Waza floated — or maybe he was standing — it was impossible to tell. The darkness felt alive, shifting like smoke.
From it emerged a figure cloaked in light and shadow. No face, no form, only presence.
"Who are you?" Waza asked, his voice steady though his body trembled.
"I am what your world forgot," it said. "The bridge between what is and what could be."
The figure raised a hand — and the air rippled, showing flashes: his mother kneeling before an altar, strange symbols drawn in blood, a younger version of him sleeping beneath a glowing mark on his chest.
"You were sealed to protect this world from yourself," the voice continued. "But that seal is breaking."
"Why me?" he asked.
The figure smiled — or maybe it just felt like a smile. "Because you are not just of this world. You are the echo of something older — and it's waking through you."
A burst of light swallowed the dark.
He gasped — and suddenly, he was back in the kitchen.
The wall was gone. His mother was kneeling on the floor, weak but alive.
She looked up at him — fear and pride mixing in her eyes.
"Waza," she whispered, "it's time you knew the truth about who you are."