The room was still, heavy with the aftermath of the storm. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows against the stone walls, but none of them moved as the two Allens faced each other — one young, trembling with doubt and fear; the other older, hardened by time and burdened by knowledge no one else could bear.
Future Allen's eyes, burning with a fierce yet weary light, softened as they met the wide, uncertain gaze of his younger self.
"You have questions," Future Allen said quietly, voice low and steady like the calm after a storm.
The younger Allen nodded, swallowing hard. "So many. I don't understand… this power inside me. Why it's so dark. Why it terrifies me."
Future Allen stepped closer, the shadows around him seeming to pulse with restrained energy. "The darkness you feel isn't just destruction. It's raw potential — chaos and creation entwined. It's the part of you that can remake worlds or unravel them. But the choice is yours."
Allen's voice cracked. "But why me? Why did I have to carry something so dangerous?"
Future Allen's gaze drifted to the distant horizon beyond the flickering firelight, memories surfacing like waves.
"Because you're strong enough to hold it. And because no one else could."
He crouched down, eyes locked on Allen's. "But strength alone isn't enough. You need understanding. Acceptance. Control."
Allen swallowed, the weight of those words settling deep in his bones.
"I'm scared I'll lose myself," he whispered. "That the darkness will take over, like it almost did."
Future Allen shook his head slowly. "Fear is the first prison. You must learn to face it, not run."
He raised a hand, and the room shimmered, transforming around them into a swirling tapestry of stars and shadows — a vision of infinite realms stretched out like a living map.
"This power," Future Allen continued, "is tied to the very fabric of existence. Magic, realms, gods — they all weave through it. You're not just fighting with your body or weapons. You're fighting the currents of reality itself."
Allen's eyes widened, mind struggling to grasp the vastness.
"Why did you become what I saw?" Allen asked, voice trembling.
Future Allen's jaw tightened. "Because I tried to wield the darkness without humility. I sought power without balance. It consumed me, twisted me."
He exhaled slowly. "But I learned. Slowly. The power is a tool, not a master."
Allen clenched his fists. "How do I start? How do I not end like you?"
Future Allen smiled faintly, a sad but hopeful curve of lips.
"By embracing every part of yourself — the light and the dark. By trusting those who stand beside you. And by knowing that power doesn't define you; your choices do."
He stepped back, and the vision faded, returning them to the quiet chamber.
"Will it be easy?" Allen asked softly.
"No," Future Allen replied. "But it will be worth it."
A silence settled, filled with possibility and dread.
James, who had watched silently from the corner, stepped forward, voice gentle but firm.
"We're here for you. Whatever comes."
Allen looked between his brother and his future self.
"For the first time, I believe that."
The path ahead was still shrouded in darkness and uncertainty.
But now, the light of knowledge and hope burned brighter within.
The chamber's walls shimmered faintly, like the surface of a disturbed pond. Future Allen's gaze never left his younger self as he began to guide him through the labyrinth of existence beyond the physical realm.
"Your power," Future Allen explained, "is not just energy coursing through your veins or a force you wield with your scythe. It is intertwined with the very essence of the multiverse — the countless realms, planes, and dimensions layered one upon another, each humming with its own laws, gods, and energies."
Allen swallowed hard, trying to visualize something so vast and incomprehensible. "Realms? Gods? This is more than I ever imagined."
Future Allen nodded. "It is more than most can bear. But you must learn to see it — to feel it — if you are to control what threatens to consume you."
He extended a hand, and the air warped, folding like paper. Suddenly, Allen found himself standing in a place both alien and familiar — a place where colors shimmered beyond the visible spectrum, where time rippled and warped unpredictably, and the very ground seemed alive with whispering echoes.
"This is the Realm of Echoes," Future Allen said. "One of many layers of existence. Here, time folds back on itself, and the past and future speak in riddles. It is a place of reflection and learning."
Allen's senses swirled as he tried to keep footing in this shifting world. Images flashed before his eyes — moments from his past, possible futures, and the intertwined threads of fate that bound them all.
"Your power," Future Allen continued, "draws from these realms, from the gods who govern them, and the energies they command. To master it, you must learn not only to fight but to understand the forces behind your power."
