While the Keeper of Time and Fate announced the matchups—her voice resonating through the parted red sea like the toll of destiny itself—Ezmelral turned to Raiking, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "What are the contestants' Essence types?"
Raiking's gaze remained on the ring below, his tone even. "Only three of them wield Essence."
She blinked, taken aback. "How can that be? Everyone has it where I'm from."
He nodded faintly, his crimson eyes reflecting the swirling galaxies overhead. "In this timeline—the past—not every corner of the cosmos possessed Essence. Unlike your future, where it's woven into every mortal soul."
Her mind raced, the question she'd harbored for so long bubbling to the surface. "Then... how did mortals gain the ability to use Essence?"
Raiking's expression turned contemplative, as if delving into memories etched in the stars themselves. "Do you remember how Entities are formed?"
"From supernovas," she replied promptly.
"Correct." He gestured vaguely to the void around them, where distant explosions birthed new lights in the dark. "The supernova's residue, mingled with the souls of the dead and the crusts of shattered planets—when these three converge, Essence is born. Then, when an Entity dies, their spirit redistributes back to the cosmos. A planetary-scale Entity's death engulfs the nearest world, blessing every child born thereafter with an Essence Core upon reaching adulthood."
Ezmelral's eyes widened as the scale sank in. "And a universal-scale Entity... would engulf an entire galaxy?"
"Precisely." Raiking's voice deepened, carrying the weight of ancient truths. "Long ago, before the GodKing's birth, Entities believed it was the Cosmic Will's design—to arm mortals in their multitudes against our kind's scarcity. A fighting chance in case we waged cosmic war on lesser species."
"But the GodKing's birth changed everything," Ezmelral finished, her voice soft with realization.
"Yes," Raiking confirmed. "His power—a one-man army capable of bringing the cosmos to its knees—upended that balance. The past generation dismissed it as the cycle of life, a natural ebb and flow."
"I see," she murmured, turning her gaze back to the ring below. Two contestants stood at opposite ends, staring each other down—their postures taut, the air between them crackling with unspoken challenge, the crowd's murmurs building like a gathering wave.
To the far right of the ring stood the Eldest Elder's son, Solomon—a regal figure whose white robes flowed like liquid moonlight, interwoven with patches of armor that gleamed with ancient runes, his black ponytail swaying slightly as he exuded an aura of quiet dominance.
Ezmelral leaned closer to Raiking in their hidden vantage, her curiosity piqued. "What is his Essence?"
"Void Essence," Raiking replied, his voice low, carrying the weight of forbidden knowledge.
She watched intently as Solomon unsheathed his sword—a sleek blade of obsidian hue, humming with latent menace. He held it close to his chest, the tip pointing skyward like a challenge to the heavens. Then, with deliberate slowness, he rotated his wrist in a precise 90-degree arc, the sword now aiming directly to his left, the motion fluid as a ritual incantation. He released the hilt, and the blade hung suspended for a breath—before a small void portal yawned open, a rip in reality's fabric, swallowing the sword whole as it floated into the inky abyss.
Solomon's form shifted then, his body levitating slightly as he transitioned into a meditative stance—legs crossed mid-air, hands forming intricate mudras. Orbiting him like devoted sentinels, several tears in the fabric of existence began to form: jagged rifts pulsing with dark energy, encircling him in a protective ring that evoked the image of a temple forged from nightmares, walls of void closing in yet never quite touching.
Through the gaps in the swirling portals, Ezmelral caught glimpses of his mouth moving constantly—lips forming silent words, eyes closed in deep focus. "What is he doing?" she whispered to Raiking, her voice laced with awe and unease.
"He is communicating with the Void," Raiking explained, his crimson eyes fixed on the spectacle. "Borrowing its strength, persuading it to lend him power from beyond."
She blinked, glancing at the rifts where shadows seemed to writhe just out of sight. "Is the Void... a real place? Or just some kind of magic?"
"The Void Realm exists in another plane," he replied, his tone grave, as if invoking a curse. "A prison dimension filled with gruesome, terrifying creations—banished there long ago, before mortals drew their first breath in this cosmos."
Her heart skipped, imagining the horrors lurking in that unseen abyss. "How... how is he able to communicate with such creatures? Without... losing himself?"
