The night wind in Verlyn felt much colder when Lyona and I stepped out of the Mosslane Inn. The street lamps were extinguished earlier than usual, whether due to city orders to conserve energy after the dragon incident, or because the guards knew something they weren't telling.
The Central Archive lay in the old district—where cracked stone buildings, boarded windows, and every corner carried the damp scent of forgotten books.
We walked without speaking. Not because there was nothing to say, but because there were too many things waiting to be faced.
Lyona glanced at me every now and then. "Do you still hear it?"
"There's… a faint echo," I replied. "But not like earlier. Now it's like something is holding the voice back."
"Holding it?" Lyona frowned. "Who?"
I didn't know.
Or not who, but what.
The closer we got to the Central Archive, the night felt like it was being pulled into a dark pit—silent, heavy, and thick. The archive building itself stood towering, its walls covered in magical inscriptions to maintain stability. Yet tonight, some of the seals were cracked as if glass pressed from within.
We stopped in front of the slightly opened great door.
Lyona whispered, "Makoto, once again—whatever is inside isn't just Marchaos. I sense… something different from before."
"So do I."
I pushed the door open slowly.
---
Inside the archive, the air changed.
The temperature dropped suddenly. The blue crystal lamps flickered, their small flames seeming unwilling to ignite. Bookshelves towered like graves of knowledge, and at the center of the room… a cracked magic circle.
There was no Marchaos.
No black shadow.
There was only… silence.
I stepped forward, but Lyona grabbed my arm. "Wait."
"What is it?"
"This isn't Marchaos's trap," she said softly. "The energy is different. Older. More… structured."
I looked at the room again.
Yes. This wasn't the destructive, distorted style of Marchaos. The circle was too neat, too clean—like someone was trying to isolate this area from something outside.
I stepped into the center of the circle.
And the world changed.
---
Not teleportation. Not illusion. Not mist dimension.
I was still in the same room, but time stopped. The crystal lamps froze mid-flicker. Dust in the air halted like shards of glass. Lyona stiffened mid-call of my name—frozen as if the world limited her movement.
Only I could move.
And from above the room—from shapeless darkness—descended a voice.
Calm. Deep. Without emotion.
Not Marchaos's voice.
Not a human voice.
"Makoto."
I felt chills crawl down my neck. "Who… are you?"
A faint white light formed a faceless figure. Only a silhouette radiating divine pressure. There was no killing intent, yet its presence pierced deeper than any threat.
"I am the Main God. The observer of this world."
My heart stopped for a moment.
A god.
Ruler of reality.
An entity I'd only heard of in S-rank Adventurer legends.
"I summoned you," the voice continued, "because you carry an anomaly."
I held my breath. "Marchaos?"
"That name is irrelevant."
Its tone did not change. "What you call Marchaos is a fragmented version of your future. A form that should not exist."
I clenched my fists. "He's trying to destroy the world?"
"No."
A second of silence.
"What he is doing is trying to survive. His evolution is not evil… but defective."
I glared. "Defective?"
"You are not part of this world. Your arrival was an unrecorded variable. Yet your future fragment—what humans here call Marchaos—began mimicking our structure, the structure of gods."
Its voice lowered. Not angry.
More like disappointed.
"If left alone, he will grow beyond the system. And there will be two Makotos."
I jolted.
Two?
"The Makoto you see… and the Makoto you will become."
The figure slowly approached.
"This world does not permit two future points to exist simultaneously."
My throat dried. "Then… what do you want from me?"
The Main God tapped its finger.
And the world trembled.
Behind it… Marchaos's silhouette appeared. No longer vague—this time visible. A black cloak, a body like condensed shadow, red eyes glowing from a haze.
But Marchaos didn't move. As if someone restrained him.
"The choice is simple," said the God.
"This entity must be erased… or you must replace him."
My chest felt struck.
Replace him?
"You mean…" my voice cracked, "…I become him?"
"Correct."
My world collapsed.
Lyona—frozen in normal time—could hear nothing. She couldn't pull me out of this conversation.
Only me.
And the god.
And my own forbidden future self.
"I don't want to become him."
My voice shook. "No. I—I'm not that monster."
"Your desire is irrelevant."
Divine pressure slammed down.
My body nearly collapsed.
"This world allows only one Makoto. Choose."
---
Before I could answer, cracks of light appeared on the circle floor. Marchaos—who had been silent—turned slightly toward me.
Even frozen, his eyes seemed to look straight into my soul.
There was a message.
Very faint.
I almost didn't hear it, yet it still reached me.
"Don't trust… him."
Then… everything shattered.
Time resumed. Lyona gasped and shouted my name, pulling my arm hard.
"Makoto! Hey! You—vanished!"
My first breath felt like surfacing from drowning in black ocean.
I grabbed my head, panting.
"Lyona…"
My voice was rough.
"…something tried to make a decision for me."
Lyona stared. "Marchaos?"
I shook my head slowly.
"…worse."
Her eyes widened.
"Who?"
I looked at the open archive door as the night wind seeped in, trembling the crystal lamps again.
"The Main God."
Lyona froze.
"He… spoke to you?"
I swallowed.
"He wants to erase Marchaos… or make me replace him."
Lyona paled.
"Makoto… what will you do?"
I looked at my hands.
The choice wasn't just between me and Marchaos.
But between me… and this world.
And far behind Lyona's voice, I heard Marchaos's faint whisper—
"I will not let him decide for you."