Allen reached out tentatively and touched a shimmering orb floating nearby. Instantly, visions surged through him — ancient battles, divine beings locked in cosmic struggle, realms birthed and destroyed.
"It's overwhelming," Allen whispered.
"It is meant to be," Future Allen replied. "Power is never simple. But it is your birthright and your burden."
Days — or perhaps weeks — passed in this liminal space, as Future Allen taught Allen to sense the currents of magic flowing through realms. He showed him how to attune his mind to the ley lines threading through worlds, how to reach beyond the veil between realities.
"Control is not domination," Future Allen warned during one lesson. "It is harmony. You must become a conductor, not a tyrant."
Allen's training was grueling. His mind stretched to hold the infinite, his body tested by exercises that bent reality itself. Yet, amidst the struggle, flickers of power blossomed — new abilities, glimpses of strength beyond what he'd known.
One afternoon, as Allen sat exhausted beneath a shimmering tree whose leaves sang in strange tones, he turned to Future Allen.
"How did you keep from falling into the darkness completely?"
Future Allen's expression darkened with memories. "By remembering who I was fighting for. By holding onto hope — even when it was almost gone. And by trusting others when I thought I had to face everything alone."
Allen's gaze dropped to the scythe at his side. "I'm scared I'll lose that hope."
"You won't," Future Allen said firmly. "Because you won't be alone."
As they trained, lessons unfolded on the histories of gods who had walked the realms, the battles they waged, and the gifts — and curses — they left behind. Allen learned of divine patrons tied to the elements, war, wisdom, and shadow, and how mortals might draw fragments of their power.
Each lesson was layered, complex — not just of brute strength but of wisdom, restraint, and sacrifice.
Future Allen's presence was both guide and warning — a living testament to what power could become, but also what it could inspire when wielded with heart.
The training did not come easy.
Each day stretched into endless cycles of struggle, pain, and tiny breakthroughs. Future Allen's lessons were rigorous and unrelenting—pushing the limits of Allen's body and spirit, forcing him to confront not just the strength of his power but the darkness simmering beneath.
The first lesson began before dawn, the Realm of Echoes shrouded in ethereal mist and hues that defied description — pale golds blending into deep indigos, as if the sky itself was caught between waking and dreaming. Allen sat cross-legged on a smooth stone, the air humming softly with unseen energy. The realm seemed alive, pulsing with a heartbeat beyond the physical.
"Close your eyes," Future Allen's voice cut through the silence, steady and patient. "Listen to the power inside you, but don't fight it."
Allen inhaled, the air cool against his skin, and closed his eyes. At first, his mind exploded — a kaleidoscope of flashes, memories both lived and imagined, swirling fears and hopes tangled together. The chaos was overwhelming, as if the darkness and the violet flames inside him warred endlessly.
Dark tendrils coiled around his thoughts — images of destruction, of planets shattered beneath a furious fist, galaxies crumbling. He could hear his own future self's roar, ripping through the cosmos in desperate search.
Panic threatened to break free.
But then, through the storm, a gentle voice — Future Allen's — reminded him, "Observe. Do not engage. See it as a part of you."
His breath slowed. The chaos became rhythm, the storm softened into waves. The darkness still twisted, but now it felt less like an enemy, more like a tempest he could learn to sail.
Minutes, or maybe hours, passed as Allen breathed in time with the pulsing energy. The violent storm within calmed to a steady rhythm, and he felt the first flicker of control.
Opening his eyes, Allen saw Future Allen nod, a rare softness in his gaze. "You have begun. The battle is within — master it first, or be consumed."
For the first time, Allen understood that true power began not with force, but acceptance.
At first, the power inside me felt like a wild storm tearing through my mind. When Future Allen told me to close my eyes and listen, I didn't know how to do that. All I could see were flashes—destruction, chaos, and this unbearable pressure like something inside me was trying to rip free. The darkness wasn't just outside me; it felt like it was me, clawing at every corner of my thoughts.
I wanted to fight it, push it away, prove I was stronger than this raging force. But every time I struggled, the storm only grew louder. I was drowning in it, afraid I'd lose myself completely.
Then, slowly, Future Allen's voice guided me—not to battle the darkness, but to watch it. To stop reacting with fear or anger. At first, it was impossible. But as I focused on my breathing, the chaos inside began to change. The violent crashing turned into something like waves, something I could ride instead of being crushed by.
