Kealix glanced around, instinctively alert, but not panicked. The voice he'd just heard didn't trigger fear—only a rising tide of confusion. It hadn't come from any visible source. No one nearby had spoken, and yet the voice rang clear in his mind, old and weathered, like that of a battle-hardened knight—gravelly, noble, and commanding.
Where is it coming from?
The thought echoed as unease coiled in his chest. He scanned the shadows again, but the voice didn't belong to anyone in sight.
Is this... like the voice Joshua heard?
He stilled, grounding himself, trying to listen again.
[Master, the beast will not be contained forever. You must leave—quickly.]
There it was again, reverberating inside his skull. He turned in a slow circle, eyes sharp, but still—nothing. No movement. No speaker.
Master?
The title threw him. No one in their group called him that. In fact, barely anyone in the party knew him well enough to speak to him with such reverence.
Just who are you? he thought, the question heavy with suspicion. What are you?
[I am a part of your existence, Master. You gave us life... and you gave us names. My name is Hero.]
The voice softened, almost reverent, like it was remembering something precious. Gratitude tinged its tone. A cold shiver slid down Kealix's spine.
What? Where the hell did that come from? he thought, pulse quickening. Did it just—read my mind?
[Yes, Master. I can read your thoughts.]
Kealix froze. His breath caught, and for a moment, he felt completely untethered. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to still the spiral of thoughts that threatened to crowd in. Slowly, he walked over to a nearby bench—worn and half-lit by the faint glow Joshua had conjured earlier—and sat down, folding his hands as if stillness could anchor him.
What do you mean... "the beast won't be contained forever?" he asked, this time directing the question inward, to the voice.
[It is exactly as I said, Master. Once the fracture stabilizes and the path forms fully, the beast will be able to cross over. Should that happen... everyone here will die. There will be no stopping it.]
A silence settled between them, and in that pause, a heavy realization began to bloom in Kealix's mind.
The beast.
It had to be the one whose roars and screams they'd heard from the other side of the rift—that raw, unearthly sound that had rattled their bones. There was no mistaking it. The voice had said the beast wouldn't be contained forever, and now it all began to click into place.
Then another thought struck him like a jolt of cold water: the fracture.
That word—he had heard it twice today. Once earlier. And now again. Both times whispered into his mind by voices he couldn't explain, couldn't trace. The weight of the mystery pressed harder against him.
He needed answers.
You said something about a fracture, he thought. Can you explain what a fracture is?
Silence followed—an oddly heavy silence, as if even the wind were holding its breath.
Then, at last, the voice returned.
[I apologize, Master... but I cannot.]
It sounded frustrated, as if the inability to answer wounded its very purpose.
[I have only seen fragments since I returned to the physical plane. I know only what the Will of Existence allows me to know. Again... I am sorry, Master.]
The voice trailed off, weighed down by its own limitations.
Kealix blinked, stunned. The Will of Existence?
The phrase rattled through his mind, oversized and impossible to grasp.
Wait—wait, what? The Will of Existence? What the hell are you talking about?!
His mind reeled. That kind of language wasn't thrown around lightly. Not by a voice like this—one that clearly knew things, had seen things.
The voice responded with calm conviction, almost reverent in tone:
[The Will of Existence... is, simply put, the combined consciousness of all things. Every living being. Every nonliving being. All are connected. All are part of the Will, master.]
Kealix tried to wrap his mind around it.
So... it's like everything. At once.
Kealix stared ahead, stunned.
How is that even possible?
The question surfaced in his mind like a sudden ripple on still water, confused and searching.
[Unfortunately, I cannot give you an answer to that, Master.]
The voice responded gently, tinged with disappointment, but then slowly lifted in hope.
[Perhaps Truth will be able to guide you—once the rest of the Council is granted permission to communicate with you.]
Truth? The Council? Kealix blinked, thoughts scattering. Wait—where even are you? And where is this Council supposed to be?
A pause, then the voice replied with quiet amusement:
[We are... currently inside your pocket, Master.]
Kealix's eyes widened. His pockets were empty, save for—
The cards.
Wait... are you—
[Yes, Master.]
The voice answered before he could finish.
[We are the Tarot cards you once held so dearly. But now we possess the power and ability to aid you—at least, once the Will of Existence has fully acknowledged you.]
The voice grew brighter, almost excited.
[At this moment, I should be the one shining the brightest, since I'm the one communicating with you.]
Kealix quickly opened the worn box of cards tucked into his coat. As the lid lifted, a soft glow spilled out. One card outshone the rest—brilliant and unmistakable. The Hero.
He remembered it well. It was usually called the Justice card in standard decks, but his great-grandfather had rewritten many of the names. "Twists of fate," he used to call them.
Well, Kealix thought, awe mingling with realization, that certainly explains your name. Let me guess—Truth is the Truth card?
[Correct, Master! Such insight at your age—truly marvelous!]
The voice beamed with praise, warm and sincere.
Kealix felt a flicker of pride, quickly tempered by more questions. But you said you returned to the physical plane. Were you... somewhere else before?
The voice's tone softened.
[I was young, Master.]
