The night over Helios Ward tightened like a rope around the city's throat.
It didn't simply fall—it constricted, pressing down with a thickness that could be felt more than seen. Eiryn sensed it even before his eyes registered the darkened windows and flickering street lamps. Something in the air pulsed—quietly at first, like distant breathing, then louder, heavier, like the heartbeat of something enormous buried beneath the city.
He stopped walking.
Riven, steps ahead, halted instantly. His instincts, honed sharper than blades, caught Eiryn's shift in posture before a single word left his mouth.
"You felt it," Riven said quietly.
Eiryn nodded, swallowing hard. "Like someone brushed my mind."
Riven's expression darkened. "Not someone."
Eiryn tensed. "Then what?"
But Riven's answer never came.
Because the air vibrated—subtly, then violently. Every light in the corridor flickered. Metal pipes groaned. The cold in the hallway surged like a rising tide.
And then the world hit them.
A mental pulse—raw, violent, unfiltered—slammed through their heads like a psychic explosion. Eiryn stumbled forward, clutching his skull, a sharp grunt escaping him as burning static flooded his vision.
He nearly fell.
Riven caught him by the forearm.
"Stay up," Riven muttered through clenched teeth.
Eiryn could barely hear him. His ears rang. His thoughts fractured into shards, each one vibrating with a foreign voice. Hundreds of overlapping whispers like a crowd screaming into his mind:
"THE VEIN IS OPEN."
"THE MIND THAT HIDES MOVES."
"WE SEE YOU— WE SEE YOU— WE SEE YOU—"
And beneath all the voices—
A cold, ancient whisper that cut through the others like a blade through fog.
"Eiryn Vassir."
His breath broke.
His heart stopped.
He recognized that tone instantly, despite never hearing it before.
This wasn't a Helunsntion host.
This wasn't a cultist telepath.
This wasn't any human.
This was…
The Origin.
The first consciousness tied to the disease.
The mind behind the shadows.
The one the cult worshipped like a god.
The one now whispering his name.
The pulse ended abruptly.
Silence crashed over the corridor.
Eiryn collapsed to his knees, gasping like a drowning man breaking surface. Sweat dripped from his chin to the floor in thin, trembling droplets.
Riven knelt beside him, gripping the back of his head.
"Breathe, Eiryn," he said, voice unusually soft. "Slow. Stay here."
"I…" Eiryn swallowed. His throat felt scraped raw. "That was… the Origin— Riven, it— it spoke to me."
Riven went still.
Not frozen.
Not shocked.
But something worse.
Silent.
He closed his eyes, jaw flexing once, muscles twitching along his neck.
"It's too early," Riven whispered. "You shouldn't have heard it yet."
Eiryn looked at him, chest heaving. "What does that mean?"
Riven didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stood up, offering Eiryn a hand. Eiryn took it, rising shakily to his feet.
"The Origin only speaks to hosts that cross the threshold," Riven said.
"Threshold?" Eiryn breathed.
"The point where the Helunsntion no longer sees you as a vessel," Riven explained. "It sees you as potential."
"Potential for what?"
Riven hesitated.
"To evolve."
Eiryn's stomach twisted. "So I'm… evolving?"
Riven didn't answer.
Instead, he said something else. Something that made Eiryn's blood run cold.
"When I crossed the threshold…"
His eyes darkened.
"…the Origin tried to claim me."
Eiryn stared. Riven never talked about his past—never even hinted at it. But now…
"What happened?" Eiryn asked quietly.
Riven's voice lowered. "Everything inside my head tried to merge. My memories. My instincts. My self."
He tapped his temple once.
"I tore my Helunsntion apart before it finished."
Eiryn felt the air leave his lungs.
"You… killed it?"
Riven nodded. "It left a vacancy inside me. A void that a normal human mind shouldn't have."
He lifted his gaze.
"That's why I can't be integrated again. And why I can detect Helunsntion activity instantly."
Eiryn exhaled shakily.
"So that's why you sensed me on the first day."
"That's why I saved you," Riven corrected. "And why I can't let you fall into the same trap."
Eiryn looked away. "Then why is the Origin speaking to me already?"
Riven's expression hardened.
"Because it's interested in you."
Before Eiryn could respond—
A soft, wet dragging sound echoed down the hallway.
Both turned instantly.
