Clac.
The sound did not come from outside.
Clac.
It did not come from the floor, nor the walls, nor the bones rearranging themselves around him.
Clac.
It came from within.
Arthur heard it as if he were submerged. As if the world existed on the other side of a thick layer of murky water. The noise arrived delayed, distorted, repetitive, hammering against his mind in a rhythm that did not obey time.
Clac.
Clac.
Clac.
He did not blink.
He did not breathe properly.
His eyes were open, but they did not see the hall. They did not see the throne. They did not see the skeletal avatar, nor the bones rising again, laughing with chattering teeth.
Everything had lost its color.
The world was gray.
And then…
The first memory fell upon him like a silent impact.
There was no transition.
There was no warning.
Arthur was somewhere else.
The ground was not stone. There were no bones. There was no death.
There was light.
A blue light — deep, uniform, alive.
He looked at his own hands.
They were entirely blue.
There was no skin as he knew it now. No lines, no veins, no imperfections. His body was made of a smooth, luminous substance, as if molded directly from the energy that sustained space itself.
He felt no weight. No pain. No fear.
In front of him, she was there.
A woman.
Human.
Fragile.
Eyes full of life.
She smiled at him as if the world were not about to end.
Arthur raised his hand to her face — a blue hand, shining, too perfect for that imperfect world.
— I love you — she said.
The voice echoed.
And in the next instant, she began to disappear.
Not into blood.
Not into bones.
But into green energy.
Her body unraveled like luminous dust, particles dissolving into the air, carried away by something he could not stop. The smile was still there when her eyes began to fade.
— I love you… — the voice repeated, weaker.
Arthur tried to hold her.
His hand passed through emptiness.
And she was gone.
The blue world cracked.
Clac.
The sound returned, piercing the memory like a nail.
And the second vision came.
Another life.
Another time.
Arthur was still blue — but no longer completely.
There were different lines now. Darker tones mixed into the blue. Something was beginning to form beneath that smooth light. An attempt at matter. An attempt at shape.
She was there again.
Not exactly the same.
But it was her.
The eyes were different. The ears slightly longer. The posture more elegant.
She was a Luminel.
She held his hand.
— I love you — she said, with the same certainty.
Death came differently this time.
A blade pierced her chest.
Her body fell.
And still, green energy escaped, wrapping around Arthur for an instant before dispersing.
Again.
Clac.
Another life.
She was Zaraqnil.
Eight legs.
Multiple eyes.
The same gaze.
— I love you.
Fire consumed her.
Green energy dissolving into the air.
Another.
She was human again.
Another death.
Another.
Another.
Arthur stopped counting.
The memories overlapped.
He always began blue — always blue — and with each rebirth, something changed.
Skin appeared.
Flesh.
Blood.
Weight.
Pain.
He became more… real.
Closer to that world that always took everything from him.
She died again.
And again.
And again.
The voice began to repeat.
— I love you.
— I love you.
— I love you.
It came from nowhere specific.
It came from everywhere.
Every memory spoke.
Every death whispered.
Every ending repeated the same phrase, as if the universe itself were engraved with it.
Arthur felt something warm running.
Blood.
From his nose.
Dripping.
The current body — the one standing in the throne room — began to tremble.
The bones around him were almost complete now. Ribs locking into place. Spines rising. Skulls slowly turning toward him.
Clac.
Clac.
Clac.
They advanced.
In slow motion.
As if the world had decided to stretch that instant only so he could feel everything.
Arthur did not react.
His eyes were empty.
The iris colorless.
The pupil extinguished.
There was no hatred.
There was no pain.
There was something worse.
Weariness.
A skeleton's sword drew close to his neck.
The blade vibrated.
Inches away.
And then…
Something changed.
The pressure crushing him — the gravity imposed by the avatar — began to flow incorrectly.
It did not vanish.
It was pulled.
Drawn in.
Arthur inhaled for the first time since Mia's death.
The air entered heavy.
The ground cracked beneath his feet.
Gravitational energy began to spin around him, absorbed as if his body had become a starving core.
The skeletal king stepped back.
— What…?
Arthur rose.
Not slowly.
Not with effort.
He grew.
His body expanded, muscles forming beneath darkening skin. His hair lengthened, red as living embers, falling down his back like solid flame.
Gravity collapsed inward.
Skeletons were hurled away.
Bodies shattered against the walls.
Swords flew.
One of them embedded itself deep into the rock, vibrating.
The wall cracked with the impact.
Arthur turned his head.
He looked at the sword.
And something answered.
The blue energy within the wall ignited.
Hidden veins lit up.
The blade began to absorb that light.
The other swords scattered across the hall flared for an instant, in resonance.
A bone — an arm — embedded in the wall began to change.
Muscle formed.
Flesh took shape.
The beginning of a hand.
The regeneration stopped the moment Arthur pulled the sword free from the wall.
The avatar raised its arms, trying to assume an attack stance.
Arthur vanished.
There was no visible movement.
There was no sound.
In the next instant, he was behind the throne.
The blue blade came down.
The skeletal king's head exploded.
The impact tore a massive gash into the wall behind, deep enough to reveal, within the rock, an intense blue light — alive — pulsing like an ancient heart.
The hall trembled.
Arthur remained standing.
Breathing.
The world still gray.
But for the first time…
The silence did not hurt.
And Monte Arf…
Watched.