaos... by the hunger of balance itself."
It was not the sword that spoke.
A shifting silhouette stepped forward, hazy and immense. Just a fragment—yet still mighty. Even its leftover aura could twist the heavens and tremble the ground.
Reve's fists clenched. "What are you?"
"A remnant," the figure answered. "A memory of creation's beginning. The sword you now carry—it was born in error, shaped in silence, and now it hums… because it remembers me."
Reve's heart raced.
The figure's aura deepened, almost mournful.
"You seek peace. In a world addicted to war. That alone makes you dangerous."
Reve lowered his gaze. "That's all I've ever wanted."
"Then walk," the fragment said. "But be warned… the one who sits at the top of this world did not climb there with peace."
The mist twisted.
The tomb crumbled.
The sky cracked like thunder.
And Reve awoke—kneeling beside the grave of his father. Eiran stood guard, alert. His siblings lay behind him, slowly stirring.
The blade at Reve's side... quietly hummed.