A shadow twisted at the end of the corridor—elongated, stretched unnaturally, like something tall and wrong was attached to it.
Then the figure stepped into view.
A boy.
Young—maybe fifteen—with messy hair, sunken eyes, and pupils shaking like they were controlled by someone else. His arms dangled loosely at his sides, fingers twitching like marionette limbs.
Eiryn's breath trembled.
"That's… a host," he whispered.
Riven nodded once. "A fresh one."
"No," Eiryn said softly. "He looks scared."
Riven's jaw tightened. "Chosen doesn't mean willing."
The boy's body jerked suddenly—sharp, unnatural movement—as if pulled by invisible strings. His head tilted so far sideways it should've snapped.
Then he whispered—
"Eiryn…"
His voice sounded layered.
Wrong.
Like three voices speaking at once, out of sync.
Eiryn stepped back involuntarily.
"He knows my name," he breathed.
"No," Riven corrected.
"The thing inside him does."
The boy lifted his hand.
His shadow lifted with it—
—but the shadow stretched upward, not sideways.
Not natural.
Not human.
A tall, faceless silhouette formed behind him.
The same shape that haunted Eiryn's dreams.
The Observer.
A direct fragment of the Origin.
Riven's eyes widened.
"Eiryn, get behind me—"
But Eiryn couldn't move.
He was frozen in place as the Observer leaned forward, the air bending around it, the pressure crushing him like an invisible weight.
His skull throbbed—
—and suddenly the Observer's head snapped toward him.
Pain detonated inside his mind.
Eiryn screamed soundlessly, collapsing to the floor, the mental world around him rupturing into violent imagery—
A tower of flesh and minds.
A horizon made of screams.
A massive figure sitting on a throne of veins—
The Origin.
And its whisper:
"You will return to me."
The Observer tightened its grip on his consciousness—
But then—
A hand touched Eiryn's shoulder.
Warm.
Small.
He turned—
And saw himself.
His younger self.
Eight years old.
Crying.
"Don't let him take us," the boy whispered.
And suddenly Eiryn understood.
This wasn't a hallucination.
It was memory.
Memory he had forgotten.
He rose—not physically, but mentally—pulling the younger version of himself into his chest, merging with the memory.
Strength returned like a flood.
Eiryn lifted his head.
His veins blazed blue like burning threads under his skin.
He spoke a command instinctively.
"Mind Collapse."
A shockwave burst outward from his consciousness.
The Observer shattered like smoke ripping apart.
The boy's body dropped to the floor—alive but unconscious.
Silence echoed.
Riven slowly lowered his daggers, staring at Eiryn with something between awe and fear.
"You're evolving too fast," Riven said quietly.
Eiryn wiped blood from his nose. "I didn't try to."
"That's the problem."
The hallway remained silent after Eiryn's surge, but the silence wasn't comforting—it felt tense, stretched, like a string pulled until it was ready to snap. Riven didn't move at first. His eyes stayed fixed on Eiryn, not with fear, but with calculation, as if he was trying to understand something that even he had never seen before.
Eiryn wiped the remaining blood from his nose. "I didn't mean to do that," he said quietly, almost apologizing.
"You reacted," Riven replied. "That's different."
"But… the boy. And that thing behind him…" Eiryn shivered. "That wasn't just a hallucination. It felt like it was inside my head."
"It was."
Riven finally sheathed his blades. "The Observer doesn't attack your body—it tests your mind. It wants to see how much of you is still you."
Eiryn took a slow breath. "And if I fail that test?"
"You don't want the answer," Riven said simply.
The weight of his tone made Eiryn swallow hard.
Riven then walked toward the unconscious boy and knelt beside him, checking his pulse and breathing. "He'll wake up. The Observer used him as a doorway, nothing more." His eyes narrowed. "That means the Origin's focus is getting stronger."
Eiryn hugged his arms around himself. "Why me? Why is it interested in me?"
Riven didn't respond immediately. He lifted the boy gently and carried him to a nearby bench, laying him down carefully. Only after checking the surroundings did he speak.
"Because you're not resisting the way I did," Riven said. "You're… synchronizing faster."
Eiryn felt a sharp twist in his chest. "Is that bad?"
"It's dangerous," Riven said. "Not bad. Not good. Just… unpredictable."
Eiryn walked closer, lowering his voice. "You think I'll lose myself, don't you?"
