The night held its breath. Waves rolled gently across the island shore, whispering against the sand like a forgotten lullaby. The stars above blinked, unsure if they were witnessing a god's peace or the calm before Earth's greatest reckoning. Mirshad walked slowly across the empty beach, barefoot, his sword resting across his back, glowing faintly with blue fire. No words. No guards. No announcement. He sat on the sand, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the endless black ocean. He wasn't looking at the water—he was looking through it. His voice was a whisper, yet even the waves seemed to pause and listen. "Sirius." A faint chime answered, "I'm here, brother." "Send a message." "To who?" "The Tribunal." "Recording." Mirshad's face didn't move, but his voice cut like steel—cold, calm, final. "You sent one man to kill me. But instead… you awakened what you feared most. Now… face the consequence." He closed his eyes. The message left. The silence returned. But the world would never be the same again.
Far beneath an ancient European city, hidden from every map and satellite, the Tribunal's true seat pulsed with dark energy. Not a throne— a ritual ground. Black stone floors carved with ancient runes, walls lined with soul-bound scrolls and cursed tomes, candles floating in the air, their flames nothing but blood-red smoke. A single door opened. Twelve figures entered, robed in gold, crimson, and black. The Unseen Council. The Guardians of Control. The Builders of History. And the ones who for centuries had feared one thing—a prophecy they could not erase. A hologram shimmered in the air. Mirshad's message began to play. "You awakened what you feared most." The room froze. One elder's voice trembled, "It happened. The prophecy… it's real." Another slammed the table, "He died! We saw it. We celebrated it!" A third, eyes wide, whispered, "And now he has risen. Beyond the limits of death."
They entered the Vault—a sealed chamber known only to the highest three. On obsidian walls, words carved in a tongue older than Earth itself read: Not born, but arrived. Not chosen, but inevitable. The skies will change. The ground will burn. And when the world loves him, he will fall, only to rise… beyond all. One High Priest fell to his knees. "We tried to stop it. We tried to erase his path from time." Another whispered, "His power isn't what we fear… it's his memory. Because once he remembers everything… we don't just lose control. We lose Earth itself."
The Council argued—send another force, offer peace, disappear entirely—but the oldest among them, the one who had survived six wars of power, silenced them. "No. He is no longer a threat. He is now… a judgment. He killed the Five. He erased our last hope. And worst of all… the world loves him. Now they will follow him blindly. We have lost the minds, and now we lose the soul of Earth." Their heads lowered. They knew what came next was not war, not power—reckoning.
Back on the island, Mirshad still sat on the sand. Alone. The message sent. The sky above him clear, but the air itself had shifted. He opened his eyes, and in them was a faint shimmer—not anger, not fire, but a calm so deep the universe itself could drown in it. He whispered to himself, "They feared the prophecy. Now… they'll understand why."