A low hum pulses from deep in the earth.
**Rank Artifacts.**
Ancient relics — formless until claimed.
They don't *appear*.
They *awaken* — when a soul reaches the edge of their power.
Once bonded, they can **shift into any object**: a blade, a key, a mirror, a seed — whatever the wielder *truly* needs.
But their real power?
**Rank Evolution.**
Use one in battle. Survive a trial. *Prove yourself*.
And the Artifact *feeds* — growing stronger.
With enough trials… it can trigger **Ascension**:
- **Awakened → Warden - Herald - Devil -Ghost - ??**
But beware —
Artifacts don't just *help* you rise…
They *judge* you.
Fail?
They turn.
And consume their master.
Meanwhile...
Rain falls soft over the forest.
Alex steps through the trees — long coat brushing wet leaves.
The cabin stands empty. Door ajar. Fire cold.
He walks in — not rushing.
Eyes scan: the stone hearth, the leaf-bed…
then — the desk.
A handmade thing. Wood carved by hand.
On it — a half-burnt photo.
Sunny.
Smiling.
But fire ate half his face.
Alex picks it up. Tilts it.
"The Lost Echo…" he murmurs. "You're awake. And you *remember*."
He flips open the **Book of the End**.
Pages flutter — not in the wind.
*Reacting.*
"Arthur moves.
Sunny hides.
But where…?"
He closes the book.
Looks out the window — into the storm.
"Soon," he whispers.
"*We all return to the Black Continen at one point .*"
Alex snaps his fingers.
A chair forms — dark wood, carved with raven sigils.
He sits.
Another snap — a porcelain cup appears, steaming.
Tea. Earl Grey. *Just like before.*
A plate of cookies beside it — chocolate chip.
Homemade. Impossible.
He takes a sip.
No steam on his lips.
His hands don't tremble.
The book rests on his lap.
The photo still in hand.
"Strange," he murmurs. "You made a home…
in the middle of *nothing*."
He bites a cookie.
Chews slowly.
Tastes nothing.
But he pretends.
For old times.
Then sets it down.
And waits.
Not for long.
He *knows* Sunny will come back.
Everyone returns to what they've lost...
Meanwhile somewhere...
The group stands at the edge of **Witch's End** — a forgotten town clinging to the edge of the known world.
Wooden signs hang crooked.
*"Turn Back."*
*"No Entry After Dusk."*
*"They Watch From Below."*
Tom pulls his coat tight. "5,000 km from the Black Continent… but this is as far as the maps go."
Kierran scans the shadows. "Then we walk the rest blind?"
Arthur looks up — a raven perched on a broken spire.
It *blinks*.
Not at him.
*Through* him.
Lucas smiles — faint.
"We're close."
And somewhere beneath the town…
something *scratches* at the dark.
Kierran kicks a stone — it vanishes into the dust
"Five *thousand* klicks?!" he snaps. "We'll be old men before we get there!"
Tom doesn't look up. "The Collapse doesn't care about your legs, boy."
Kierran throws his arms up. "Then what's the point?! We're walking into a death zone with *hope* as a map?!"
Arthur: "We don't have a choice."
Kierran glares at the horizon — endless wilds.
"Yeah.
But I *hate* this choice."
Lucas nods slowly. "Kierran's right. 5,000 km on foot? It's suicide."
He turns to Arthur. "But I get it. You'd walk twice that for her."
A pause.
Then, quieter: "But what if *she's not there*?"
All eyes shift.
"Layla's signal… it's weak. And the System? It lies. It *plays*."
He looks at Arthur. "What if Alexis was never at the border?
What if… she's already gone?"
Rain starts to fall .
Arthur stands in silence staring at the horizon .
No one answers.
Arthur turns to Kierran.
"Do you have the modded transmitter?"
Kierran pats his coat — pulls out a small, cracked device. Lights flicker weakly.
"Still working. Barely."
Arthur: "Then we keep moving. We track the signal — *her* signal — until it leads us to her. Or proves it's a lie, I had secretly snuck a tracking device in her while I injected her with the medicine ."
He looks at Lucas. At Kierran.
"We don't stop. Not here."
Arthur grabs the transmitter.
Fingers trembling.
He tries to search for Alexi but suddenly...
A voice. Faint. Broken.
"…Arthur…?"
His breath catches.
"Layla? Layla, is that you?!"
More static.
Then — a whisper:
"Don't… trust… the—"
*Click.*
Gone.
Kierran: "Did you…?"
Arthur stares at the device.
"She's alive, Layla she is alive "
And someone just *cut her off*.
After two days of relentless march — through storms, Aether fog, and silent ruins —
the group stands on a ridge.
Below: scorched earth. Twisted trees.
The air hums.
Kierran checks the map. "Witch's End was 5,000 km out.
We've covered half."
**2,000 km to the Black Continent's edge.**
Tom: "At this pace… we'll arrive in two days and will have time to rest a little ."
Arthur stares ahead.
Will only have two days and 18 hours .
No room for rest.
No room for error.
They keep walking.
They soon see a small forest nearby which directly leads to a shorter path to the black continent but is full of headhounds.
The forest stills.
No birds. No wind.
Then — a growl. Not one. *Four.*
From the mist, they emerge: **Headhounds** — low, fanged, muscle coiled.
Each with *four heads*, eyes glowing dull red.
Weak? Yes.
But not alone.
They circle — slow. Hungry.
The air reeks of rot.
Kierran grips his weapon. "Weak doesn't mean *harmless*."
Arthur: "Stay sharp. They test us. See if we're worth hunting."
One lunges —
and the fight begins.
Arthur ducks — one head snaps, missing his neck.
He drives his dagger — *Tom's steel* — into the creature's side. It shrieks.
