As humanity rested and struggled to prepare the heartland for its return to Earth, the wider universe remained in motion, vast and indifferent. Trillions of trials were still unfolding across countless worlds, each one shaped not by fairness, but by something far more chaotic. The instincts of the awakening universe did not concern themselves with balance or justice. Civilizations were paired based on the cultural weight they carried, not their strength, not their readiness, and certainly not their survival chances. To the universe, they were nothing more than flickers of existence—interesting, perhaps, but insignificant.
This led to outcomes that ranged from absurd to catastrophic. Entire aquatic civilizations of mermaids found themselves pitted against airborne harpies, locked in battles neither could truly escape nor fully dominate. Elsewhere, far more brutal mismatches unfolded, like dragons descending upon jackal-like beings whose extinction came within days. And deeper still, near the core of existence itself, ancient civilizations that had lived with the system for thousands of years continued their trials with quiet, terrifying efficiency. Compared to them, humanity was still a newborn.
Arin awoke slowly; the first sensation that reached him was softness. It took him a moment to understand what felt so strange. A bed. A real bed. Not cold ground, not rough fabric, not armour digging into his back. Just softness. His eyes opened, blinking against unfamiliar light as he stared at a ceiling that held no cracks, no stains, no signs of war. "Where am I?" he muttered, his voice hoarse but steady. "This doesn't look like anything I know."
The room was unnervingly simple. A bed. A door. Nothing else. No decorations, no personal items, no signs of life. Everything was gray, uniform, almost artificial in its perfection. Arin sat up slowly, his body responding without pain for the first time in months. That alone felt wrong. The absence of exhaustion was more unsettling than the fatigue had ever been. "Well… that's new," he murmured, flexing his fingers as if expecting them to fail him.
He glanced down at himself and froze for a moment. Gone was his armour, his worn gear, the tools he had come to rely on. In their place was a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, clean and comfortable in a way that felt foreign. Even his hair—he reached up instinctively—was neatly trimmed. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, running his hand through it. It moved smoothly, without the uneven cuts and rough patches he had grown used to. Ha, finally not hair cut by grandpa and his dull knife" he added under his breath.
With nothing else to do, he stood and approached the door. The silence pressed in on him, thick and unnatural. There were no distant sounds, no voices, no movement. Just stillness. "Guess there's only one way forward," he said, more to himself than anything else. He opened the door and stepped through.
What greeted him was not what he expected.
The space beyond resembled a private theater, large yet empty, with rows of seating leading down toward a single screen. A projector stood at the back, humming faintly as if waiting for him. And just like the room before, everything was gray. "Of course it is," Arin sighed, rubbing his temples. "Why is everything gray?"
He moved cautiously, his footsteps echoing softly as he approached the nearest seat. "Does this thing even work?" he muttered, glancing at the projector. Instinctively, he tried to summon his status screen, to call upon the system that had been a constant presence in his life. Nothing answered. The silence that followed was heavier than before.
"…Great," he said flatly.
With a resigned breath, he pressed the projector's button.
At first, it flickered weakly, the light unstable. But something strange happened with each flicker. Color returned—just for a moment—before fading again. It was subtle at first, like a memory trying to surface, but with each pulse, the gray world seemed to crack, revealing glimpses of something more vibrant beneath. Arin frowned, watching closely as the machine stabilized.
Then, suddenly, the color stayed.
Arin sank into the leather seat without realizing it, his body relaxing as the screen lit up. "So this is it…" he murmured. "Some kind of victory speech, I guess." The last thing he remembered was the battlefield, the portal closing, the overwhelming exhaustion. Whatever came next… this had to be it.
As he settled in, a sound filled the room.
Voices.
Not one, not many—but countless, layered together in a harmony that was both gentle and overwhelming. They surrounded him, not coming from any single direction, but from everywhere at once. Warm. Familiar. Ancient.
"Welcome home, Arin."
He froze.
"You have fought valiantly for your race and made your ancestors proud."
The screen lit up with words as the voices continued, calm and steady. "In this trial, you have slain 11,472 goblins. Of these, 3,547 had advanced in their breathing techniques. Among them were three dreaded priests."
Arin's breath caught in his throat.
"You, Arin Sonnenberg, second son of Teun Sonnenberg, descendant of the ancient Sonnenberg lineage, have brought honour to humanity. We will watch over you, over your people, and over this world for ages to come. Continue forward. Do us proud."
The moment the voices finished, Arin's vision blurred.
Images flooded his mind.
He saw people—countless humans—bowing to him, their expressions filled with warmth, not submission. Gratitude. Respect. Then the scene shifted. A legion appeared before him, clad in armor of a bygone era. Roman soldiers stood in perfect formation, their golden eagle raised high. Without a word, they saluted him in unison, their movements precise and unwavering.
Arin's chest tightened.
Then came the forest.
His forest.
Trees he had climbed as a child stretched endlessly around him, their leaves whispering softly in the wind. Figures stood among them—men and women, some familiar, others unknown. His ancestors. They smiled at him, not with pride alone, but with something deeper. Acceptance. Peace.
One by one, they turned away.
And dissolved into the forest.
Arin's vision snapped back to the theater. Tears streamed down his face before he even realized what was happening. "What… was that?" he asked, his voice breaking. "Why did it feel like they were… leaving?"
The answer came immediately, but this time, the voice was different.
Cold. Precise. Unmistakably the system.
"Because they were."
Arin clenched his fists.
"Those were the remnants of your forefathers," the system continued. "Echoes of those who once lived, bound to the land as proof of their existence. With the evolution of your world, such remnants would become unstable. They would devolve into vengeful entities, hindering humanity's growth."
Arin lowered his head, his shoulders trembling.
"They chose to act before that could happen. They have fused with the world itself, strengthening it and ensuring a greater future for their descendants. In exchange, they were granted the opportunity to say farewell."
Arin's voice was barely a whisper. "The legion… they saluted because…"
"They fell within your lands," the system confirmed. "Their final allegiance remained."
Silence followed.
"Do not grieve," the system said. "This was their decision. Through this act, their souls are bound to the destiny of humanity. As your race grows stronger, as it advances, the path for their return will open. They will be reborn."
Arin covered his face, tears slipping through his fingers.
"Then I'll do it," he said hoarsely. "I'll make sure of it."
He looked up, eyes red but steady.
"I'll make sure they come back."
For the first time since waking, there was no hesitation in his voice.
Only resolve.