A week had passed since Queen Lyssandrel abdicated her throne and departed in silence, guided by a premonition. The path to the rift had been cold, barren, as if the world itself recoiled from what lay beyond.
Upon crossing the boundaries of reality, she encountered absolute silence—broken only by the slow sound of her own breathing.
In the formless vastness of the rift, where the sky was merely a blur of ash and shadows, she saw him.
Bouros.
Seated on a rough, jagged stone, as if violently torn from the earth, he kept his gaze fixed on Jin's body, lying at his feet.
Jin wasn't breathing.
The wound in his chest was still open, but no longer bleeding—as if time in that place had paused, or simply given up on him.
The Queen stopped for a few seconds, saying nothing.
She observed Jin with a sorrowful yet resolute gaze. A look that had witnessed centuries of pain, yet still knew compassion.
Then, she raised her eyes to Bouros.
"I believe you are Bouros."
Bouros didn't move immediately. His eyes remained on Jin, as if it were difficult—or pointless—to look away from the lifeless body. But after a brief silence, he responded, turning his face slightly toward her, a crooked smile on his lips:
"Yes..."
"The calm with which you look at me is charming."
His voice dripped with sarcasm, but without direct hostility. As if testing the limits of the woman before him.
The Queen took a few steps forward, slowly, her boots treading lightly on the dry, dull ground of the rift.
"I can't say the same…" she replied without hesitation. "You're terrifying."
Bouros raised an eyebrow slightly but didn't react beyond that. He remained seated, motionless, like a living statue.
Lyssandrel knelt beside Jin, with reverent slowness. Her fingers slid carefully beneath his body, and with a delicate movement, she lifted him into her arms. Her expression was a blend of silent pain and unshakable tenderness.
Bouros finally spoke, his voice now lower, as if whispering a question to the void itself:
"Aren't you wondering why this space hasn't collapsed with his death?"
Before she could respond, a laugh echoed.
Drawn out.
Torn.
Like a bone snapping under dry skin.
It came from all directions—and from nowhere.
The Queen remained where she was, gazing at Jin's body for a moment before slowly raising her face.
"That must be the reason…"
"Am I wrong?"
The response didn't come from Bouros.
It came from behind.
A shadow rose, as if it had been asleep until that moment.
And then, he appeared.
Lorn.
His presence was like a crack in the air. The very fabric of the rift trembled around him, as if refusing to contain him.
His eyes glowed with a putrid hue, and the smile on his face was too wide to be human.
"Finally…" he said, his voice hoarse and reverberating, "the ivory queen visits my cradle."
Bouros didn't rise. He merely watched.
The Queen, with Jin in her arms, didn't retreat either.
But the tension in the air was palpable. Hell had awakened—and its claws were beginning to close.
The Queen handed Jin's body to Bouros without a word. He received it with a faint smile—not of kindness, but of something older and unfathomable.
Lyssandrel turned slowly to Lorn and said, with the calm of someone who had seen too much:
"The scenery's changed a bit, hasn't it? Tired of that red inferno?"
Lorn smiled, approaching with the same look that always hid something rotten beneath the surface:
"The king's attack worried me for a few minutes... But he's so innocent."
The Queen closed her eyes and sighed, bored, as if the conversation were merely a distant echo.
"Hmm... innocent, is he? Well... perhaps."
Lorn drew closer until his face was mere inches from hers.
But then—for an almost imperceptible moment—something pierced through him.
Images... visions.
He saw himself being torn apart, burned, hanged with threads of light, his body disintegrating under a serene gaze.
Instinct made him recoil.
Not from physical fear—but from something far deeper: the premonition that, before her, he was not in control.
Queen Lyssandrel, however, hadn't even moved.
With a calm and inquisitive gaze, she merely tilted her head slightly, as if observing a mischievous child attempting to lie.
"I'm the one who should be scared here, aren't I?" she said with a slow, icy smile. "You're the demon, after all."
Her tone was pure venom wrapped in silk.
And for a second, even hell seemed to hesitate.
