POV: Kael Lanpar
Silence ruled—absolute, unbroken. An endless echo clinging to every corner, reminding me of everything I had lived through to end up here.
My eyes locked onto the figure before me: imposing, stern, his body marked by scars that told more stories than any words ever could.
He looked at me with such pure disgust that it seemed to taint the air itself. His wrinkled face and gray hair spoke of an age that transcended planes and eras.
One eyebrow rose. His disdain shifted into a cold curiosity as he crossed his arms.
"Why did you come here if you're not going to speak?" His rough voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.
I let go of the door handle I was still holding. Clearing my throat, I took a step toward him. He didn't even flinch.
"I know my presence here isn't welcome," I said, weighing each word. "I understand the resentment you feel toward my blood. What my ancestors did was a disgrace."
A laugh sliced through my words. His smile twisted cruelly as he wiped away the tears brought on by his own laughter.
"It's strange," he mocked, "to hear such calm words from someone with a past so soaked in blood."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The sound reverberated, deep and vibrant, as if it tore through reality itself. The ground trembled.
A glacial wind swept through the place, freezing everything it touched. The chandeliers, the pillars—even the human figures—turned into statues of ice so pure they seemed eternal.
My breath became visible, a ghostly cloud dancing in the frozen air. And yet… I didn't feel cold.
"That's normal," said Vastiar, interrupting my thoughts. "None of this is real. These are memories."
"Memories?" I whispered, feeling a hollow emptiness carve its way through my mind.
I looked around. Blurred fragments of images tried to surface but vanished before they could take form.
"What did you just do?" I demanded, clenching my fists. "Why can't I remember?"
"Impossible… just moments ago, I knew exactly which part of my past this was," I muttered, anger rising in my voice.
Vastiar stepped forward. His sigh echoed in the frozen expanse.
"Don't be mistaken, boy," he said sharply. "Even if my presence here feels real, this is nothing more than a manifestation of your own thoughts."
I turned my gaze away. He was right. This place was a puzzle built from my own mind.
"I want to know something," I said, avoiding his eyes. "How do you know about my reincarnation?"
Silence answered.
When I looked up, his expression had changed. He was smiling—with a calm so disturbing it froze my blood. I stumbled backward, falling to the ground as his shadow stretched over me.
The pain was fleeting, just a flash, before my eyes caught the first snowflakes descending from the sky.
They fell slowly in every direction, as if time itself had stopped to witness them.
Around me, a faint crackling echoed; the frozen figures began to shatter, collapsing into tiny fragments that scattered like crystalline dust.
I pressed my hands against the ground and realized I was kneeling on an endless lake, covered by a thin layer of water that reflected a colorless sky. Moisture clung to my skin—but when I lifted my hands, they were dry.
"Matías Castleboard," said Vastiar, kneeling to meet my gaze. "That's who you are."
I nodded, a sharp pain stabbing through my head—piercing, relentless.
"To be honest," he added, his voice laced with genuine sorrow that disarmed me, "I don't even know what to feel about you."
"You're neither the reincarnated one… nor the destined one."
My muscles tensed. I felt my soul freeze within me.
"You're nothing but a fragment of the puppeteer," Vastiar whispered—and his voice tore me apart inside.
My mind went blank, desperately searching for logic where there was none. My legs gave out. I fell to my knees, until the icy ground took the weight of my body.
Vastiar spoke again, though his voice sounded distant, almost spectral:
"You are the most innocent part of a monster," he said softly. "What you see are not your memories, but the portraits of another… of a part of a soul that does not belong to you."
He paused. His gaze hardened.
"Of the true soul of the sinner you believe yourself to be."
An invisible pain tore through my chest. I couldn't see it, but I felt it—as if something was cruelly ripping out my heart.
There were so many things I didn't understand since my fight with the Prophet… but for the first time, everything was starting to make sense.
Logic was useless. That feeling during my last battle—that instant when my consciousness awoke—now carried a different meaning.
"This… this is impossible," I stammered, trembling. "Damn it! Do you think I'm so easy to manipulate?"
"Calm down, boy!" Vastiar roared. "I gain nothing by manipulating you. You came to this sacred place seeking answers… not comfort."
His words pierced me. Adrenaline surged through my body; my muscles tensed, my jaw ached. Something inside me was about to break.
Then it happened.
A torrent of memories hit me with the force of a tsunami. Memories I had never known existed.
I saw the person I believed myself to be: gripping the neck of what seemed to be a god. Then walking, without remorse, across a sea of blood and corpses, wielding his weapon before raising it to the sky.
