The wind on the summit carried no warmth.
Below me, the world was a sea of clouds.Above, the sky had cracked open into three shimmering fissures—each pulsing with a color and a promise.
One of abyssal smoke.One of cold starlight.And one of faint gold, woven with banners and bells.
The system's tone rang soft.
[ Cross-Realm Phase Unlocked. ]
[ Available Paths : Abyss / Fantasy / Silent Drift. ]
[ Choose your next realm. ]
✦
Arjun's ember flickered faintly in my chest.His whisper trembled."…which one…?"
I smiled, staring at the fissures.
"The abyss can wait. It's too loud."The Inkblade purred, shadows tightening round my wrist.
"…and the fantasy? Pretty lights, polished bones. A world that worships stories written long ago…"
"Exactly."
"…you want to break their fairy-tales…"
"Someone has to."
✦
I stepped toward the golden fissure.Its light pulsed slowly, not a gate but a heartbeat.
The wind around me grew heavy with sound—the clang of unseen swords, hymns sung by fading voices, the echo of banners whipping through air thick with ash.
The mountain murmured one last time.
[ Every realm writes its own law. You walk where law breaks. ]
"I always do," I said, and stepped through.
✦
Light.
Not warmth, not color—light that burned with memory.
When it faded, I stood in the middle of a ruined hall.
Ceiling shattered, pillars scorched, air thick with dust.A torn banner hung from a cracked archway, its symbol half-gone: a crown split by a sword.
The ground was littered with armor and bones, silver dulled by age.
The Inkblade hummed low.
"…a kingdom long dead. The marrow here still remembers its gods…"
Arjun's ember pulsed faintly.
"…Ishaan… where are we…?"
"Somewhere that used to believe in heroes."
✦
The system's voice slid through the still air.
[ Realm Entered : The Fallen Empire of Erevale. ]
[ Primary Law : Faith binds Fate. ]
[ Secondary Law : Only those remembered may rise. ]
I frowned."Faith binds fate…?"
The Inkblade chuckled.
"…meaning, if no one believes your story, you vanish…"
"Perfect," I muttered. "Guess I'll have to make them remember."
✦
Outside the ruined hall, twilight stretched across endless plains.Once-golden spires lay broken, half-buried in dust.Far away, a city still burned—its towers leaning, bells tolling faintly through smoke.
The air shimmered with divine residue, fragments of prayers turned into ash.
Even the wind carried ghosts of hymns.
✦
A sound broke the quiet—the drag of metal across stone.
I turned.
A knight in shattered armor crawled from beneath a fallen pillar.One eye gone, helm cracked, his hand still clutched a rusted sword.
He looked at me.
"...another wanderer…"
His voice was dry, papery.
"You come to loot what's left?"
I smiled faintly.
"Not loot. Just passing through."
He laughed—a rasp like gravel.
"No one passes through Erevale. You stay, or you die."
✦
He pushed himself to his feet, sword trembling."Name yourself."
"Ishaan."
His ruined helm tilted. "No house, no banner. A sellsword?"
"Something like that."
He studied me for a long moment.Then, quietly:
"Then you're already dead."
✦
He lunged.
The rusted sword moved faster than it should have, qi—or whatever this realm called faith—flaring along the edge.
I raised the Inkblade, shadows meeting divine ember.Sparks of gold and black filled the ruined hall.
When the dust cleared, the knight was on his knees, helm split.
Light leaked from the crack, whispering faint words before fading.
A memory erased.
✦
The Inkblade's tone was almost curious.
"…faith turned into power. Even corpses fight if belief remains. This realm's marrow is brittle but beautiful…"
Arjun's ember stirred faintly."…and dangerous…"
"Of course," I said, wiping blood from my lips. "Danger means story."
✦
I stepped out of the ruins.
In the distance, bells tolled again—three slow notes that rolled across the plains.
The system pulsed softly.
[ Realm event triggered : The Last Procession begins. ]
[ Survive until dawn. ]
Wind carried the faint chant of approaching soldiers.
A line of light flickered on the horizon—dozens of glowing figures marching through the dusk, each bearing a banner of broken crowns.
The dead were marching again.
The bells tolled again.One. Two. Three.
The sound rolled over the plains like thunder crawling through bones.
From the haze of dusk, figures began to form—a legion of light and rust, knights without faces, banners dragging through ash.
Each one burned faintly from within, their armor etched with the same cracked symbol:a crown split by a sword.
They moved in perfect silence.