Then she spoke, as if reciting a sentence already decided:
"I've understood some things about you.
Your power... is borrowed.
Your space... is borrowed.
And this body... isn't yours either."
Bouros began to laugh. Not loudly—a hoarse, almost dragging sound, like stone scraped by metal.
Lorn clenched his teeth. A crease formed on his forehead. The irritation he tried to hide began to leak from the corners of his eyes.
Bouros, still laughing, said in a mocking tone:
"Are all humans as entertaining as you…?"
The Queen, with a small, knowing smile, replied:
"Perhaps a few are."
Lorn then vanished in a dissonant whisper, like smoke swallowed by the void itself.
Bouros raised an eyebrow and, with a crooked smile, commented:
"Brutal... Should I applaud?"
His tone was laced with sarcasm, provocative as always. Queen Lyssandrel turned her eyes to him and, with a serene smile on her lips, murmured:
"You're a good contrast to the boy, aren't you?"
Bouros let out a low, humorless laugh.
"Yes. Just like you and the king... In fact, all of you royals." He tilted his head slightly, observing her with a hint of amusement. "Terrifying."
The Queen looked at him with curiosity, still smiling.
"All of you?"
Bouros sighed and shrugged.
"That arrogant kid and that girl... They're all monsters... Among humans, they're revered... But not for their blood."
Lyssandrel lowered her eyes, still with an enigmatic smile on her face.
Then Lorn's voice echoed through the space again, like a distorted track:
"The boy is alive. His soul is somewhere in here."
And then, a grotesque laugh erupted, filling every corner of the rift with macabre echoes.
"I'll have fun watching you search…"
Bouros responded, still holding Jin's body:
"Idiot. You're useless enough not to know who he is.
You've tampered with something you shouldn't even touch."
Lyssandrel then approached again, gently took Jin's body into her arms, and began walking toward the rift's exit.
But before she could reach it, the rift closed with a sharp snap.
Silence.
Lorn's voice returned, slithering like venom across the stones:
"Leaving like that... would be so dull, don't you think?"
Back to Jin.
The field seemed different, slowly transforming.
After Lira, Kael, and Ragan vanished into the air, Jin stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, as if reality itself were crushing him.
Then he saw her.
Ahead, in the midst of a sea of black sand and broken bones, there was a solitary stone. On it, a figure sat with its back to him. Small. Hooded. The silhouette seemed... childlike.
Jin walked slowly toward the figure. Each step sank him deeper, as if the earth rejected him. When he finally got close, the figure turned its face slightly. It was him.
Himself. Smaller. Fragile. With eyes black as pitch and a faint smile that matched no living memory.
The figure spoke, and its voice chilled every part of Jin's soul—because it was his, but distorted, as if spoken by a hungry echo.
"Hmmm... Is this what I'll become?"
Jin tried to step back, but before he could move his feet, his face began to burn.
Blaze.
Invisible flames erupted beneath his skin. Blood streamed in rivers from his eyes, mouth, ears.
The wound in his chest—the king's blade, the cruel judgment—reopened with a dry snap. He fell to his knees.
His arm, the one torn off before... flew away in a rip of flesh and shadow.
The pain didn't come in waves. It came whole.
All of it. At once.
The weight of guilt. The despair of Eira. Lino's scream. Fliria's absence. Frila's shadow. Marcus's gaze. The king's sword. Kaellia's face stained with fear.
Jin screamed.
He writhed on the scarlet ground like a wounded animal, but even that couldn't express the ruin consuming him.
The figure, still seated, watched with the cruel calm of gods.
And then it spoke again. Sweet. Cruel.
"You're a wreck…"
Silence.
"…you should take better care of yourself."
The small Jin tilted its head, its gleaming eyes meeting Jin's on the ground.
"Well, I get it.
You carry the weight of what destroys you."
The figure remained seated on the stone, its small legs swinging slightly, almost as if bored.
Jin writhed in agony on the ground, eyes wide, chest heaving, blood flowing.
And then, with an almost... gentle sigh, the figure said:
"You're lucky. That human is strong…
Strong enough to make this space falter."