"Boy, react!" Vastiar shouted, shaking me forcefully.
But my eyes no longer saw reality.
I was inside the memory: still serving the Prophet, holding between my fingers a dark chain—the chain of a pocket watch that shone with the intensity of the sun.
The sound struck twelve.
A metallic clang exploded in my head, followed by a wave of unbearable sensations.
I felt an eye being torn from my socket. Felt my body burn, consumed by a fire that was not physical, but spiritual.
Guilt. Fear. Hatred. All mixed together, amplifying until they overflowed my consciousness. I was losing control… not only of my mind but also of my soul. I was falling apart.
"This is… the Moon's Eye," whispered the Prophet's voice inside my head.
When I opened my eyes, reality swallowed me. My body was absorbed by the layer of water beneath me.
I caught a glimpse of Vastiar's face fading away. A bubble escaped my lips before everything sank into darkness.
I didn't know if it was my imagination… or if my mind was creating a barrier to protect itself from collapse.
I only felt that I was floating. Alone. Abandoned in an ocean that showed me the cruel lie of a second chance.
In that endless sea that seemed to encompass all existence, I felt empty. I wasn't drowning, but I lacked air every time I thought about who I was. I was slowly killing myself, suffocated by my own pain.
I watched the bubbles escape from my mouth: heavy, slow, as sad as my breathing.
I didn't even want to go on anymore.
I had given up.
I closed my eyes. I just wanted to abandon my thoughts. I felt my strength fading… my body sinking deeper and deeper into that ocean of guilt and regret.
"Have you already given up? That easily?" A deep voice resonated in all directions, tearing me from the silence.
"What…?" I murmured, dazed.
Suddenly, a gigantic hand emerged from the shadows and seized me with brutal force, pulling me from the depths of my thoughts.
The water released me abruptly. The darkness receded just enough to let a ray of clarity through.
I found myself in a vast chamber shrouded in twilight. Light filtered through medieval stained glass, casting crimson and sapphire tones across the cracked marble floor.
I tried to break free, but when I looked closer, I understood the nature of my captor. That hand was not human.
It was part of a colossal statue, carved from stone eroded by time—its surface cracked, oozing with mold and ancient dust.
"Calur…" I heard, barely audible, yet carrying an ancient power that made every fiber of my being tremble.
The world distorted for an instant. I felt my perspective twist and shatter—until everything broke.
(Change of perspective)
He swallowed hard. He recognized instantly who stood before him: a shadow of the Creator—the one who had brought him into this world.
"Damn it, let me go!" he roared, but his voice vanished into the echoing vastness of the chamber.
The man upon the dark throne didn't even blink. He watched from above with a serenity so dreadful that even the air seemed to fear him.
In his eyes burned a primordial hatred, powerful enough to erase continents. And yet… that hatred felt justified.
With a single motion, the statue's grip crumbled. The fragment fell to the ground with a dry, echoing thud.
The pain was immediate. He felt his legs snap beneath his weight; he could swear he heard the crunch of his bones like dry branches underfoot.
"Ahhh!" the fragment screamed, spitting blood. "I swear I'll kill you!"
"I don't doubt it," the figure whispered in a low, melancholic tone.
Barely conscious, the fragment began to crawl, dragging himself forward and leaving a dark trail behind. His nails, broken and bleeding, dug into the stone with every attempt. Only hatred kept him alive.
The figure didn't stop him. He simply watched. And when the fragment finally reached his feet, he looked down one last time.
There was no fury left in his eyes… only endless weariness, a sorrow older than them both.
And then, the fragment understood. He had made his greatest mistake.
The foot of the being he hated most descended slowly, pressing his head against the floor. The fragment felt the stone stain itself with his own blood.
"Calur…" the figure whispered, invoking a name that did not belong to this world.
(Change of perspective)
The hatred I felt for Matías was inhuman—so visceral that I could barely think. But the worst part wasn't the pain… it was the helplessness.
I felt my head being crushed against the ground, my lips kissing the cold stone soaked in blood. The silence became unbearable. Every breath was a reminder of my failure.
"Pathetic," he whispered, increasing the pressure. "Not worthy of life."
Those words ignited something within me. An inhuman rage surged from the depths of my soul. My body trembled, but I tried to stand, refusing to accept that end.
I pressed my hands against the rough floor. I felt my muscles tear as I lifted my head.
I bit my lower lip—the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I wasn't about to waste that pain.