Riven didn't answer.
His silence spoke louder than anything.
Eiryn exhaled, frustration edging into fear. "Then teach me. Train me. Do something—don't just watch me fall apart."
Riven's expression softened just slightly. "I'm not watching you fall apart. I'm watching you change. And I need to understand what you're becoming before I push you too far."
Eiryn didn't like that answer. But before he could respond, Riven suddenly stiffened—his senses locking onto something far down the hallway.
He whispered, "Someone's coming."
Eiryn instinctively stepped back. "Another host?"
"No." Riven's eyes narrowed. "A cult agent."
Steps echoed. Slow, steady, confident. The kind of walk belonging to someone who had nothing to fear.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a tall woman in a long coat, her face half-covered by a smooth, porcelain mask painted with a single black line down the center. Her presence created a cold pressure in the air, not overwhelming like the Observer, but sharp—focused.
She stopped several meters away.
"So," she said calmly, her voice soft but clear, "you're the one the Origin whispers to."
Eiryn's blood chilled.
Riven stepped forward immediately, his stance shifting into something guarded and ready. "You shouldn't be here."
The woman tilted her head slightly. "I go wherever the Vein calls. Tonight, it calls to him." Her eyes moved to Eiryn behind the mask's openings. "Your evolution is accelerating. The cult fears and desires that."
"I don't care what the cult wants," Eiryn said, forcing steadiness into his voice. "Stay away from me."
A faint smile curved beneath her mask. "If only it were that simple."
Riven shifted subtly, placing himself between Eiryn and the woman. "State your intent."
"My intent?" She lifted one gloved hand. "To warn him. To tell him that the Origin does not whisper to just anyone. It chooses. It remembers. And it waits."
Eiryn's heart pounded. "Why me?"
"You remind it of someone," she said softly. "Someone the cult once failed to claim."
Her tone shifted, almost gentle.
"Your mind is not like others. It is layered… hidden… sealed. The Origin wants to open those seals."
Eiryn stepped back involuntarily. "Seals?"
"Yes," she said. "Your past is not as simple as you remember."
Riven's eyes narrowed sharply. "Enough. If you know something, you will say it plainly, or you will leave."
The woman paused, studying him. "Ah. The broken one speaks."
Riven's eyes flashed with controlled anger. "Last warning."
She simply raised both hands peacefully. "I didn't come to fight. The Observer already tried. But its attempt showed me something unexpected." Her gaze locked on Eiryn. "You resisted it with… memory."
Eiryn froze.
The image of his childhood self flashed in his mind.
"You should not have that memory still," the woman continued. "Someone protected it. Buried it. Someone powerful."
Riven tensed.
"You're done talking."
She gave a slow nod. "Very well. But remember this—"
She pointed directly at Eiryn.
"The Origin does not chase you. It calls you home."
A cold wave spread through Eiryn's spine.
Riven stepped forward, ready to act—
But the woman stepped back into the shadows, and the shadows swallowed her entirely.
Like she was never there.
Eiryn's voice shook. "Riven… who was she?"
"A Mind-Caller," Riven said slowly. "High-rank. Cult. Dangerous."
"She knew about me," Eiryn whispered.
"She shouldn't have."
Riven looked troubled—deeply troubled.
"And she shouldn't have known about your sealed memories. That means someone in your past… someone strong… touched the Vein before you ever did."
Eiryn's breath caught.
"You mean… someone in my family?"
Riven didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to—
—but because he didn't know.
And that, more than anything else, terrified both of them.
The air around Akira shifted—silent, heavy, almost electric. The ruins around him trembled as if they knew something massive was coming. The last echoes of his clash with Kurogiri still vibrated in the cracked stone floor, but Akira didn't let the tension slow him. He stepped forward, brushing dust off his jacket, calm yet alert.
The storm clouds above began to rotate like a colossal spiral eye. Akira felt the presence before he heard anything—an aura ancient, cold, and impossibly heavy. Even Shiori stepped back, her hand tightening on her blade. Luna flickered to Akira's side, eyes narrowed.
Then… the temperature dropped.
A dull thud echoed from deep within the fog. Another thud. Heavy steps, slow and deliberate, approaching. Every warrior in the distance stilled, the world holding its breath.
Akira's mind sharpened instantly.
"So… the real monster finally walks out."