In a blink.
Everything vanished.
The pain.
The heat.
The smell of blood.
The crushing weight.
The scarlet ground gave way to a field of low grass, swaying under a serene breeze. The sky was still gray, but calm. Almost... empty.
Jin sat up slowly. The wound in his chest was gone. His arm was back. But his eyes remained wide. His body no longer felt the pain—but his mind still relived it. His nerves trembled as if hell still dwelled within him.
The figure remained seated on the stone. Still small. Still with the hood partially covering its face.
It raised its head and said, with an almost mocking tone:
"See? Seconds... or maybe minutes.
It's enough to change everything."
Jin stood, still panting. His gaze scanned the field around him, as if expecting the pain to return at any moment. But it didn't.
"…who are you?" Jin asked, but his voice came out weak. More like a breath than a real question.
The figure ignored him. It continued, as if narrating a play already written.
"Well, this will end soon.
You'll talk a bit…
And then he'll give you back that human."
The figure tilted its head to the side, curious.
The field slowly changed again.
The grass turned to sand.
The sky turned red.
A faint sound... Drums... Thousands of miles away.
"You'll like it. She still believes in you. It's strange..." the figure seemed confused by its own words. "But beautiful."
Jin clenched his fists. His heart tightened. He still didn't understand what was happening.
The figure slowly rose from the stone. Its silhouette remained small, but there was something strange in its movements. As if an impossible energy were contained in that fragile body.
It then began to run, awkwardly like a child… but there was urgency in the gesture.
Running, it shouted over its shoulder:
"He's coming!
You don't have to do this if you don't want to...
But... not everyone grows into what they were born to be."
The sound of its words stretched beyond logic, echoing like an ancient thought in Jin's mind.
But he couldn't move.
His feet were stuck to the ground—or perhaps to his own fear.
The air grew thick. Time... slowed.
The sound of the sand whipped by the wind ceased for a moment.
The small Jin stopped running and turned, as if sensing someone watching—or perhaps as if speaking to something within itself.
"You must still be wondering who I am, right?..." it said, with a calm smile, its voice light as the whisper of a memory.
"Well, in short... I'm you.
Your fears... Your pains... Your emotions... Your traumas…"
It hesitated, looking at the scarlet sky above with thoughtful eyes. It pursed its lips, as if searching for the right word.
"Well, I am... your soul," it said, but seemed uncomfortable with its own definition.
It made a face. Looked at the ground.
Then, suddenly, it smiled like a child who'd just had a brilliant idea.
"Yes... yes... what a great phrase!" it exclaimed with pure joy, as if that were the most important thing in the world.
And without waiting for anything else, it spun on its heels and ran again, its small feet kicking up the reddish sand with ease.
And then… the ground trembled.
A march.
Coming from far away. But each step sounded like contained thunder.
First shapes.
Then silhouettes.
Thousands.
Humans.
Tall and short. Frail and giant. Armed with spears, swords, staffs.
And beside them... beasts.
Wolves, tigers, lions—ferocious creatures marching as if part of the same army. As if they knew exactly where to go.
As if they'd done this before.
Jin recognized them. Or thought he did.
The scene felt... familiar. Like a memory from a forgotten dream, or an echo of something yet to happen.
And at the front…
A great wolf.
Perhaps ten feet tall. Its eyes were embers, and its fur was a mix of ash and black, like coal smoke.
It walked with a cruel, silent dignity.
And beside it… a warrior.
Unbeatable.
His armor was light but gleamed with something that wasn't light—it was presence.
As if no attack could touch him. As if time respected his movements.
His helm hid his face. His chest pulsed with a mark—a shadow in the shape of a spiral.
Jin tried to move. To shout. To retreat.
Nothing.
The march drew closer. The pressure grew. The air became almost impossible to breathe.
The childlike figure had vanished beyond the horizon.
And then, in the middle of the field, the warrior stopped. The wolf did too.
Both stared at Jin.
Silence.
And something within him whispered:
*You've been here before.*