Polux Age – Year 484
In the land of Delphinus—long considered one of the oldest legends, never found for centuries and perhaps never returned from by those who did—there was great and mysterious turmoil erupting in its crowded square. This peaceful, quiet country, once regarded as an ancient symbol of justice, was now in a state of panic. The culprit had to be captured and judged.
During the pursuit, a stranger cloaked in long black robes, exhibiting abnormal strength, speed, and agility, had destroyed the massive diamond crystal symbolizing the King of Justice with a single kick—just to create more chaos. The guards chasing him were stunned for a brief moment upon witnessing the scene. Some even considered ceasing their pursuit, pretending they had lost sight of him.
Noticing this hesitation, a senior guard spoke sternly: "That's a noble from Veythar, can't you see? Isn't it about time we made them pay for what they've done to us?! Am I the only one who wants that filthy devil executed in a grand spectacle before the people?!"
Emboldened by his words, the other guards once again stared after the Veytharian with bloodlust. They surged forward, intensifying the Polux energy in their cores. Though they pushed themselves to the limits to catch him, the fugitive showed no signs of strain, steadily widening the distance between them. Their speeds were so immense that the panicked citizens could only see their trailing images.
Given the speed difference, the situation seemed hopeless for the guards. But everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Strangely enough, the same could be said for the fugitive—everything was unfolding according to his plan too.
"Just a bit more... Half a minute or so..." the Veytharian muttered anxiously. Speaking while running at such speeds didn't seem to trouble him.
"Are you really sure about this? We don't know when—or if—we'll be able to return, and we spent centuries preparing for this…"
The ethereal voice came from the core within the man. Only he could hear it. It was his "special side," one might say. In a world where power came at a cost, where forces beyond nature reigned, his strength stemmed from this extraordinary core. He could have lived peacefully for a few more centuries. But the mission demanded a crime considered the greatest in this world. And now, when his life had just returned to normal, he had lost everyone and everything he cared about because of a mistake in this new mission.
After a long chase, they reached an alley. The Veytharian could have easily smashed through the wall ahead, but he knew it wouldn't be necessary. He swiftly spun on his heels to face the guards. As he threw off his black cloak, the white hair and monstrous red eyes characteristic of the Veythar race were revealed.
The lead guard stepped forward, trembling with rage, and began to speak with a voice brimming with hatred: "Filthy Veytharian! You killed the Six Mirrors who saved the world from chaos…"
As the words left his mouth, he suddenly stiffened—as if waking from a dream—and stared at the red-eyed man in horror. The other guards stepped back in confusion, trying to understand what was happening.
The white-haired fugitive's lips curved faintly. "This is called a Mind Curve. Do you like it? One moment of fear from my enemy is enough to activate it. After that, you lose all logic!"
The guards backed away further, crowding together. They pointed their bright black weapons—called Trivahls—at him in helpless fear. They didn't seem to understand a word he said. The Veytharian sighed with frustration, his brows twitching.
"Do you still not get it? Chasing me was a mistake to begin with. Do you really think twenty guards at Core Layer level could kill me? This is what I call the Mind Curve. Of course, the moment I strolled into the palace and killed the King and his entire family, it activated. That's what truly terrified you."
The leader of the guards stared at him nervously, speaking in a pitiful tone: "Being at the Core Layer doesn't mean we can't defeat you… You killed the Mirrors even though you're just at Dominarth level, and they were clearly stronger than you!"
The instant he spoke those words, he realized his own foolishness. Those at the Dominarth level were no longer considered human—and Dominarth was two tiers above Core Layer. Even in this dire moment, the guard couldn't comprehend how the man before him had slain the Six Mirrors. It was unthinkable!
The Veytharian's voice cut in again, menacing and soaked with bloodlust. He pointed his strange, blackened finger—cracked with red fissures—at the Trivahls in their hands.
"You… where did you get those?"
Though confused at first, the guards understood. The Veytharian had likely sensed energy from the Trivahls similar to his own race's. It was quite normal—yet surely disturbing for him. In this world, beasts infused with Polux energy could be turned into powerful weapons or artifacts by a skilled craftsman. The Trivahls were undeniably linked to the Veythar race.
Seeing their own terrified reflections in his crimson eyes, the guards now felt the man—who hadn't even broken a sweat moments ago—had transformed into a lunatic. The twisted smile on his face, the flickering in his gaze, and the red wings sprouting from his back... The wings tore through his flesh, turning the ground beneath him into a pool of blood. But that was no concern for him—on the contrary, it was the very nature of his power.
The blood at his feet began to ripple as if the earth trembled. Then, it rose into the air. Each droplet transformed into thousands—no, perhaps hundreds of thousands—of tiny, sharp crimson projectiles. As the feathers from his wings detached and joined the army of bloody blades, a curtain of red seemed to form behind him.
His expression twisted further as he looked at the guards once more with those same cold eyes.
"This is a bit excessive for mere guards like you, but... my apologies. You're the ones who pushed me to this. The Mind Curve, unfortunately, can target me too in moments like these, hahaha…"
He bowed slightly, pressing his palm to his forehead. He had spent most of his energy and was exhausted. Yet nothing stood in his way of obliterating those before him.