Shiori whispered, "This aura… it's far older than the Shadow Syndicate. Something beyond them."
The fog split open like torn fabric.
A colossal silhouette emerged—tall, armored in something that looked neither metal nor stone. A mask similar to Kurogiri's but far more ornate covered its face, etched with glowing lines.
Akira didn't move.
He simply watched.
The giant stopped a few meters away, its voice echoing like two tones speaking together.
"You have awakened the first seal, JIM WOO."
Akira's eyes narrowed. No one had spoken his real name in months.
"Who are you?"
The figure's chest glowed with a strange symbol—the mark of the Ancient Order, something believed to be extinct centuries ago.
"I am VAR'KAL—the Sentinel of the Lost Gate."
Luna's eyes widened. "That can't be… the Lost Gate was a myth!"
Var'kal lifted his massive hand, pointing directly at Akira.
"You carry the Soul Fragment of the Primordial.
Your energy threatens the balance.
Therefore… you must be tested."
Akira exhaled slowly.
A test?
Now?
Before he could speak, the world around him cracked like glass—
The ground vanished.
The wind disappeared.
Shiori and Luna faded like smoke.
Akira was standing alone…
…in a vast white void stretching infinitely in every direction.
A single heartbeat echoed.
Then another.
A deep, resonant voice whispered:
"Face your truth."
A mirror formed in front of him—tall, ancient, framed with symbols he didn't recognize. But the reflection wasn't him.
It was a version of Akira without fear.
Without hesitation.
Without mercy.
A version of him at full potential.
And it spoke first.
"You think power is responsibility."
"You think saving others makes you strong."
"But you're afraid—afraid of what you could become if you stop holding back."
Akira clenched his fists.
His reflection stepped forward, aura crackling.
"I am you without limits."
"Fight me."
Akira felt something twist inside his chest. This wasn't an illusion. It was his own spirit challenging him.
"Fine," he whispered.
"Let's finish this."
Energy exploded outward as both Akiras launched forward—two forces destined to collide.
But before their clash could land—
Everything froze.
The reflection vanished.
The white void shattered.
And Akira found himself back in the ruins, kneeling, gasping, sweat running down his face.
Var'kal stood above him.
"Your hesitation remains.
Your heart holds too much mercy… and too much pain."
Akira stood, wiping his forehead. "What was that?"
"Your inner gate," Var'kal rumbled. "The second seal will break only when you accept the truth you fear."
Akira frowned.
He wanted answers.
He wanted clarity.
But Var'kal wasn't finished.
"The Shadow Syndicate seeks the Primordial Core."
"If they succeed, the islands will fall… and your destiny will consume you."
Akira stepped closer.
"Tell me how to stop them."
Var'kal lowered his hand from his chest, the glowing symbol fading.
"Seek the Oracle of Altaris."
"She alone knows the location of the Third Key."
Shiori stepped forward, shocked. "Altaris… that city vanished centuries ago."
Var'kal's mask shifted. It almost looked like a smile.
"Then you will have to find a city that does not exist."
The ground trembled again.
Var'kal's form started dissolving into particles of blue light.
But before his last fragment faded, his voice echoed one final warning:
"Beware the one called THE VOID SLAYER."
Akira's heart pounded as Var'kal vanished completely.
Shiori turned to him. "Void Slayer… another enemy?"
Luna swallowed. "Or worse… someone above the Syndicate."
Akira stared into the distance.
The path ahead was no longer dangerous—it was impossible.
But he wasn't backing down.
Not now.
Not ever.
"Let's move," Akira said quietly. "We find Altaris… and we end this war before it begins."
Shiori nodded.
Luna activated her drone.
And with that…
The journey toward the Lost City of Altaris began.
The shattered landscape around the ruins slowly settled as the last traces of Var'kal's aura disappeared into the crimson sky. A strange silence followed, the kind that arrives only when something enormous has shifted in the world.
Akira stood still for a moment, letting the echoes fade from his mind—the test, the reflection, the warning. His heart was steady now, clearer than before. But there was a weight in his chest too… not fear, rather the sense that destiny had finally narrowed into a single path.
Shiori stepped beside him.
"You okay?"
Akira exhaled. "Yeah. Just thinking."
Luna glanced up from her drone console. "We should move soon. If the Sentinel appeared here, the Shadow Syndicate probably sensed it."