That's when it hit me—this power wasn't my enemy. It was a part of me. And trying to control it with sheer will only fed the chaos. The real strength came from acceptance—acknowledging the darkness and flames inside without letting them define me.
I opened my eyes and saw Future Allen's nod. For the first time, I felt hope. The battle wasn't about destroying this power but learning to live with it, to master it quietly within myself. It was terrifying but also freeing.
That moment changed everything. I knew if I could hold onto this calm, this balance, I might not be swallowed by the darkness after all.
At first, the power inside me felt like a wild storm tearing through my mind. When Future Allen told me to close my eyes and listen, I didn't know how to do that. All I could see were flashes—destruction, chaos, and this unbearable pressure like something inside me was trying to rip free. The darkness wasn't just outside me; it felt like it was me, clawing at every corner of my thoughts.
I wanted to fight it, push it away, prove I was stronger than this raging force. But every time I struggled, the storm only grew louder. I was drowning in it, afraid I'd lose myself completely.
Then, slowly, Future Allen's voice guided me—not to battle the darkness, but to watch it. To stop reacting with fear or anger. At first, it was impossible. But as I focused on my breathing, the chaos inside began to change. The violent crashing turned into something like waves, something I could ride instead of being crushed by.
That's when it hit me—this power wasn't my enemy. It was a part of me. And trying to control it with sheer will only fed the chaos. The real strength came from acceptance—acknowledging the darkness and flames inside without letting them define me.
I opened my eyes and saw Future Allen's nod. For the first time, I felt hope. The battle wasn't about destroying this power but learning to live with it, to master it quietly within myself. It was terrifying but also freeing.
That moment changed everything. I knew if I could hold onto this calm, this balance, I might not be swallowed by the darkness after all.
The realm shifted. The vibrant sky gave way to an endless, open plain where the wind sang songs of forgotten battles. Here, Allen grasped his scythe — once a simple weapon, now an extension of his will.
Future Allen moved like liquid shadow, every step deliberate, his strikes fluid and graceful. "Power without precision is wasted energy," he murmured.
Allen mirrored the movements — parries that didn't just block but predicted, strikes aimed at weaknesses, dodges that flowed seamlessly. Each motion was an equation of balance, timing, and intent.
The scythe felt alive in his hands, its weight shifting in response to his breath and heartbeat. Muscles screamed in protest, joints ached with unfamiliar demands, but Allen pushed further.
"Feel your weapon. Let it guide you, not just obey," Future Allen instructed. "You do not wield the scythe — you become it."
Sweat blurred his vision as the sun rose and set in moments, the world around them folding and unfolding like a living scroll. Repetitions blurred into mastery. He learned to listen to the smallest sound — the whisper of air before a strike, the rhythm of his opponent's breath.
Every missed block was a lesson; every faltering step a warning.
At the brink of exhaustion, Future Allen grinned — a rare spark of pride. "You're stronger than you know."
The realm shifted beneath me, the vibrant sky fading away until I stood on an endless plain. The wind carried whispers of battles long gone—ghostly echoes that stirred something fierce inside me. I gripped my scythe tighter, feeling its cold metal transform from just a weapon into something far more—an extension of myself, waiting to be unleashed.
Future Allen moved with a grace I could barely follow—like liquid shadow flowing through the air. Every strike, every step seemed effortless, but I knew it wasn't. There was purpose behind each motion, a silent wisdom I hadn't yet learned. "Power without precision is wasted energy," he said quietly, and the weight of that hit me hard.
I tried to copy him, but at first my movements were clumsy, desperate. Parrying wasn't just about blocking; it was about predicting, feeling the opening before it even formed. Strikes needed to be sharp, not just strong. Dodges had to flow naturally, like breathing—not just frantic reactions.
The scythe felt strange in my hands at first, alive in a way I never imagined. Its weight shifted with my heartbeat, almost as if it knew me. My muscles burned, joints ached, but I pushed myself harder than I thought possible. I couldn't afford to hold back—not now.
"Feel your weapon. Let it guide you, not just obey," Future Allen said. "You do not wield the scythe — you become it."
