When Ren awoke, the sky wasn't sky anymore.
It was glass.
Thousands of reflections shimmered overhead—himself, Gloop, Lys, worlds he hadn't seen yet. Each one hovered above him like a floating shard of fate, spinning slowly in the quiet air.
The field was gone.
El'therra had shifted again.
And this time, it wasn't trying to impress him.
It was testing him.
Gloop stirred beside him with a soft "bloop," curling around his leg like a sleepy puppy made of jelly. The tension from the last encounter lingered in the air like static electricity—crackling just out of reach.
Lys didn't move. She was standing still at the far end of the crystalline expanse, her form faint and wavering.
"Lys?" Ren called out.
She didn't answer. She just stared. Unblinking. Fading.
Then she spoke, her voice distant—like it had been recorded and left on a time-worn cassette tape.
"To pass through El'therra, you must anchor yourself. Not just in identity… but in purpose."
The voice scattered like dust in wind.
From behind Ren, a soft bell chimed.
He turned—and saw a door.
Simple. Wooden. No frame.
Standing upright in the middle of the air.
Just like the one he walked through at the very start of his journey.
Only this one was closed.
There was no handle. No lock. No keyhole. Just words etched into the center:
Name your anchor. And the door shall open.
Ren blinked.
"That's it? Just say it out loud?"
No response.
Gloop made a suspicious-sounding squelch.
Ren looked around. "Name my anchor…" he muttered. "Like… who I am?"
Still nothing.
He stepped closer to the door. His reflection flickered on its polished surface. And for a moment, he saw three versions of himself staring back.
—One holding a blade.
—One surrounded by books and runes.
—One leading a thousand figures into a burning sky.
All of them powerful.
All of them possible.
Ren reached out to touch the door.
It remained cool. Silent.
And in that stillness, the voice came again—not Lys this time.
His own.
From the past.
"I just want to travel. That's all I ever wanted."
His throat tightened.
No titles. No wars. No empires.
Just the wanderlust that started everything.
And maybe… maybe that was the answer.
He took a breath.
"I'm Ren Vireo," he said quietly, "and I'm not here to conquer or save or become a legend. I'm here because I want to see everything. Worlds. People. Stars. Stories. I want to learn it all, walk through it all. I'm not trying to become a god—I'm just trying to become me."
The door trembled.
The etching glowed faintly.
Accepted.
The door creaked—then vanished into mist.
And suddenly—
The world collapsed.
Not in chaos.
But like paper folding perfectly along its creases.
Everything spiraled inward. The sky of mirrors fell like raindrops. The land inverted and folded like a dream being gently erased.
And Ren was lifted.
No ground. No up. No down.
Only the Starpath—a glowing thread of pure mana stretching out ahead of him in the void, humming softly like a lullaby sung by the multiverse itself.
He was floating. Drifting. Gloop chirped once and clung to his shoulder, wide-eyed.
Lys appeared once more—this time clear, solid, and smiling.
"You did it," she said.
Ren exhaled. "I… passed?"
"You anchored. You defined your journey with no destination." She tilted her head. "Which, paradoxically, is the strongest kind."
"What happens now?"
Lys gestured forward. "Now, you ride the thread. The Starpath will take you to your next destination."
"Where?"
She smiled mysteriously.
"You'll know when you arrive."
The world faded one last time.
And Ren, wanderer of stars, traveler of unknown tales, felt his soul begin to hum in sync with the fabric of all things.
He didn't walk anymore.
He glided—into the great unknown.
Toward the next universe.
Toward a thousand possible fates.
And for the first time since his story began, he chose none of them.
He just went.