The room began to tremble. Blue fire erupted from every corner of the void-like space, spreading like liquid flame, consuming the emptiness.
"Go now, Dawnbringer," Azura said calmly, her habit fluttering against the infernal wind. "Bring us forward to the promise shared dawn."
With no time left, Noir threw the card high into the air. The moment it reached its peak, the ceiling of the realm shattered like glass. A vortex opened, a swirling void of white light and fragmented memory.
From within, a crystal hand reached out.
Noir looked back. Azura stood calmly amidst the chaos, blue flames licking at her feet but never touching her.
She gave a single nod.
Without hesitation, Noir grasped the crystal hand. The vortex yanked him upward, dragging him through light, shadow, and silence.
Then... darkness.
Thud!
Noir crashed hard onto the ground. Groaning, he opened his eyes, blinking away the blur from the impact. The air felt... familiar. Dirt. Grass. The warm scent of the earth.
The farm.
He was back at the place where everything began.
It was exactly as he remembered, weathered fences, sun-kissed soil, even the faint echo of wind chimes. A wave of nostalgia and longing struck him like a fist to the chest.
But something was wrong.
Standing in the middle of the field was a lone figure, unmoving. They wore a tattered black cloak and a half-broken mask. Though their face was mostly hidden, the presence alone was enough to freeze Noir's breath.
He remembered.
It was the same figure from the dream. From the vision. From the place beyond memory.
The figure turned to face him. Though their eyes were obscured, Noir felt them pierce straight through to his soul.
A chill slithered down his spine.
The figure began walking toward him, footsteps silent on the soil.
"You do not belong here," the figure said, voice low and distorted beneath the mask.
Noir took a shaky step forward, fists clenched. "Do not belong? Then where do I belong?!"
His hand flew to the hilt of his sword.
"You should've been dead long, long ago," the figure continued. "But you… you refused to succumb to death's embrace. You defied the design."
Noir's heart pounded. Rage. Fear. Confusion. It all swirled together.
"I won't run anymore!" he shouted, unsheathing his sword. "If you're the one who's been haunting me, then I'll end this now!"
He lunged.
The blade cut through the air, fast and true, aiming for the mask.
The figure didn't flinch.
With an unnatural speed, they raised a single hand and caught the blade. Sparks flew as steel met something harder than bone.
But the impact had already done enough.
A hairline crack formed across the mask.
Then it spread.
And with a slow, echoing shatter, the mask broke in half, falling to the ground.
Noir stared.
His breath caught.
The figure's face.. was his own.
Exactly his own.
Same jaw. Same hair. Same scar. Same eyes.
But something was different. This version of him held no warmth, no fear. Only coldness.
An empty dusk.
"What… what are you?" Noir whispered.
The figure stepped closer, eyes heavy with intent.
"I am the dusk," he said. "Meant to bring down the dawn."
"I am you."
[—To be Continued—]