The forge chamber had gone still, the heat ebbing into an unnatural chill. Graxion stood frozen, his grip tight around the hilt of Umbra Fang, eyes locked on the spot where the masked figure had vanished. A shadow had entered a place meant only for him.
That meant one thing.
> He was not the only one chosen by the dark.
The blade in his hand hummed, as if whispering a warning. Graxion closed his eyes, trying to trace the remnants of the intruder's presence. His mind opened like a door into the shadow realm, searching through layers of darkness, sifting through echoes.
A faint trail pulsed like dying embers—a fading flicker of warped space, twisted time.
> "He didn't teleport," Graxion muttered. "He tore through something… something older than this realm."
And he wasn't just powerful. He was familiar.
Graxion left the forge chamber and followed the echo through the underground ruins. Walls twisted as he moved, as if the place was shifting with his intent. The ring pulsed again.
> [Warning: Chrono-Displacement Residue Detected]
[Entity Origin: Unknown Timeline]
"Time travel?" he whispered, narrowing his eyes.
That would explain the man's words—"I'm your future mistake."
He wasn't just a threat. He was a consequence.
---
After what felt like hours chasing shadows, Graxion emerged into an open cavern where a cracked obsidian mirror stood, suspended in the air. The surface rippled like water, but instead of reflection, it showed a battlefield—a future he didn't recognize. Giant beasts clashed with mechanized soldiers. Crimson skies. Ruined moons. A world on fire.
And at the center of it all… the masked man, laughing amidst chaos, wielding a twisted version of Umbra Fang—warped, corrupted, alive.
> "So this is what I become?" Graxion whispered.
"A monster playing with time and death?"
> "No," a voice echoed from the mirror. "You become worse."
The masked man stepped into view, arms crossed, his mask now cracked enough to show one eye—an eye filled with shadow, not blood. No humanity. Just hunger.
"You think forging the blade gave you control?" the future self asked. "It gave you an addiction."
Graxion gritted his teeth. "I won't become you."
"But you already are," the figure said. "I'm just you with purpose. You're the hesitation. The mercy. The mistake."
The mirror flared, and the image vanished.
Graxion was left alone again.
---
He stood there for a while, the shadows swirling anxiously around him. He had always thought the threat was external—the gods, the humans, the vampires. But now?
> His greatest enemy might be his own shadow.
He turned away from the mirror and whispered a silent command.
> "Hide it."
The mirror sunk into the stone, sealed by the ring's will.
He couldn't destroy it. Not yet. Not until he understood it.
But one thing was clear—he had to grow stronger, not just in power, but in will.
The future wasn't written in blood alone.
It was written in shadow.
And it could still be rewritten.