The vision did not arrive like a storm.
It came softly—too softly.
Feno felt it before he saw it.
A pressure in his chest.
A strange pull behind his eyes.
The world around him dimmed, colors draining as if reality itself was bowing to something far older.
Then—
He stood on a battlefield.
Not one freshly born of chaos, but one that had already ended.
The ground was drowned in blood—so much that the earth itself seemed to breathe it out. Thousands… no, countless corpses lay scattered in silence, their weapons broken, their armor crushed like paper. The air smelled of iron and ash.
And at the center of it all—
A lone warrior stood tall.
Golden armor wrapped his body, not polished, but scarred—each mark telling a story of wars that history had forgotten. The armor emitted a terrifying aura, dense and overwhelming, yet strangely calm. It did not scream for dominance.
It declared victory.
Behind him, the sky was split open with crimson clouds, as if even the heavens had been wounded. The warrior's back was straight, unbending, like the world itself rested upon his shoulders.
Feno's breath caught.
Who… is he?
The warrior slowly turned.
His face was hidden behind a helm shaped like a crowned beast, eyes glowing faintly gold. When he looked at Feno, the battlefield trembled—not violently, but in recognition.
"You can see me," the warrior said.
His voice was deep. Tired.
Not the voice of a conqueror—but of someone who had already paid the price of victory.
Feno swallowed. "Who are you?"
The warrior did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked around at the fallen, at the endless dead beneath his feet.
"I failed," he said at last.
Feno frowned. "Failed…? This looks like victory."
A low chuckle escaped the warrior.
"Victory?"
He shook his head slowly.
"No. This is the cost."
The battlefield shifted.
The corpses faded like mist, and suddenly they stood inside a vast hall—ancient, endless. At the far end of it, a massive throne rose above all, carved from something that did not belong to this world.
Someone sat upon it.
A presence so heavy that Feno instinctively bent his knees.
But—
He could not see the figure clearly.
Its form was blurred, wrapped in shadows, as if reality itself refused to reveal it.
The golden warrior walked forward.
And then—
He knelt.
Not in fear.
Not in submission.
But in loyalty.
"Master," the warrior said, his voice steady.
"Please… just stay with me."
The throne remained silent.
Feno's heart pounded.
Master…?
The warrior clenched his fist.
"I couldn't finish it," he continued. "I couldn't do what had to be done. I hesitated. I doubted. And because of that… everything fell apart."
He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at Feno.
His gaze pierced through him.
"So now," the warrior said, "what I couldn't do… you will."
Feno stepped back. "What are you saying? I don't even know—"
The warrior raised a hand.
"I'm not forcing you," he said calmly.
"I'm entrusting you."
The hall cracked.
Reality shattered like glass—
And the vision changed.
Feno now stood on a vast plain under a blackened sky. Fires burned in the distance. The golden warrior stood before him, his armor dimmer now, his aura fading.
"This path will break you," the warrior said.
"You will be hated. Feared. Misunderstood."
He placed a hand over his chest.
"But when the time comes… I leave everything to you, Feno."
His voice softened.
"Do not repeat my mistake."
The world went silent.
And then—
The vision ended.
Sweat drenched his back.
"What… was that…?" he whispered.
He looked at his trembling hands.
What couldn't he finish?
And why me…?
Before he could think further—
A presence stirred far beyond him.
In a realm untouched by time, four massive thrones hovered in a circular arena of void and starlight.
Four groups.
Four powers.
And at the center of the gathering stood Zhaevar.
Tall, sharp-featured, eyes glowing with cold calculation, Zhaevar's aura alone warped the space around him. He was not shouting. He did not need to.
"The time has come," Zhaevar said calmly.
Across from him, another leader clenched his fist. "You're certain?"
Zhaevar nodded. "The seal is stirring. Movements are increasing across realms. And he has begun to interfere openly."
A murmur spread through the arena.
One of the leaders growled, "If the God-Sealer awakens again—"
"We won't let that happen," Zhaevar cut in. "Not this time."
He turned slightly, gazing into the void where countless worlds spun like fragile glass.
"Prepare your forces," he commanded.
"We move… now."
The arena trembled in agreement.
Deep beneath layers of forgotten reality, the seal pulsed faintly.
Chains of glowing runes wrapped around a crystal prison.
Inside it—
A girl floated peacefully.
Her hair flowed like silver silk, her skin flawless, untouched by time. Her closed eyes shimmered with quiet warmth, and despite being sealed for decades, she looked… alive. Beautiful.
She slowly opened her eyes.
"…It's been so long," she murmured softly.
A small smile curved her lips.
Master…
It's been decades, hasn't it?
She lifted her hand, pressing it gently against the inside of the seal.
"I wonder…" she whispered, cheeks faintly pink.
"Will you still recognize me? Will you… hug me like before?"
Her smile turned playful, almost shy.
"I still look good, right?"
The seal trembled.
Vicky woke up suddenly.
His breath was uneven.
"…The seal," he muttered.
That familiar pull—stronger than ever—wrapped around his heart.
"I need to go," he said, standing up.
"To the seal."
His eyes hardened.
"I don't know why… but something is waiting for me there."
Across different paths, different destinies moved toward the same point.
Feno, still shaken by his vision, stared into the distance where the seal lay hidden.
Vicky stepped forward, drawn by something older than memory.
And far beyond them—
The leaders of Paradox advanced.
The seal pulsed once more.
As if the world itself was holding its breath.