The white light didn't vanish all at once. It receded slowly, like the tide pulling back into the sea, leaving a damp trace that evaporated into a thin mist. What remained was simply space; not a room, because there were no walls to echo sound, no corners to define limits. Only an existence suspended in emptiness.
And at the center of it stood the Guardian.
The black horse didn't move like a living creature. Every blink, every twitch of its ears, every nearly nonexistent breath felt deliberate. As if its existence was a conscious decision made at every passing second.
The strangest thing: its shadow.
Or the lack of one.
Light came from every direction, or perhaps from none at all. But whatever the rule was, beneath the Guardian's hooves, the white floor remained untouched. It was as if its body rejected the laws of this place.
Sopia drew in a sharp, fractured breath, like someone breaking the surface after holding their breath too long.
"HeroStory…" she whispered, half trembling between fear and awe. "Is that… the name of this place?"
The Guardian shifted its head a little. A small motion, yet precise, as though it weighed the meaning of her words.
"No."
The voice didn't echo. It didn't bounce. It spread evenly, as if the air itself decided to speak.
"This is not a place. HeroStory is the origin."
It stepped forward once. Only once. Yet I felt the floor shift, not visibly, but through a faint vibration crawling up from my soles to my spine.
As if the entire space adjusted itself around him.
"From this point," it continued, its eyes—liquid silver without pupils—locking onto us with a pressure that made my skin prickle, "five realms were drawn, separated, and kept functioning."
Something moved in the air. Not wind, but a shift, as if molecules rearranged to reveal something hidden.
"Muspelheim. Niflheim. Zephyra. Terathos. And Luminaris."
Each name sent out a pulse. Light flickered, and for a moment, the realms appeared like afterimages:
Muspelheim: a red sky, erupting volcanoes, an obsidian city burning like a black jewel.
Niflheim: endless black seas, walls of fog, faint silhouettes drifting below the surface.
Zephyra: islands floating in the sky, hardened bridges of wind, a colossal storm frozen in place.
Terathos: forests of trees as tall as skyscrapers, creatures of earth moving in rhythm with the world's pulse.
Luminaris: pure light with no shadows, elves leaving glowing footprints as they walked.
Then everything faded, leaving the same blank white.
"All are rooted here," said the Guardian, and for the first time, I sensed something in his voice—not emotion, but weight. "And those roots have begun to fracture."
—–• ☽ ✦ ☾ •–—
The air trembled again, harder this time. More urgent. The vibration pressed into my chest like standing in front of a giant bass speaker.
Sopia looked at me, eyes wide with a fear deeper than fearing death. Fear of something her mind didn't know how to understand.
Lines of light appeared on the floor. They weren't drawn; they were revealed, as though something hidden beneath the surface finally chose to awaken. The lines crawled outward, curving, interlocking into a pattern that felt familiar from nowhere.
Then the Guardian spoke again. Not to our ears. To our awareness.
"The fire that once gave life now burns without direction."
Heat grazed my skin. My mind jumped to Muspelheim, the shadow creature, and the fairy that nearly killed us.
"The water that should heal now drowns its own memories."
Cold slipped down my neck, wet and chilling. I imagined the black ocean, pale hands reaching up from the depths.
"The wind that once carried hope now whispers emptiness."
Air swirled around us—not hard enough to knock me down, but enough to unsteady my balance. I heard faint murmurs, words in a language I didn't know, but the tone carried despair.
"The earth cracks. The light fades… and the human world is slowly being affected."
My breath hitched. The human world. Earth.
Sopia finally spoke. "What do you mean our world is being affected? We're not part of this… system. Right?"
The Guardian looked at her. Not judging, not condemning—just analyzing.
"The five realms are pillars. They hold something greater than themselves. When the pillars crack, what they hold leaks."
"Leaks where?" I asked, even though I felt the answer tightening in my throat.
"Into the space between realms. Into what should not exist. Into the world that should remain untouched."
Into… Earth.
The lines on the floor brightened, forming a perfect circle. The symbols shifted into letters we could read:
ARGOR, LORD OF FLAME
The fire he once wielded with clarity now burns his sanity…
NAELITH ASERA, THE TIDE OF MEMORY
The Water Keeper drowning in the memories she protects…
KAENRIL VEYRA, THE WANDERING ZEPHYR
Bearer of hope, now lost without direction…
[••••], THE STONE HEART
Name erased. The Earth sovereign who…
The writing cut off.
[••••], THE ETERNAL LIGHT
The name that cannot be spoken until…
Cut off again.
"The last two," the Guardian said, voice softer now, "are missing. Not dead. Not asleep. Missing. As if they never existed."
Sopia stared at the inscriptions, her hand lifting slightly—as if she wanted to touch them but feared what would happen if she did.
"If you wish to return," the Guardian continued, "you must mend what has shattered the five realms."
Mend. A simple word for an impossible task.
"Their rulers have strayed from their roles. One drowned. One lost. Two disappeared."
He paused, and for the first time, I saw something close to doubt flicker in his silver eyes.
"As long as their balance is broken," he whispered, "there will be no path back to your world."
Silence.
Then the Guardian added, voice sinking to a nearly inaudible murmur:
"And if the last one—the Light—falls… every realm will extinguish. Including yours."
TO BE CONTINUED…