"And in such cases... I need to feed it. Otherwise, it won't hesitate to devour me. Isn't that right? Hahaha, haha!"
The man before them was already partly under the effect of the Mind Curve. And as he spoke, he pointed to his chest—the place where humans and similar beings housed their Polux cores.
Then the ethereal voice echoed again in his mind:
"This is not my fault, Sirius… Of course, the powers I granted you come at a price. You must use your Dominarth ability soon."
Sirius already knew that, and he had no time to lose. He raised his hand—and with the guards still frozen in terror—snapped his fingers.
Pa!
Voo!
The crimson feathers of death behind him shot forward all at once—so fast they could not be followed by the naked eye. The gust they created launched the guards into the air. They realized, too late, that there was no hope of escape.
The one they thought had fled—Mirror Killer Sirius—was now sending red wing-feathers and blood-turned-Polux energy straight for their cores. Any core struck by blood or feathers emitted a blinding light and exploded with deafening sound. The energy that leaked from the shattered cores floated upward in dazzling hues before gathering into a single point.
It gathered into the core of Sirius—the Veytharian of Dominarth Tier; blood magician, beast tamer, master of deception, kingslayer, and hunter of Mirrors.
As Sirius slowly emerged from his madness, the deaths of twenty guards created a firework-like display in the sky. A vast pool of blood surrounded him. His face and white hair were stained red. Smiling wearily, he opened his palm. A faint glow appeared, and then, a small, shiny black hourglass materialized. Though calling it an "hourglass" felt somehow... wrong.
It truly had the shape of an hourglass—but instead of sand, it contained a dense red liquid. Sirius turned it in his hand, lips curling. This was his "Dominarth," and he had met every requirement to use it. He had even slain the Six Mirrors. And sadly, he had lost everything in the process.
"Well then... See you soon, Mr. Mysterious Trivahl. Two centuries passed in the blink of an eye, didn't they?"
Though his face bore an unusually warm smile, the voice knew how afraid Sirius truly was:
"Sirius, we know when we'll awaken, but even if the powers I grant you remain the same, you'll lose the powers of the core from your current body and gain those of the one you'll inhabit…"
Sirius chuckled at Trivahl's words.
He couldn't turn back. He still had a mission to fulfill. No one had assigned this final task—it was the first he had chosen for himself. Besides, as the killer of the Six Mirrors, he could no longer live in this timeline. What had begun as a quest for vengeance had thrown him into the realm of beings far greater. And when he sought to surpass Polux's limits for more power, he became someone who had once again lost everything.
What had kept him alive thus far was the unique Trivahl. Sirius, who had been used like a puppet by Veythar's rulers, had been discarded once his use was over. But he wasn't worried about what Trivahl warned of—because the only truly useful power from his core was this hourglass. And as long as Trivahl was with him, that power would not disappear.
"Yes, much of my power comes from you, but don't forget—Dominarth is my Dominarth, and I know its nature. When I use it, my current core will fall asleep. And five centuries from now, when my core takes over a new body, the dominant core will reign. You know what that means, don't you? It means two cores. When I start from scratch and my core grows stronger, I won't just gain my own powers—I'll also gain the powers of the other core in that body. And since you're already a part of my core, there's nothing to worry about."
Trivahl—who many would think incapable of emotion—was, for the first time in centuries, truly stunned. He had always considered this scenario a mere theory. But Sirius spoke with such certainty, and the logic began to make sense even to him.
Without wasting another moment, Sirius crushed the black hourglass in his palm. He pressed his hand—now on the verge of shattering—to his mouth. He drank the blood flowing from his wounded hand and the shattered hourglass. His eyes turned pitch black.
A thousand whisper-like voices poured into his ears, trying to drive him mad. Then, all the blood spilled during the battle flowed back into him. With a sea of crimson before his eyes, Sirius began to dissolve into black sand—starting from his feet.
Just before his face disappeared, he cried out with joy:
"See you in five centuries, world! See you, Trivahl! Wait for me, Solaris! And you, Scuti… this time, you will pay!"
Hahaha! I'm sure after all these years, the last thing he expects is me!
While slaying the so-called Mirrors, Sirius had discovered a fragment of memory. And that memory pointed toward five centuries in the future—to the Scuti who had taken everything from him, and to someone named Solaris.
And the way everything aligned—Sirius's arrival, his Dominarth's abilities—it could not be mere coincidence. Even if it was, Sirius had chosen this path without hesitation.
Nothing remained of Sirius but a single crimson Polux core fused with the floating black Trivahl. A few seconds later, the hovering core turned to dust—and vanished from the scene.
One of Sirius's final thoughts, before turning to dust, was how it would all feel like a dream.
"Just like falling asleep and waking up…"
---
But he was wrong.
For his core and soul to emerge into light five centuries later,
He had to wait in the dark.
Alone.
Where layers of reality intertwined in endless shadow…
He would wait...
in the Polux Realm.