Chapter 65
Hwaaaang!
'Faster, even faster…'
Hwiiing–hwiiing!
'150 meters, 170, 190—'
"...."
'What…?'
Fhhhhh!
'That… isn't ordinary smoke.
Within the structure of Flo Viva Mythology, there is no reference to smoke like that.
No basis, no constituent particles.
This world doesn't even understand the essence of your creation.'
At first, the five slashes shot forward with a savagery bordering on mystical, each carrying its own hue of will as though five wild rivers were forced out of a single spring of wrath.
The space along their path trembled violently, curtains of light pulled apart by a force that should never have touched the mortal world.
Every technique embedded within Theo radiated with each heartbeat, forming a rhythm that no normal eye could follow—leaving behind faint traces that seemed to rewrite the laws of motion around him.
Even the ground crossed by the shadows of those slashes contracted, as if refusing to understand what kind of power had been forced to move across its surface.
But when the distance between the slashes and their destination narrowed to a thin margin—at one hundred and ninety-nine meters—something unseen clutched the world with the coldest of claws.
The five techniques stopped at once.
No warning.
No sign that anyone—even Theo—could detect.
They were trapped in a pause of time that should have been impossible, like insects suddenly frozen in the middle of a glass field.
The tension that had surged so wildly solidified into something dense and heavy, creating a silence far too unnatural for a world that had just moved so viciously.
Then, slowly, stranger changes crept through the stillness.
Each slash, once bearing its own nature, began to lose its strength—like flowers robbed of their season, withering without a reason that could be explained.
The edges of energy forming the techniques melted, dissolving into droplets without color, without memory of the shape they once held.
Within seconds, the five slashes collapsed into a thin mist that writhed without direction, then vanished immediately—evaporating into something unwilling to be recognized by any abstraction.
Even the smoke born from their destruction was denied the ability to recognize itself, as though the world refused to name the phenomenon that had just occurred.
'There's something—a sigh far away in the sky, like a whisper piercing through space and thought.'
"Praise, give thanks, and rejoice!"
'That voice… it doesn't belong to this world.'
"Welcome, prince and princess of the Administrators, Son of Quorin and Daughter of Valthura."
'And the repetition continues endlessly, echoing until the sky trembles.'
Auuhhhhh!
'But what truly disturbs me… who are the Son of Quorin and Daughter of Valthura?
For some reason, their names don't feel unfamiliar.'
Then the chanting descended like a curtain of light spreading from an unseen sky, its echo shattering the leftover silence with a grace unmatched by any mortal sound.
Its first note was gentle, but each vibration carried weight heavy enough to shake the structure of reality—making both sky and earth seem to bow to something older than time.
When the words followed, naming the prince and princess of the Administrators, the world that had momentarily frozen felt as though it was holding its breath.
A strange yet sacred air crept into the atmosphere, wrapping everything in a presence that could not be resisted.
A spatial tear appeared soon after.
Not with an explosion, but with a soft pull that bent light and air around it.
One glowing fissure gleamed like gold pulled from the heart of an infant sun—warm yet blinding.
The other pulsed with deep purple, holding the silence of the most ancient night.
From each tear descended two figures whose steps did not touch the air—they commanded it.
They carried an aura that made the surrounding world seem to shrink, as though even reality stepped aside to give them room.
Theo felt something rise from the depths of his mind—something he could not call memory, yet could not ignore.
His gaze locked on the two figures, trying to understand why their silhouettes felt like fragments of dreams he once held, only for them to dissolve before dawn.
Their faces, their posture, even the way their presence pressed upon the air… all of it was familiar, as though he had seen them at a moment outside the life he currently lived.
But when he tried to dig deeper, the memory melted—falling apart like wet sand slipping through his fingers.
'Quorin is not human, but the manifestation of law.
His form is born of living data and stars.
With six triangular eyes, he sees future to past, counting worlds as statistics without mercy.'
The sky, cracked open by the spatial tear, welcomed the Son of Quorin with a geometric brilliance that seemed to sculpt the horizon anew.
Light descended in taut lines, forming patterns that spread like a cosmic pulse drawn from a star's core.
Each beat of radiance exerted a subtle pressure on the air, as though the world itself had to adjust to the algorithms running through his mind.
Numbers, equations, and endless calculations flickered behind his gaze—creating an invisible layer constantly measuring balance.
With each step he took across the sky, uncertainty tightened, closing in like shadows terrified of being left behind by the light.
Theo Vkytor saw only glimpses of his form, yet within those glimpses pulsed a familiarity—something calling from a depth he couldn't claim as his own, a precision equal to machines yet wrapped in ancient majesty.
The body of the Son of Quorin seemed like a harmony between mortal flesh and formulas born from the earliest order.
Silvery markings pulsed beneath his skin like slow currents of electricity, creating a living constellation shifting with the rhythm of his thoughts.
His pure white hair reflected shifting light, each strand a tiny prism scattering fragments of radiance in all directions.
But the eyes—those were what captured everything.
Six of them, seeing not the surface of the present but the end of all possibilities.
Quorin possessed six eyes.
Two on his forehead, one on each cheek, and two beneath his lips.
Three golden eyes glowed like suns veiled in mist, while the other three shone with steel-blue firmness echoing a world beyond reason.
Each was encircled by an inverted triangular pupil, giving the impression that he perceived reality backward—understanding outcomes before causes could even appear.
Every time his gaze opened fully, the air shivered, as though the laws of physics rearranged themselves to avoid disappointing such an observer.
The long coat draped over his form was not mere fabric, but layers of data cascading like strands of recalculated code.
Geometric patterns appeared and vanished across its surface, following the pulse of his thoughts—creating the illusion that the garment lived, continually redefining the world.
At his waist floated a sword without purpose—a pure blade hovering beside him without any support, as though gravity obeyed only him.
Each step across the sky formed circles of ancient mathematics beneath his feet, faint blue lines glowing for a heartbeat before dissolving back into dust.
Theo sensed that each circle was not decoration—it was measurement.
And he was part of the variable being calculated.
To be continued…