Wind tore through the sky as Arata and Kaelven stepped out of the dimensional rift. The air here was heavier, saturated with a metallic tang that made even breathing feel like inhaling molten iron.
Below them sprawled the ravaged plains of Zerathis—mountain chains cleaved in half, oceans boiled to glass, and cities turned to bone fields. The planet was alive, but only barely. Every inch of it screamed violence.
Kaelven steadied himself as they descended through the smoky sky. "You… really came."
Arata didn't answer at first. He was studying the land, eyes half-lidded, reading the subtle fractures of existence itself. "Interesting world. It doesn't run on laws—it runs on hunger. Everything here competes to exist."
"That's… not far from the truth," Kaelven said bitterly. "Zerathis was built by killers, ruled by numbers."
Arata's gaze drifted lazily toward the horizon. "That explains the imbalance. No stabilizing axis. Your reality's eating itself."
Kaelven blinked. "You can see that?"
"I don't see it," Arata corrected, voice calm and toneless. "I understand it. Reality only exists where logic permits it. Your world's logic was written in violence… mine was rewritten in control."
He gave a faint smile. "That's why I can manifest things—dungeons, heroes, entire eras. I don't create from nothing; I use logic to justify their existence. Everything that can exist must have a reason. I simply provide one."
Kaelven stared, unsettled. "So you imagine, and it becomes real… because the universe believes you?"
Arata chuckled quietly, the sound too calm for the destruction around them. "No. Because I believe me."
The silence after that was uneasy. Even the air seemed to avoid Arata's presence, bending around him like he didn't belong here.
Then—
A low vibration rolled through the ground, so deep it made the bones in Kaelven's chest rattle.
He froze. "No… no, it can't have found me so soon."
Arata tilted his head slightly. "It sensed your Number."
Kaelven's voice broke. "Then we need to move, now! It—"
The rest of his words were drowned out by the sound that followed.
A roar tore through the atmosphere—so loud the clouds disintegrated, leaving a wound of blue and fire where the sky used to be.
From beyond the mountains, something massive shifted. A shadow, larger than a continent, unfurled itself.
Draegoth, the Eclipse Wyrm.
Its wings stretched wide enough to block the sun, plunging the world into crimson twilight. Its scales shimmered like obsidian glass streaked with molten gold. Each movement rippled the fabric of air, and every breath carried the sound of breaking thunder.
Kaelven stumbled back, trembling. "Run. Don't even look at it!"
But Arata didn't move. His hands were in his pockets, his coat whipping lazily in the wind.
Draegoth's head loomed over them—a mountain of teeth and molten eyes. When it spoke, the air caught fire.
"You carry a Million."
Its voice was a chorus, deep enough to shake oceans.
"And yet you hide behind another."
Kaelven's knees hit the ground. His voice cracked. "Please, no—don't—"
Draegoth's eyes turned toward Arata. The heat in its gaze could melt steel. "You. I cannot feel your count. What are you, phantom?"
Arata looked up at the dragon, expression unreadable. "I suppose that depends."
The dragon leaned closer, its maw opening like a collapsing sun. "On what?"
Arata smiled faintly. "On whether you count what exists… or what defines existence."
The moment he said it, something strange happened. The wind that had been howling suddenly stopped. The ashes in the air froze mid-sway. Even the dragon's flames flickered uncertainly, as if reality itself hesitated around him.
Kaelven's breath caught. The world refused to measure Arata.
Because there was no number for him.
No value. No existence the planet could comprehend.
Draegoth pulled back, its eyes narrowing. For the first time, the ancient beast seemed uncertain.
"Impossible," it hissed. "Everything is weighed. Everything has a measure. You—"
"Are not part of your equation," Arata finished calmly. "Your world functions on count. Mine functions on reason. You kill to define yourselves. I define, and the universe follows."
The dragon's fury ignited, flames licking the horizon. "You speak as if you are law itself."
Arata's smirk deepened. "In my world? I am."
The ground erupted as Draegoth lunged forward, jaws wide, swallowing mountains and air alike. Kaelven screamed—
And Arata simply raised a finger.
Space folded. Time paused. The entire concept of movement died.
The dragon froze mid-lunge, flames suspended like painted streaks of light.
Arata walked calmly across the air, the world bending beneath his feet as though it were silk. He reached the dragon's snout and looked into one of its burning eyes.
"Seventy billion lives," he said softly. "That's how much you've consumed. That's impressive… but meaningless."
He tapped the dragon's nose. Reality trembled at the touch. "Let me show you what unquantifiable means."
Draegoth's frozen form began to fracture—lines of light tracing through its scales like veins of shattered glass. For a brief moment, the entire planet reflected in its eyes.
Arata turned to Kaelven. "You said this world kills to grow stronger. Maybe it's time it learned to evolve instead."
With that, he snapped his fingers.
The dragon screamed—a sound that shattered mountains and sent shockwaves across the sky. Its body disintegrated into luminous dust, scattering like ash caught in divine wind.
Silence followed. Pure, absolute silence.
Kaelven fell to his knees, trembling. "You… you erased it. You erased Draegoth."
Arata looked down at him, eyes half-lidded. "No. I rewrote it. I left a seed—a lesson. Your world will birth something new from its remains. Whether it destroys you or saves you… that's up to it."
He turned, stepping through the still-glowing remnants of the portal. "I've seen enough."
Kaelven's voice cracked. "What are you going to do now?"
Arata paused, his silhouette framed in the light. "Return. The Veiled Gates should be opening by now."
His tone was calm, almost amused. "Let's see what kind of monsters imagination can breed."
And with that, Arata Kurogane disappeared—leaving behind a broken sky, a dead dragon, and a trembling world that could no longer decide whether to fear him or worship him.