When I looked up, I saw confusion in Matías's face. He couldn't understand how I was still standing.
A dark, dense, pulsating aura surrounded me, warping the air around my body.
He stepped back a few paces, quickly regaining his composure, his gaze locked on me.
I felt the astral magic of the corrupted awakening coursing through my veins, vibrating with a wild energy that bordered on madness.
It was intoxicating. Addictive… almost pleasurable.
The bones in my legs—once shattered—began to fuse back together with a sickening crack. The pain was replaced by an indescribable power.
The ground trembled beneath my feet. Cracks spread in every direction, lifting fragments of stone into the air, as if the world itself were beginning to collapse.
I pushed off one of the floating rocks, exhaling vapor through my mouth, and in the blink of an eye, I shot toward him. The air whistled as it split beneath my speed.
I appeared before Matías and struck him directly in the stomach. The impact was brutal; his body flew across the hall, crashing into the far wall. The rubble buried him beneath tons of stone.
I smiled. A smile filled with satisfaction… and pain.
I spat blood. A searing pain burned through my torso—my own bones fracturing from within, right where I had hit him. My breathing turned ragged. Something was wrong.
From beneath the rubble, Matías emerged slowly. A serene smile crossed his face, as if everything had gone according to plan.
Then I saw it—a cut on his forehead, identical to mine. Panic coursed through me.
Matías raised a hand to the sky. The air around him warped, condensing into a dark blade forged of pure shadow. The sword absorbed the light, devouring existence itself.
His hand tightened around the hilt, and without hesitation, he aimed the tip at his own chest.
"No!" I shouted, leaping toward him.
It was useless. The sword pierced his flesh… and the pain reached me instantly.
A silent scream escaped my lips as I fell. I hit the ground, gasping, feeling the bond between us tear through every fiber of my being.
Matías stepped forward through the shadows. The sword still pierced his chest, yet he showed no sign of pain. His gaze was calm—so calm it froze the soul.
He extended a hand and grabbed me by the collar, lifting me effortlessly.
His face hovered inches from mine. His voice came out as an icy whisper:
"It's not yet time for me to claim this body," he said with a calm that hurt. "Enjoy what little time you have left."
He let go.
I fell again into the void, and the water embraced me like a liquid grave. His face faded through the waves—his eyes, glassy and tired, carrying a sorrow that tore me apart.
"Forgive me… for what I did to you," he murmured, his voice breaking with a sob that shattered everything inside me.
I began to drown. The air left my lungs, pressure crushed my chest. My mind blurred.
I clenched my eyes shut. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to escape this pain.
Then a familiar voice burst through, desperate and furious:
"Damn it, boy!" It was Vastiar.
I gathered the last of my strength. Tears ran down my face as I whispered weakly:
"Help me, Vastiar… kill me. I can't take it anymore…"
"Nogata Zero!" he roared with all his soul.
Suddenly, a strange calm washed over me. A deep light flashed before my eyes, forcing them open.
There was Vastiar, staring at me with worry, gasping for air, sweat running down his forehead.
"Thank you…" I murmured through my sobs. "Thank you, Vastiar."
Like a lost child, I curled up. My body trembled—empty, broken from within.
"What kind of seal did that demon put on you?" Vastiar panted. "It drained all my mana…"
I couldn't move. Couldn't think. It was as if my mind had shut down completely.
Then, voices began to echo in my head.
"My son… you are not guilty of anything," whispered my parents. "Even if you fall, life is still a gift. Cherish every second of it."
"And remember," my mothers added, "your story belongs to you. You are the one who decides how to write it."
Their words pierced through the suffocating silence.
How do you start from zero when you don't even know who you are?
How do you keep living with memories that aren't yours?
I took a deep breath. Swallowing hard, I forced my body to stand. My legs trembled, my chest burned… but I did it anyway.
"Why did you help me?" I asked, my voice breaking. "You had nothing to gain… except the pleasure of seeing me suffer."
I staggered toward Vastiar. Every step was a battle against my own existence.
"What kind of demon sends a piece of himself to another world… expecting nothing in return?" I whispered.
"I won't let him come back," I continued. "This body… is mine. I am the reincarnated one, not him."
Deep down, I knew the truth. My words were just a mask.
The weight crushed me. My knees gave out, and darkness closed in around me.
And before I fell completely, I understood the thing I feared most: I had always been alone.
Lost in the darkness of my own mind, a faint voice stirred something inside me—something I thought had died long ago.
"No one seeking redemption," it said softly, "is ever truly alone."