Raiking's gaze didn't waver. "It demands immense wisdom and knowledge—to speak their tongue, to persuade them without being consumed. Lacking either, even a Void Essence User remains powerless, their magic forever dormant."
Ezmelral absorbed the revelation about Solomon's Void Essence, a chill lingering in her chest at the thought of communing with such forbidden horrors. She hadn't known Essence could be so dangerous—requiring not just talent, but a fortress of wisdom to wield without being consumed. For a fleeting moment, relief washed over her: her people's Essences were harmless by comparison, demanding no such extreme trials, no pacts with abyssal entities. Simple, pure, like the elements themselves.
Then, to the corner of her eye, movement stirred—Solomon's opponent raising her hand in a graceful arc. Ezmelral's breath caught; the being was slender and statuesque, her entire form draped in living foliage that seemed to breathe with her. Each leaf grew from her body in layered patterns, flowing like scales yet softer, more fluid, shifting with every faint breath of air as if the wind itself were her ally. Autumn hues of red, gold, and green interlaced across her frame, evoking a forest caught in eternal twilight—vibrant yet melancholic, alive with the whisper of falling leaves. Her face, pale and serene, bore no malice—only the profound stillness of ancient roots delving deep into the earth, eyes closed as if she communed with the very soul of the world. A crown of broad leaves flared outward from her head like a sunburst of nature's raw design, marking her as something transcendent: more than mortal, more than beast—an embodiment of the wild, forged in verdant fury and quiet growth.
From her arms, hundreds of leaves erupted like a violent gust of wind, scattering across the ring in a whirlwind of color before drifting downward slowly, gracefully, blanketing the arena in a soft, deceptive veil that hid promises of peril beneath.
"What is she...?" Ezmelral whispered, her voice laced with ethereal wonder. "She's so... ethereal. Like a living dream."
Raiking's gaze remained fixed on the contestant, his tone measured. "She is from a unique leaf-type species that rules a galaxy in the southern Cosmos. They wield no Essence, but their fighting style is unparalleled—rooted in symbiosis with nature itself. It's earned them recognition even among Entities, a testament to their worth."
Aserenity bowed gracefully, her leaf-draped form rustling softly like a breeze through an ancient grove, the autumn hues of her "skin" shifting in subtle waves. "I am Aserenity," she said, her voice a melodic whisper that carried across the parted sea, resonating with the calm of rustling leaves and the depth of rooted earth. "My people are very honored that the Entities have bestowed upon us such a moment—to stand here and reveal our existence to all."
She turned her serene gaze to Solomon, her eyes—deep pools of verdant green flecked with gold—like windows to an endless forest. "I know you wage a battle within yourself," she continued, her tone laced with empathy, the leaves on her crown fluttering faintly. "The Void—an enemy that whispers from the depths. It's a shame we cannot speak as allies in this ring. I hope that after this battle, we can look back, learn... and remember that our actions carry the same weight as unspoken words."
The arena fell into stillness, as though the cosmos itself paused to witness.
Aserenity's final words lingered like the hush of leaves settling after a storm, her calm a stark counterpoint to Solomon's dark meditation. Void and Verdancy—two legacies, two truths—stood across from one another, ready to clash.
From the Elders' platform, eyes blazed with pride as they watched Solomon's portals circle him like wolves kept barely on a leash. From the lower tiers, murmurs rose of Aserenity's people—the southern galaxy's hidden guardians, now revealed to the wider cosmos for the first time.
The Keeper of Time and Fate raised her hand, and another hourglass shimmered into existence, crystalline and vast, its sands glittering with tiny stars and galaxies. Suspended above the ring, it turned slowly, grains trickling downward like eternity measured in heartbeats.
"You either kill, disarm, or let time run out," she declared, her voice rolling like the toll of an eternal bell. "The choice is in your hands."
The hourglass pulsed, binding the rules into the air itself. The red sea below swelled and broke like a living heartbeat, waves rising with anticipation.
The Keeper's gaze swept across both combatants—Solomon, eyes shut, lips moving in silent communion with the abyss, and Aserenity, serene yet unyielding, her leaf-crown trembling faintly as though a forest wind moved through her veins.
"Now begin."