Kierran spins, slashing across two muzzles. Blood sprays.
His dagger glows faintly — *Aether-treated*.
One hound lunges at Arthur's back —
Kierran kicks it mid-air. "Behind you!"
Arthur rolls, stabs upward — through the jaw of a snapping head.
The pack howls — all four heads at once.
They're weak.
But relentless.
Then — Arthur sees it:
the *pattern*.
One head feints.
Another strikes.
"Kierran — go for the *center neck*!"
They move.
And together —
one clean cut —
the first hound collapses.
Two left.
Breathing hard.
But not done.
Arthur crouches — palms to the damp earth.
Kierran closes his eyes — breath steady.
They pull — gently — from the wild Aether in the air, the roots, the storm's leftover charge.
A faint glow builds in their hands.
"Now," Arthur says.
They release it —
**Fire Burst** — twin waves of blue-orange flame erupt,
crashing into one headhound.
It screams — all four heads — as fire *consumes*,
then collapses — ash in the rain.
One left.
But the forest feels… lighter.
They took its energy.
And made it *theirs*.
Arthur slashes — dagger glows as it cuts through a snapping jaw.
The blade *drinks* the Aether from the wound — channels it into his arm.
Kierran spins, stabs deep — his dagger hums.
Aether surges up the blade — into his core.
With every strike —
they grow stronger.
The last headhound hesitates.
It *senses* it now —
they're not just fighting.
They're *feeding*.
The headhound goes into a frenzy , attacks Kierran and launches him Into a tree
Kierran groans — blood on his temple.
One head snaps free — rams him into a tree again .
Tom and Lucas rush in.
Lucas presses a hand to Kierran's chest — faint glow.
"Stay still. You're not done yet."
Tom mutters: "Idiot. Pushed too hard."
Meanwhile —
Arthur stands alone.
Dagger in hand.
Sweat on his face.
The last headhound circles — all four heads snarling.
Arthur breathes.
*"This ends now."*
And charges.
Arthur crouches — fingers brushing the ground.
Two days of rain soaked into the soil.
And beneath — a thin layer of *frozen earth*, left from a passing cold front.
He smiles.
Places his palm down.
Pulls — not just water from the mud…
but the *memory* of ice beneath.
The ground cracks.
Black water surges — then *freezes* mid-air, forming jagged spikes.
He *twists* his hand —
the ice doesn't just stab up.
It *snakes* — wraps around the charging hound like a living chain.
One snap of his fingers —
the spikes *shatter*.
The beast collapses — sliced, frozen, *outplayed*.
Kierran, still dazed: "He just… weaponized *the previous day's weather*?"
Arthur then smashes the ice using his fist turning the headhound into nothing but Ice dust .
Lucas kneels — hands glowing faintly, not with Aether… but something *darker*.
His fingers press to Kierran's temple.
A soft pulse — like a heartbeat from beneath the skin.
Tom watches, tense. "You can *heal*?"
Lucas doesn't answer.
Kierran flinches — then relaxes.
The gash on his head seals.
Bruises fade.
But for a second — his eyes flash *red*.
Then normal.
Lucas pulls back.
"I'm not supposed to be able to do that."
But he *did*.
And the silence says:
*What else can you do?*
Tom steps forward — slow, deliberate.
"Lucas," he says, voice low. "You just healed a wound that should've taken days."
He pauses.
"Did you make a deal?
With the Watchers?
The Hollow Choir?
*Someone?*"
Lucas doesn't flinch.
But the air… thickens.
"I didn't make a deal," he says.
"I just *remembered* how."
Tom's eyes narrow.
"Remembering doesn't come free.
And nothing in this world gives power…
without taking something first."
Tom studies Lucas a beat longer — then turns away.
"Fine. Keep your secrets."
He starts walking.
But tosses back one last line:
"Just remember — some debts don't show up… until you're too far gone to pay them."
Arthur glances between them.
Lucas says nothing.
But the silence?
It's heavier than before.
Tom doesn't look back.
But his hand stays near his dagger.
Arthur blinks —
A blur.
A hand.
Then — *gone*.
Wind rushes in.
Kierran shouts.
Tom draws his blade.
But Arthur?
Vanished.
On the ground — a single note, folded like a raven's wing.
**"Back in 10 minutes.**
**Don't worry.**
**He's safe… for now."**
Lucas picks it up — face unreadable.
Kierran: "Who the hell *was* that?!"
Tom stares at the horizon.
"Someone fast."
"Someone who *knew* we wouldn't see it coming."
And in the distance —
a faint, echoing laugh.
Like thunder from a storm not yet here.
The figure takes Arthur to a secluded hilltop .
The figure stands before Arthur — still.
Slowly, he reaches up.
Fingers hook under the mask.
It lifts.
Beneath — **pale skin. Sharp features. Red eyes, glowing like embers.**
He smiles — cold, knowing.
Arthur tries to speak — can't.
Alex tilts his head. "Don't worry. You'll understand soon."
Then — the world blurs.
And everything goes black.
Alex removes the mask.
Not in a rush.
Not for drama.
But like he's revealing something *inevitable*.
Beneath — sharp face. Pale.
"my name is Alex Lionheart," he says.
"Ninth Watcher. Keeper of the Final Gate."
Arthur's breath catches.
And then —
the voice in his head *echoes*:
**"Don't trust him."**
Sudden. Clear.
Not a whisper now — a *scream*.
He *knew*.
Even before this moment.
But now?
The truth hits like thunder:
The warning… came from *inside* —
because it was *meant* for this.
Alex smiles.
As if he heard every thought.
"Ten minutes," he says.
"We'll see will be done talking ."
Then — silence.
And the weight of what's coming...