His words echoed in my mind as the sun rose and set in minutes, the world around us folding and unfolding like some endless story. Hours blurred as I drilled the movements over and over, listening to every sound—the whisper of air before a strike, the rhythm in my opponent's breath. Each miss taught me something. Every stumble was a warning not to repeat the same mistakes.
By the time exhaustion nearly crushed me, I caught a rare grin from Future Allen—one that carried pride. "You're stronger than you know," he said.
I felt it then—the weight of those words settling deep inside. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to be more than just a fighter.
The realm darkened and shifted. Where moments before there had been vast open skies and glowing plains, now Allen found himself standing alone in a vast chamber cloaked in shadows. The air was heavy, oppressive, and the only light came from flickering torches mounted along the cold stone walls. But even their flames seemed to waver under the weight of unseen forces.
The silence was absolute—until it was shattered by the first whisper.
"Failure."
The word slithered through the shadows like a living thing, curling around Allen's mind. His heartbeat quickened, palms slick with cold sweat. Before him, the darkness began to shift, coalescing into shapes — indistinct, shifting forms that seemed almost human.
Then, as if conjured by his deepest fears, the shadows began to take form. Faces emerged, twisted in expressions of scorn and accusation.
There was James, but with hollow eyes, broken and lost.
There was Seraphina, her voice cold and distant, telling him he was doomed to destroy everything.
There was Allen himself — but warped, monstrous, a creature of darkness and destruction.
The shadows whispered accusations, each one a dagger twisting into his heart.
"You'll fail your brother."
"You'll lose control."
"You'll become what you fear."
Allen's knees trembled. His breath caught in his throat. Panic surged like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under.
But a calm voice echoed in the distance — Future Allen's.
"Face them. Do not run."
Allen gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand tall amidst the rising tide of fear.
"Name your fears," Future Allen commanded.
And so Allen spoke, his voice low but steady.
"I fear losing James. I fear becoming the monster I saw. I fear the darkness swallowing me whole."
The shadows recoiled, their whispers growing frantic. But Allen pushed forward, reaching out into the darkness, pulling each fear into the light.
He confronted each specter — the broken brother, the cold mentor, the monstrous self. He acknowledged their existence but refused to be ruled by them.
With each admission, the shadows wavered and weakened.
Future Allen stepped closer, his presence a beacon in the gloom. "You cannot control what you deny. You must make peace with your fears. Only then can you master yourself."
Allen nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He extended his hand, touching the largest shadow — his monstrous self. Instead of recoil, the darkness trembled and began to dissolve, revealing not a monster, but a boy like him — scared, lost, but still fighting.
The chamber brightened, the shadows fading to tendrils of mist.
Allen exhaled deeply, feeling the weight on his chest lighten. His mind, once a battlefield of chaos, settled into uneasy calm.
Future Allen's gaze was steady and firm. "Remember this moment. The fight within is never over, but you have taken the first step toward victory."
Allen looked up, eyes clear but weary.
"Will it ever stop?" he whispered.
"No," Future Allen said. "But with each battle, you grow stronger. You learn to bend the darkness — not be broken by it."
Allen felt a fragile hope flicker.
This was no longer just about survival. It was about understanding himself.
About embracing the shadows, so he could finally master the light.
The twilight realm stretched infinitely around them — neither night nor day, but a moment suspended between both. The air shimmered with faint ripples, as if reality itself breathed slow and deliberate.
Future Allen stood tall, shadowed and confident, the faint glow of his dark energy muted in this strange calm.
"I'm about to show you a power that saved me more times than I can count," he said, voice low but steady. "It's not a gift for the faint-hearted. It demands discipline, and carries risks you can't yet imagine."
Allen's eyes widened with curiosity and caution. "What kind of power?"
Future Allen gestured with a slow sweep of his hand, and the space before them shimmered. In an instant, illusions flickered — images of battle techniques, magical spells, complex maneuvers flashing rapidly, one after another.
"This," Future Allen said, "is the ability to copy. To replicate any skill or power you witness, down to the finest detail."
Allen blinked, stunned. "Any? Even if the other person hasn't mastered it?"
"Yes." Future Allen's gaze sharpened. "You can copy things even they haven't perfected — but that doesn't mean you wield it perfectly. The ability will mimic what you see, but mastery takes time."
Allen swallowed, the weight of this revelation pressing down. "That sounds… incredible."
