A vast observatory hangs at the edge of everything, overlooking the universe entire. Stars drift past its windows like slow breathing. Time does not apply here.
A hooded girl stands at its centre. Her face is hidden — all of it — except her lips, curved into a smile that knows too much. Dark hair spills from beneath the hood like ink into water.
She speaks.
*"Ah.. The third arrives now. Bound by destiny. Fated to die."*
A pause. The stars drift.
*"But their kind never follows destiny, do they."*
It is not a question.
She turns — not to anyone, to everything —
"So this will be a different tale. They are not heroes. Not legends. Not the white-armoured, glowing-sword saviours. Not the godlike myths. Not the twisted villains. Not the ones driven mad until they become destroyers."
Her smile does not waver.
*"They are the constant. An error. The ones who never bow. To anyone."*
The universe listens.
*"This is the tale of the Walker. The one who will walk — and walk — not on the path of his destiny, but on the path he has made. The Walker walks and never stops. Not until the destination comes."*
She tilts her head, as if hearing something only she can hear.
*"Heroes retire. Legends fade. Saviours break. Myths are forgotten. Villains are slain. Destroyers vanish."*
*"But the Walker — he fell. And rose. And continued to rise. Until no one could challenge him."*
The smile widens. Just slightly.
*"Let us get ready."*
*"For the tale of a cosmic error."*
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