Akira nodded. "Then we move now."
They crossed the cracked cliffs, heading toward the east ridge where a narrow path led down into a forest. But as they walked, Shiori slowed, her gaze fixed on the ground.
"Akira…"
He turned.
Shiori pointed at a scorch mark in the stone—a perfect circle cut deep into the rock as if burned by a laser. Another mark appeared a few steps ahead. And another.
Dozens of them.
Luna's eyes widened. "These weren't here before."
Akira crouched, touching the surface lightly. The stone was still warm.
And then the forest ahead shifted—like shadows peeling off trees.
A low vibration filled the air.
From between the trees stepped five figures dressed in black, masked, silent, their movements calculated, cold. Each mask bore a different symbol, glowing faintly like molten metal.
Akira recognized them instantly.
The Five Executioners of the Shadow Syndicate.
Elite.
Deadly.
Unmatched.
Shiori's hand went to her blade. Luna activated her drone shield.
The central Executioner stepped forward, the symbol on his mask flickering like a dying star.
His voice was smooth, restrained, practiced.
"Jim Woo."
Akira's muscles stiffened. Hearing that name twice in one day was no coincidence.
"You've caused enough disruption," the Executioner continued. "The Syndicate has decided your journey ends here."
Shiori took a step forward, but Akira lifted his hand, stopping her.
"Why now?" he asked calmly. "Why send you?"
The Executioner tilted his head slightly, as if amused.
"Because Var'kal has spoken to you."
Luna's heart skipped. "They knew…"
Of course they knew.
The Syndicate's reach was wide, ancient, and merciless.
The Executioner's tone shifted, colder:
"We cannot allow you to reach Altaris."
"We cannot allow the prophecy to continue."
Prophecy.
The word landed like a spark on dry tinder inside Akira's mind.
Akira stepped forward. "Then you'll have to stop me yourselves."
The five Executioners moved instantly—no signal, no hesitation, their auras erupting like silent storms. The ground cracked beneath them.
Shiori drew her blade. Luna engaged her drone's defense matrix. Akira lifted his hand—
But then everything froze.
The lead Executioner raised a finger.
"Not today, Jim Woo."
Akira blinked.
What?
"We did not come to kill you," the Executioner continued.
"We came to deliver a message."
Slowly, he lifted a small metal cube—no larger than a fist, covered in runic symbols.
He tossed it toward Akira.
Akira caught it carefully, his aura wrapped tight around his hand. The cube felt… alive. Vibrating softly with a pulse that matched his heartbeat.
"What is this?"
The Executioner straightened his posture.
"It is a beacon… from Him."
Akira's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
For the first time, the Executioner's voice shifted—heavy, almost reverent.
"The one Var'kal warned you about."
The wind stilled.
Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.
"THE VOID SLAYER."
Akira felt a chill sweep through his spine—not from fear, but recognition. As though the name had been carved somewhere deep within him long ago.
The Executioner stepped back.
"When you are ready," he said, "activate the cube. He will find you."
Before Akira could respond, the five masked shadows dissolved like dust blown into a storm—silent and instantaneous. In seconds, nothing remained.
Shiori stared at Akira.
"Why would the Void Slayer send you a beacon?"
Luna whispered, "Unless… he wants you alive."
Akira didn't look at them. His eyes remained on the cube, the faint pulse glowing through the runes.
"I don't know," he said quietly.
"But I'll find out."
He closed his fist around it.
And for the briefest moment, he felt something whisper through the metal—
A presence.
Old.
Vast.
Watching.
Shiori placed a hand on his shoulder. "First Altaris. Then the beacon."
Akira nodded, steady again.
"Right. Step by step."
The three of them walked deeper into the forest, leaving the shattered ruins behind.
The trees grew thicker. The shadows longer. The air colder.
And as the final rays of sunset disappeared…
A small glimmer shone through the branches.
A stone pillar.
Half-buried.
Covered in the same glowing runes as the cube.
Shiori gasped.
Luna froze.
Akira stepped forward, his heart pounding—not with fear, but destiny.
The runes on the pillar activated the moment he touched it.
A holographic map burst into the air—ancient, intricate, shifting endlessly.
One word floated above the center:
ALTARIS.
Akira closed his eyes for a moment.
"Chapter 13 ends here," he whispered to himself.
Tomorrow…
The Lost City begins.