"And dangerous," Future Allen countered swiftly. "Without control, this power will overwhelm you. You risk losing yourself in the echo of others' strength."
The lesson began immediately.
Future Allen moved fluidly, demonstrating a series of complex sword techniques, fluid yet deadly. Allen watched intently, focusing on every twist of the wrist, every shift in balance.
Then, Allen mirrored the motions. At first, his movements were clumsy — limbs stiff, timing off. But as he repeated the actions, the flow returned. His scythe moved with newfound grace, carving arcs that sliced the twilight air.
"You're copying not just moves, but intent," Future Allen explained. "Don't mimic blindly. Understand why a strike is made."
Next came magic.
Future Allen conjured a sphere of crackling energy, intricate and unstable. Allen's eyes widened. The spell seemed almost beyond comprehension.
"Watch carefully," Future Allen said.
The sphere expanded, then shattered, releasing a cascade of shimmering sparks.
Allen reached out, channeling energy with trembling hands. The sphere blossomed, imperfect but real.
"Good," Future Allen nodded. "Copying without understanding can backfire. Control your mind as much as your body."
The training stretched long into the realm's endless twilight.
Allen learned to duplicate the smallest gestures — the flicker of a finger that summoned flame, the breath that guided an arrow's flight, the precise angle of a blade's tip.
With each success came exhaustion, frustration, and moments of doubt.
One evening, alone beneath the shimmering sky, Allen whispered to himself, "What if I copy the wrong thing? What if I lose myself in the process?"
Future Allen's voice, like a shadow in the breeze, replied, "That's why control is everything. The power isn't in copying — it's in choosing what to keep, what to discard. You remain the master."
Allen's heart pounded as he reflected on the fine line he walked.
This ability could elevate him beyond any opponent — or consume his very soul.
In those quiet hours, he meditated, grounding himself with the familiar weight of his scythe and the steady breath of his own resolve.
"Remember," Future Allen said softly, "your strength comes from you. The copies are tools — not chains."
Allen nodded, a fierce determination setting in.
He would wield this power, but never be wielded by it.
The twilight realm shimmered once more, the endless horizon stretching into surreal colors — hues shifting beyond human perception. Future Allen stood beside the younger version, both silent for a moment, the gravity of the previous lessons hanging heavy in the air.
Future Allen's voice broke the silence, low and deliberate.
"Before you master the power within you, you must understand the scale of creation itself. What we fight — the darkness, the gods, the realms — none exist in isolation. They are woven into a grand tapestry, ordered by strength, will, and vision."
The younger Allen's brow furrowed, eyes searching. "I thought gods just… existed. I didn't know there were so many levels. How does it work?"
Future Allen's gaze softened, but his tone remained steady.
"There are tiers. A hierarchy of divine power and creation."
He gestured forward, and the void before them blossomed into a magnificent cosmic web of glowing spheres and shimmering threads — universes, multiverses, and realms interconnected by radiant ley lines.
"Low-tier gods are powerful, but limited. They can create a universe — a single collection of stars, planets, and life. One universe is vast, but it is random, unpredictable. A single god might create only one."
Younger Allen watched as one sphere spun, stars flickering within.
"Lower high-tier gods can create around fifty universes. Imagine them like master artisans with many canvases — each universe a unique painting, but still bound by chance and chaos."
The web expanded, clusters of spheres forming like constellations.
"A mid-tier or regular god, the kind most mortals speak of as 'the gods,' can create entire multiverses — thousands of universes grouped together, thousands of random creations folded into one grand design. One multiverse is roughly a thousand universes."
Allen's eyes widened, struggling to grasp the immensity.
"But what about realms?" he asked.
Future Allen's expression darkened slightly.
"Realms are a different order altogether."
He moved his hand again, and the web twisted and merged into massive glowing orbs — realms — vast and flexible, layered with complex laws.
"A higher normal god can create one realm. A realm is not random. It is a creation shaped by will and intent — a masterwork where the god can bend reality itself, sculpting the rules, the physics, even the very flow of time. It is a mixture of four multiverses, but controlled and molded."
The younger Allen reached out, trying to touch the glowing orb, but his hand passed through.
"The difference between a realm and a universe or multiverse is choice. Universes are born of chaos and randomness; realms are forged from purpose and vision."
