In the southeastern reaches of the Asphat Kingdom, where the Endless Mountains rise like an unbroken wall against the sky, lies the County of Gaza. Renowned for its thriving tourism and robust infrastructure, Gaza was a city of beauty and order—but its true strength lay beneath the mountains themselves.
For within the Endless Mountains ran veins of the finest ores ever discovered, and from those depths emerged craftsmen without equal. Across the kingdom, Gaza stood unrivaled in metallurgy and forgecraft, reaching unprecedented heights in weaponry and artifact creation for its age. No other noble house could match the precision of its measures, the brilliance of its smiths, or the power born from its forges.
Yet Gaza would not be what it was without one individual. At the head of the Endless Mountains stood a single human, a figure so exceptional that even the dwarves—masters of the craft—hailed him as the King of the Forge, the Master among Smiths. Every work that bore his mark was a masterpiece, shaped with insight that bordered on the divine.
Through his guidance and creations, the kingdom turned the tide of war and emerged victorious. In recognition of his contributions, the King granted him the title of Baron and entrusted him with a territory of his own. When peace returned, he vanished into his workshop, forging not weapons, but the future itself. New techniques were born beneath his hands. Innovations in metallurgy, forging, and artifactry reshaped the foundations of the craft.
His discoveries elevated not only Gaza but the kingdom as a whole. For this, he was raised to the rank of Count, and his dominion expanded to include the vast, untamed reaches of the Endless Mountains themselves.
However, on this night, calamity descended upon the County.
To the people of Gaza, it would be remembered as their greatest disaster—a night of loss, terror, and irreversible change. But to the Count and Countess—to Levi and Hazel—it was something else entirely. Where the county saw ruin, they saw opportunity. This night, branded in history as tragedy, was for them the greatest blessing they would ever receive.
On this very night, the Count and Countess welcomed a special guest: the Avatar of Life and Reincarnation, Selene Phi.
To the world, Levi and Hazel were exceptional humans. The truth, however, lay far deeper. They were Maguses: the first race of the plane, progenitors of every race that walked the Thnētós‑Ortalis Plane, and Spawns of Kinhoale itself.
Within their estate, voices and fervent laughter rang out as they spoke of ages long past. Then, without warning, a shift occurred. Not merely within the estate, but across the plane—and beyond. The once‑steady hearts of Levi and Hazel began to slow. Each beat carried less force than the last, their vibrant rhythm easing into stillness.
Unlike the Martins, who had clung desperately to existence, Levi and Hazel felt no fear. They felt peace. Their souls brimmed with quiet joy, for at last, their end was true.
Selene remained seated, watching in silence. "Let us meet again in the underworld, my friends," Selene said softly as she closed their eyes. "Helen has done it. I never thought she would succeed."
"Is there a reason you believed success would not be achieved?" Larile, her assistant, finally spoke.
"Across countless cycles and loops we have lived through," Selene replied, "each long‑lived Avatar has undertaken the task of the Purge. And every time, at the final moment, something intervened. Until now."
"Does this mean the Magus race has come to an end?"
"No, Larile. Not even close. The Spawns of Kinhoale make up only a fifth. Not all Maguses derived their longevity from Kinhoale."
"Would Helen go after the remaining Maguses… or coordinate the game… or do both?" Larile asked.
"She can't. Not yet," Selene replied, carrying the still‑warm bodies toward their chambers. "Do you know how many candidates there are in the Game of Entropy?"
"Fifty‑six. Four groups, fourteen in each."
"And when is the game supposed to start?"
"Two decades from now—that's what Helen said."
Selene's lips curled into a faint, wry smile. "A convenient lie. The game should have begun decades ago. But Helen postponed it. Because of this, fifty‑six beings were born with tremendous destiny and fortune, yet amount to nothing… like Yamato. Did you notice what she called herself at the time? She called herself mortal."
"Wait… are you saying Yamato was a candidate?"
"Not only him," Selene said. "His wife, too. She was a beastman feline, one of the three children the Martins abandoned. But the Martin bloodline cannot escape its nature. She eventually became… just like her parents. In every era, in every cycle, Helen erased fragments of her memories to mark a new beginning. But the memories weren't truly gone. Sometimes, they resurfaced. These are called Regression Episodes."
They laid the bodies on the bed. Larile's voice cut through the quiet: "Just like you."
Selene froze, then pressed on. "These episodes destabilized Helen's mind. She sent Titan to eliminate forty‑five of the fifty‑six candidates, leaving only the eleven Martin children. The reincarnation ritual wasn't only for Yamato. It applied to all candidates—except the Martins. Everything… every cycle, every plan, every death, was hers. And yet, even now, the game has yet to begin."
"How are the Martins meant to join," Larile asked, "if they weren't among those Titan bore causality for? The fourteen Martins are the Candidates of the Seven Deadly Sins. They're far gone now. How can they still participate?"
"Larile… do you truly believe the death of a Deity is an ending? What Helen destroyed was not Kinhoale itself, but its body and heart. Kinhoale's astral form still exists. It will attach itself to the children—reincarnating with and through them. In two decades, every candidate of Entropy will be ready to play."
As Selene spoke, a grimace crept across her face. Larile saw it instantly. "Selene, why don't you learn from Helen and postpone yours? A child's father has just died. A mass death has swept across the plane. Let them grieve."
'Helen might have postponed Entropy,' Selene thought, 'but I will not.'
"Helen delayed Entropy," Selene said aloud. "I will not delay Extropy. Extropy was always meant to follow. Whether Helen succeeded or failed, it was destined to begin today."
Her voice rose in authority. "FUTURE RULERS, ARISE—FOR THE TIME HAS COME. LET THE GAME OF EXTROPY BEGIN."
"I hate you," Larile whispered.
"No," Selene replied calmly. "You don't."
In a sudden motion, Selene pressed Larile back against the door, silencing her with kisses—claiming dominance without hesitation.
"You're not my Selene… are you?" Larile murmured.
"What gave me away?" Selene replied, her touch unrelenting.
"My Selene isn't like this. She isn't domineering. She would be mindful of the dead, of the moment."
Selene smiled. "But you don't hate it. Come. Let's take this elsewhere."
Her hand found the doorknob and twisted. The door opened. They fell together—but not into the corridor. Instead, they vanished into a shifting, unfamiliar space, the doorway snapped shut behind them as if it had never existed.
Meanwhile, in Melt, Helen finally stepped out of the tear in space just before reality collapsed in on itself. What greeted her was both expected—and wholly unexpected.
Hours earlier, before she and Light had departed the Cyritus Hotel, Helen had inscribed the Reincarnation Formation, one she had memorised during Yamato's reincarnation ritual. It was a precaution more than a plan. Helen had never relied on spells or formations; such things were tools for others, not for her. That was where Light's importance became apparent. Even if Light himself possessed no knowledge of formations, someone among them would.
And so, the work was done.
When Helen and the Martins advanced into Kinhoale's dwelling, Light remained behind, painstakingly drawing the intricate formation—line by line, sigil by sigil—until it was complete.
What Helen had not anticipated was what lay at its center.
There, unmoving and unconscious, was Alexander.
An unnecessary presence. An unimportant being. Someone who, by all logic, should have had no role in anything that had transpired. Even to Helen—now stripped of emotion and hesitation—his placement was inexplicable.
Yet there he was. At the very heart of the formation.