✦
[ Realm Event : The Last Procession has begun. ]
[ Survive until dawn. ]
Wind carried the weight of old prayers.It smelled of steel, dust, and forgotten glory.
Ishaan exhaled slowly, letting the Inkblade hum in his grip.
"Faith binds fate, huh?" he murmured. "Let's see whose faith burns longer."
The Inkblade's shadow curled upward, a voice sliding through the wind.
"…they march because they still believe they can win… even centuries later…"
Arjun's ember pulsed faintly in his chest.
"…they don't even know they're dead…"
✦
The first knight lunged.
His sword, rusted yet radiant, cut through the air with the weight of a vow.Ishaan met it mid-swing, shadows scattering sparks of gold and ink.
The impact shook the plain.The knight dissolved into motes of light—faith shattered.
But two more stepped in.Then ten.Then hundreds.
A storm of faith and memory, all moving as one.
✦
[ Status Effect : Bound by Faith. ]
[ Your movements slow by 12%. Each strike feeds the Procession's will. ]
Ishaan grimaced as invisible cords wrapped around his limbs.The more he fought, the heavier his own faith became.
He swung again—and felt his thoughts ripple.
A whisper echoed in his skull, not his own.
Protect the throne.Hold the line.Never yield.
For a moment, he saw through the eyes of the knights—a battlefield under a golden sky, a king kneeling, a promise sworn as the world fell apart.
Their story was still alive, and it was trying to devour his.
✦
He gritted his teeth. "Not my script."
Shadows burst from his back, splitting the cords that bound him.Fracture Sense ignited—threads of faith glowed across the plain like veins of molten gold.
He saw it then—the core cord, pulsing faintly beneath the city ruins in the distance.
"That's your anchor," he whispered. "That's what keeps you marching."
✦
The Inkblade purred, almost reverent.
"…if you cut that, you'll erase their story entirely…"
"I'll set them free."
"…or erase them completely. Same thing, really…"
"I'll take the risk."
✦
He ran.
Knights swarmed, their faith burning hotter the closer he came to the city.Every blow carved his flesh, every step shattered stone beneath him.
Still, he climbed the cracked causeway leading to the fallen capital's gates.
Behind him, the plains glowed gold—an army of ghosts chasing the last man alive.
✦
At the city's center lay a cathedral half-buried in ash.Within it, a throne of melted silver, and upon it…
A corpse.
Crown fused to bone.Sword through its chest.Light leaking from its ribs, pulsing in rhythm with the Procession's march.
The true heart of Erevale.
✦
The system flickered, unstable.
[ Hidden Trial Triggered : Cut the King's Faith. ][ Warning : Failure results in assimilation. ]
Arjun's ember thrashed inside him.
"…Ishaan, if you cut that, you might vanish too—"
He smiled faintly. "Then I'll come back louder."
✦
He raised the Inkblade.
The shadows wrapped the blade in a trembling halo, black against gold.The mountain's echo still haunted his grip, but his mind was clear.
He swung—
and the cathedral exploded with light.
✦
Every cord snapped.Every knight froze.The bells screamed one last time, then shattered.
Golden light poured upward into the sky, dissolving like ash caught in sunrise.
The Procession stopped.
Then—silence.
For the first time in centuries, Erevale rested.
✦
Ishaan fell to one knee, chest heaving, every bone burning.
The corpse on the throne turned to dust.The sword embedded in its chest clattered to the ground, glowing faintly before going dark.
The system's tone broke the silence.
[ Realm Event Cleared : The Last Procession. ]
[ Hidden Title Earned — The One Who Ends Marches. ]
[ Effect : Your presence can silence repeating timelines and stagnant faith. ]
He laughed weakly, spitting blood. "Figures."
The Inkblade hummed, pleased.
"…you didn't just break their faith… you gave them an ending…"
"Every story needs one."
✦
Arjun's ember flickered faintly.
"…what now…?"
Ishaan looked up at the cracked sky where dawn was trying to rise.
"Now?" He smiled faintly. "We wait to see if they start writing back."
✦
Far above, unseen by him, something did stir—a shimmer of divine attention pressing gently against the edge of the realm.
[ Observer Interest : The Forgotten Scribe (High-tier God) has taken notice. ][ Comment : "You cut the ending itself… interesting." ]
The Inkblade's voice dropped to a whisper.
"…told you the gods were watching…"
"I'll wave when I see them," Ishaan murmured.
And as the first light of morning crept across Erevale's ruins,the dead knights bowed once more—not to their king,but to him.