Future Allen continued.
"A higher god can create ten realms. Each realm a masterpiece, a domain ruled by their power and whimsy."
The cosmic web twisted again, revealing clusters of realms orbiting mysterious centers.
"Ancient gods — beings of near unimaginable strength — can create a hundred realms. Their power eclipses most others. They exist on a level far beyond, crafting domains beyond mortal comprehension."
Allen's mind reeled.
"And above them?"
Future Allen's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The Forgotten Gods."
He gestured toward a distant, shimmering void outside the cosmic web — a place of silence and eternal night.
"They exist outside reality itself. They create infinite universes, multiverses, and realms — beyond number, beyond measure. Their power transcends existence and nonexistence. They are gods of gods, beyond all comprehension."
The younger Allen's breath caught.
"Why… why are they forgotten?"
"Because their power is so vast, they are no longer bound to this reality. They drift beyond mortal perception, their names lost, their stories faded into myth."
Future Allen turned to face his younger self, eyes sharp and full of meaning.
"To wield the power inside you — to truly master it — you must understand where you stand in this vast hierarchy. You are but a thread in an infinite tapestry, but one with the potential to weave your own path."
Allen swallowed hard, the enormity settling over him.
"I'm… a part of this?"
"Yes," Future Allen said firmly. "But that means your choices ripple far beyond you."
He paused, then smiled faintly.
"Now — lesson five."
Future Allen led the younger through the shifting realm, the cosmic web swirling around them.
"First, you must learn the laws governing each tier. Universes are wild — unpredictable and chaotic. Their creators can only guide them so far. Realms, however, are reflections of their creators' will."
Allen tried to imagine the difference.
"In your training, you'll learn to sense these layers — to feel the boundaries between a universe and a realm, to detect the hand that shaped them."
They approached a translucent wall shimmering with layered realities.
"Focus," Future Allen instructed. "Reach with your senses."
Allen closed his eyes, breathing deeply. The threads buzzed with power, and slowly, he felt a pulse — a subtle vibration distinct from raw energy — a signature of divine craftsmanship.
"That is the signature of a realm," Future Allen explained.
Allen nodded, excitement rising.
"But it's not just about sensing," Future Allen said. "It's about respect. To command power like this, you must respect its source — the gods, the creators, the forces behind it."
Allen frowned. "What if a god is cruel?"
"Then you must be wiser. Power without wisdom is destruction."
Future Allen stepped back, energy pulsing in his veins.
"Next, we practice bending the minor laws of a realm — shifting gravity, altering time flow, manipulating energy. These exercises teach control and consequence."
Allen's eyes glowed faintly as he reached out, tugging the fabric of the realm itself. Gravity shifted, stones floated, time warped.
"It's intoxicating," Allen murmured.
"Exactly why discipline is essential," Future Allen said sharply.
They continued with exercises that tested perception, control, and restraint — bending elements, creating illusions, and manipulating energies on a small scale.
Each task drained Allen, but he felt his connection to the realm deepen, his understanding expanding.
The cosmic web shimmered softly around them, the realms and universes pulsating with ancient energy. Yet, amid the grandeur, Allen felt small. Not just physically, but deep in his soul.
Future Allen's voice cut through the silence, calm but heavy with meaning.
"Do you understand now, what you're stepping into?"
Allen's jaw clenched. "I think so… but it scares me. How can someone like me—just a kid, really—stand among gods? How do I not lose myself to all this power?"
Future Allen nodded knowingly.
"That's the question every wielder of great power must face. It's not just about strength or skill. It's about choice—about keeping your humanity when the power threatens to consume it."
Allen looked down at his hands, feeling the faint pulse of his scythe's energy. The ability to copy others' powers, the darkness inside him, the future he'd glimpsed—all swirling inside like a storm.
"What if I become like my future self?" he whispered. "Destroying everything… searching endlessly for someone I might never find? Losing who I am?"
Future Allen's eyes softened.
"That future isn't set in stone. It's a warning, not a destiny. You have the chance to change your path."
"But how?" Allen asked, voice raw. "How do I fight what's inside me? The darkness, the anger… the fear?"
Future Allen gestured toward the shimmering realms.
"By understanding what your power really is. Not just copying strength, but mastering yourself. By seeing the divine order, the balance between creation and destruction, light and shadow."
