[Reader Caution: This chapter contains mild depictions of self-harm. If such content makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip first segment.]
The shattered fragments of the golden orb floated in the air for a heartbeat, then began to fall.
As they touched the world below, their shapes started to blur, unravelling into formlessness.
A strange mist seeped in, swirling red and blue, cloaking the area like a dream turned dense. I didn't resist as it enveloped me. Despite the haze, I could still see.
The formless shards drifted back toward the altar at the centre.
Piece by piece, they fused again, this time not into an orb, but something new.
A shape began to form.
The glowing altar stood alone in the thickening mist, now almost ethereal. Everything else had vanished into the swirling hues.
Then it was finished.
A three-spiked spear, forged from light and shadow, rested in the altar's cradle.
Blue mist sank downward, like smoke falling in reverse. Red mist rose upward, painting the illusion around me.
Suddenly, my surroundings shifted.
Now, I stood upon a blue ocean beneath a blood-red sky. An illusion. A vision. But the altar, and the spear within it? Very real. Still inside the dungeon.
Then, a voice.
It came from nowhere. Or everywhere. If I imagined it far, it felt far. If I imagined it closely, it was a whisper in my ear.
"O Seeker, thy One shall grant thy seeker's need."
"Thy One awaits thy seeker's resolve."
"Draw Blood."
I didn't understand the words fully. But I understood the meaning.
It was offering me something.
Something I wanted.
I raised my wounded hand, letting the blood drip onto the altar.
"Will this be enough?" I asked, uncertain.
The voice came again, unchanged.
"Draw Blood."
I sighed. Picked up a broken piece of the dagger. Pressed it to my skin.
Another cut. More blood.
Still the same response.
"Draw Blood."
Again.
"Draw Blood."
Frustration boiled up inside me.
'What the hell am I missing?'
I combed through the story's events in my head.
In the original timeline, after the battle here, Leonard and his juniors assumed the demon was dead. They left, knowing the dungeon would collapse soon. But the demon had survived.
He was dragged by the mist to this very altar.
And he received the spear. Instantly. With just a bit of blood.
Why not me?
Then my eyes locked onto the spear. Three cruel spikes gleamed in the mistlight.
A terrible idea took root.
Back then, the demon was half-dead when he arrived. Bleeding. Broken.
But I'm not.
Not yet.
My hands trembled.
Slowly, I reached out toward the spear.
My fingers curled around its shaft. Pain flared the moment I touched it, but I didn't let go.
I knew I was about to lose consciousness.
My heart thundered. Logic screamed at me to stop. That this was insane. That I might die.
But my instincts whispered something else.
I turned the spear toward me. Both hands gripped the weapon.
Swallowed hard.
Grinning like a madman.
"I... I really am a crazy bastard."
Then I drove it into myself.
Three jagged spikes tore into my chest.
Pain exploded through me.
The world tilted. My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the altar.
Blood gushed from my chest, hot and heavy.
I couldn't scream. Couldn't even breathe.
Just pain.
Raw, unbearable pain.
But the voice didn't say anything.
Regret started to bloom.
Was I wrong? Did I miss something? Forget something?
My vision faded to black,
And then, just before the darkness took me completely, the voice returned.
"Thy One is satisfied."
And the world changed again.
***
My eyes fluttered open.
The injuries were gone. Even my clothes had changed.
Instead, I stood in a place of impossible stillness.
Endless white stretched around me—pure, infinite, empty. Except for a few things.
A vast lake shimmered just ahead. At its centre, rooted in the waters like a throne of life, stood a massive tree. Its branches reached the sky, leaves glowing faintly, like they held memories of stars.
All around the lake, animals gathered—dozens, maybe hundreds of species. Some I recognised. Deer. Birds. Foxes. Others I couldn't even name. Creatures with sapphire feathers or crystalline scales. Antlered wolves. Floating fish that drifted like lanterns.
Birds circled overhead in gentle arcs, unbothered by my presence.
I stared, confused.
'Did I die? Am I in heaven?'
This scene… it wasn't part of the novel. Not even in the deeper lore.
And yet it felt real.
More real than the dungeon. More real than pain.
The last thing I remembered was the voice saying it was satisfied…
Then a new female voice drifted across the still air.
"Mortal, born of blood and bone... why do you claw at the garden you do not tend?"
The world trembled.
Before me, space twisted. Warped like water folding in on itself. She stepped forth.
And the air grew heavy.
Mana thickened so dense I could taste it, like earth and wind and wildfire. The animals went still. Silent. Time itself slowed, bowing to her presence. Even the light bent, curling inward like vines drawn toward sunlight.
I held my breath.
Then I saw her.
A silhouette of a woman, but never one shape. Her form twisted with grace and rhythm: a crown of antlers became tree branches, became vines, became flowing hair.
She bloomed like a flower in reverse, folding into herself again and again—formless, fluid, divine.
She was not solid. She was not still. Her presence was like a breath held across the forest of time.
And her eyes were twin galaxies of shifting seasons.
One eye held spring, blooming with cherry blossoms that spiralled endlessly inward.
The other was winter, silent flakes drifting across endless dusk.
My knees buckled under her gaze—not from fear, but from the weight of her attention.
Then she spoke again.
"I am Sylara, Bonded Warden of the Greenheart."
"So tell me, Seeker… what is your purpose in visiting the fragmented realm of Greenheart?"
My mouth went dry.
Fragmented realm of Greenheart?
The Land of Spirits.
What the hell… How the fuck did I end up here?