Teetering on the very edge of complete, soul-crushing despair, King James summoned his most gifted descendant—Marriable Virellan, known as The Seyrith, the Brave Hero of Foresight and Prophecies. His eyes, once fierce with unyielding resolve, now pleaded, hollowed by an endless existence, for release. With a voice barely more than a whisper, raw with centuries of silent agony, he commanded her to scry his future.
Seeing the raw, unending agony in her beloved king's eyes, The Seyrith swore to free him from his torment, even if it meant sacrificing everything she was.
For six relentless months, she sealed herself within her towering observatory, scouring hundreds of thousands of probable futures. She bled her mind dry, pushed her foresight beyond its limits, in search of a single, elusive thread of hope. But every vision, every timeline, every possibility—no matter how obscure, how distorted—spoke the same unchanging, brutal truth:
King James's immortality was True, Perfect, and Absolute.
Even if the cosmos were to collapse into oblivion, if all existence were to be wiped clean from the slate of reality, James would remain. He would endure the death of all things… and witness the agonizing birth of a new, desolate universe.
Marriable, however, refused to surrender to such a cruel fate. For eighteen grueling months more—two full years since she first began her desperate quest—she poured every ounce of herself into finding a glimmer of hope, even if it seemed utterly impossible. Time and again, her quest brought her to the very brink of death, forcing her loyal Auxcast to pull her back each time she teetered on the edge of non-existence.
She understood, deep in her core, that a True, Perfect, and Absolute Immortal was destined to witness the cosmos' end and rebirth—under normal laws, death was simply not meant for one such as King James. And yet, Marriable clung to the knowledge that certain beings existed as variables and anomalies, capable of bending or even breaking these absolute rules of existence. Clinging to that slim, desperate possibility, she scoured timeline after timeline, pushing her mind to the absolute breaking point.
At last, after countless possibilities explored and myriad near-fatal failures endured, she found the one she'd been searching for.
Even with all her desperate efforts, the future Marriable uncovered for her King held a terrifyingly slim chance—just 0.000001%. And even then, the vision itself was profoundly distorted, warped by paradox, shimmering with inherent contradictions. In one version, King James fell to a single, decisive strike. In another, chillingly, he was the one who delivered that fatal blow. The paths diverged violently, contradicting one another. Yet among the hundreds of thousands of timelines she had sifted through, this was the only one where his death was even a possibility.
Marriable knelt before her king, a complex mixture of triumph and profound dread etched upon her exhausted face. "My liege," she began, her voice strained, barely holding back her own despair, "I have found it. The path to your desired end."
James's eyes, hollowed by centuries of despair, flickered with a desperate, almost unbearable hope. "Speak, Seyrith! What is this path? Tell me!"
"It is a future where you are slain," she reported, the words heavy as stone, a terrible beauty in their truth. "But its probability is infinitesimally small – a mere 0.000001%. And the vision itself is profoundly distorted. In one iteration, you fall to a single, decisive strike. In another, you deliver that very blow yourself."
A fierce, ancient glint returned to James's gaze, burning through the layers of his despair. "A possibility exists, then. As long as there is even that sliver, I shall dedicate everything to increasing it! Tell me, Marriable, who is this future savior of mine?"
"The one who deals the final blow carries the title: Main Character," she replied, the name resonating with untold power.
James nodded slowly, a meticulous plan already forming in his brilliant, ancient mind. "Ah, the Main Character. I'd heard whispers of a young one in the Demon Continent, bearing that very title. I shall journey there, train her myself, and shape her to guarantee this distorted future bends to my will—to my death."
Marriable closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her last reserves of resolve.
"My liege," she said softly, her voice barely audible, "that particular Main Character—or any of the foreseeable generations—is not the one. The one destined to end your life will be born hundreds of aeons from now. In a distant kingdom, within the domain of a Duke, in a warrior's village named Sith." Silence, thick and suffocating, filled the chamber like a rising, inescapable tide. "But to reach this future," she continued, her voice barely more than a whisper, breaking the silence with its terrible truth, "a delicate and meticulously crafted plan must be followed. Every detail matters. The slightest deviation, and all hope will be lost." King James slowly rose to his feet. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white, trembling with an ancient rage. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of that desperate hope lit his eyes—only to wither under the crushing, unimaginable weight of her final words. Then came the storm. "Hundreds of aeons?!" His voice cracked with pure, unadulterated fury, echoing through the room like a thunderclap, vibrating with the despair of endless existence.
"I cannot wait hundreds of aeons! I seek death in the foreseeable future—not in some distant, agonizing eternity!"