Allen swallowed hard.
"I feel like I'm walking a razor's edge. One wrong step and I fall."
"That's exactly it," Future Allen said firmly. "You are on a razor's edge. And that edge is where all the strongest warriors stand."
Allen's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "But what if I'm not strong enough? What if I lose control?"
Future Allen took a step closer, placing a firm hand on Allen's shoulder.
"Strength isn't the absence of fear or doubt. It's the will to face them. To carry your burdens and keep walking. You won't be alone. I won't let you."
Allen's chest tightened, a mixture of relief and dread.
"Tell me," Allen said quietly, "what does it mean to truly accept this power? Not just control it, but embrace it without letting it destroy me?"
Future Allen's gaze deepened.
"Acceptance means seeing your power as part of you—flaws and all. It's acknowledging the darkness and the light. Knowing that you can use your strength to protect, to build, and to heal."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"But acceptance doesn't mean surrender. You fight every day—not just enemies outside, but those inside. Your past, your fears, your anger. It's a constant battle."
Allen's breathing quickened.
"So… what do I do when I feel like I'm losing? When the darkness takes over?"
Future Allen smiled faintly, the hint of pain in his eyes.
"Then you rely on others. Your brother. Your friends. Seraphina. Your past self—me. And most importantly, yourself. You draw strength from your connections. From the hope that you can be better."
Allen's heart pounded fiercely.
"I don't want to lose myself. But sometimes it feels like the darkness is stronger."
"Then you fight harder. You learn. You grow."
The space around them rippled again, the realms folding gently back into the twilight void.
Future Allen's voice softened. "This power is a reflection of your soul. Master it, and you master yourself."
Allen nodded slowly, determination replacing fear.
"I'm ready to learn."
As the lesson faded, Allen found himself alone in the stillness of the twilight realm. His mind spun with questions and fears.
Who am I?
What if I become the monster I saw in the vision?
Can I control this power before it controls me?
His scythe lay beside him, its weight both comforting and burdensome.
Memories of the future battle, the destruction, and his endless search haunted him.
He clenched his fists.
"No," he whispered fiercely. "I won't be that."
But the darkness inside whispered back, cold and tempting.
You're weak. You need more power. Power to protect, or power to destroy.
Allen shook his head, fighting the shadows.
He realized that acceptance would take more than lessons. It would take courage—courage to face his darkest fears and keep moving forward.
Allen sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the twilight realm, the faint glow of distant stars illuminating his figure like a fragile beacon. His scythe rested beside him, silent yet ever-present—a reminder of the power he wielded, and the burden it carried.
His mind churned with the echoes of Future Allen's words. Acceptance. Mastery. The razor's edge. But acceptance felt like a distant shore he couldn't yet reach. Instead, he felt pulled between two tides: light and darkness, hope and despair, control and chaos.
Why does it feel like the darkness inside me is stronger every day? he wondered, fingers trembling.
The shadows whispered softly at the edge of his vision. You want control? Take me fully. I'll make you unstoppable.
Allen's breath hitched. The temptation was real, intoxicating. To wield absolute power—to never be weak again—was a siren's song that clawed at his resolve.
But deeper than the fear and anger was another truth—loneliness. The kind that gnawed at his soul when no one was watching.
Am I destined to be alone? To lose everything to this darkness?
He closed his eyes tightly, summoning the calm Seraphina had taught him—the center of his being beneath the storm.
But the darkness surged, and for a moment, Allen's body stiffened, his eyes snapping open as violet-black energy spilled from his veins, coiling around him like living shadows. The world blurred and twisted.
No… he gasped, struggling against the tide.
Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder, steady and warm. It was James.
"Allen!" James's voice was fierce, unwavering. "Fight it! You're stronger than this!"
Allen's body trembled, darkness threatening to consume him, but James's presence anchored him. The bond between them—a lifeline in the void.
"Remember who you are," James urged, eyes burning with determination.
Allen's fingers closed around his brother's hand, grounding himself.
I am not my future. I am not this darkness.
With a surge of will, he pushed back, the shadows retreating, writhing like beaten snakes. "Good" future Allen said with a smile, you constructed your brother and he helped you when you struggled, that's learning and understanding you are getting the hang of it keep up the good work kid.