[Before I returned to this world, I had already died. I passed into the spiritual plane. And from there, I was chosen—an obvious choice—to serve as a part of your existence, alongside Sir Truth and the others.]
Kealix's fingers froze against the edge of the deck.
You… died before you were chosen? he thought, stunned. And what do you mean by "obvious choice"?
The voice went quiet for a long moment. When it finally spoke, it was slower, more hesitant.
[All of us—the souls that now dwell within your cards... no, your great-grandfather's cards—we were his friends, once.]
The words sank into Kealix like stones dropped into a still lake.
His great-grandfather.
Kealix had always thought of him as eccentric—half-mad, even. A man obsessed with spirits and planes of existence, always muttering about unseen truths. No one took him seriously. Not really.
And yet...
Here he was, holding a deck of cards filled with souls—people—who had known him. Who had followed him. Who had crossed the boundary between life and death to serve a legacy Kealix hadn't even known he'd inherited.
The stories had always said: to reach the spiritual plane, one had to die.
Did you befriend him before or after he died?
The voice responded, quiet and almost reluctant.
[Before... young Master.]
Kealix blinked. How did that old goose—
He cut the thought short. Never mind that. We have to focus.
How long do you think we have before the fracture fully forms? he asked, forcing himself to stay grounded. Curiosity could wait—survival couldn't.
[From the knowledge I possess... a fracture takes approximately one hour to fully stabilize. That gives us... ten more minutes, young Master.]
There was dread in the voice, like it wished it had better news.
Kealix didn't go silent. There was no time for that. He couldn't afford to sit and think. Instinct took over where logic failed. He stood, heart pounding, gaze flicking toward the horizon beyond the town's limits.
Can we escape the barrier surrounding the town? he asked, the question nearly trembling from the anxiety behind it.
A pause.
[No... young Master. We cannot.]
There was no hope in the voice. Only grim acceptance.
Fuck.
The word slammed into his thoughts like a hammer. Panic spread fast, a storm crashing through his mind. His fingers clenched around the edge of his coat.
If Joshua, Nox, and I run now, maybe—just maybe—we could survive until the army arrives.
Most of these people... they're dead weight anyway.
The thought wasn't kind. It wasn't heroic. But it was real. His survival instincts were taking over, louder than reason, louder than guilt.
[Young Master...]
The voice interrupted gently, but firmly.
[Our duty is to ensure your survival—but please, reconsider. If their blood spills, it will not be by the beast's hand... it will be by yours. You would have abandoned the very souls you were meant to lead.]
The words stung.
If we help them, we die too! Kealix snapped internally, frustration boiling over. Why should I risk my life for people who don't even like me?!
Something had shifted in him. The fear, the hopelessness—it was twisting him, dragging his thoughts into darker corners. His mind, once sharp, was now gripped by desperation. Morality was a luxury he couldn't afford.
But the voice didn't waver.
[Young Master, I believe... your parents would not want you to be stained with such blood.]
That stopped him cold.
What?! he thought, bristling. Have you even met my parents?!
They had disappeared over five years ago. Everyone assumed they were dead. He had long stopped asking that question.
[I have not, young Master,] the voice said softly.
That's what I thought—
Wait... what?
The realization hit him a moment too late.
How many people do you know in the spiritual plane?! he asked, his thoughts speeding up, heart leaping into his throat.
[I have met every soul that resides there, young Master.]
The voice was calm now, patient, like a teacher waiting for the student to piece it all together.
Kealix's throat went dry. The air around him seemed to still.
Are they... alive? he asked, barely able to form the thought.
Upon hearing the voice's words, Kealix couldn't help but smile.
It wasn't wide or triumphant—it was quiet, soft, and deeply felt. A single tear slipped down his cheek, warm against the cold numbness that had been gripping him. His parents… there was a chance they were alive. Everyone had said they were dead, lost forever. But now, that certainty was fractured. Even the faintest possibility sparked something inside him—hope.
[Such a kind expression you're making, young Master,] the voice said with gentle admiration.
[Have you calmed down?]
I have, Kealix thought, his tone carrying a rare warmth. Thanks to this… good news.
[Then please, look around you, young Master,] the voice said, its tone now firm but still tender.
Kealix lifted his head and wiped the tear from his face. As his gaze swept over the scene before him, the smile quickly faded.
Students. Dozens of them. Most were wounded—some barely able to stand. All of them looked terrified, clinging to the last threads of composure. Their fear wasn't hidden; it sat plain on their faces. And when Kealix looked at them, a bitter aftertaste coated his thoughts.
He had almost left them behind.
[Now,] the voice continued, low and calm, [how do you think the parents of these young people would feel… knowing their children had been saved by an unknown hero?]
Kealix exhaled sharply through his nose, a dry, bitter smile tugging at his lips.
Are you trying to make me play the hero now?
[Well... I am called Hero, after all, young Master.]
Kealix let out a soft chuckle.
It wasn't forced. It was real—tired, maybe, but real.
How can I even fight it, he thought, without dying in the process, I mean?
The fear was still there. The danger hadn't vanished. But now there was something else stirring in him too. Something stronger.
will.