The chamber they stood in was not part of the grand hall.
It was smaller.
But far more unsettling.
The walls were made of dark stone, smooth like polished obsidian, yet faint veins of pale blue light pulsed within them—like slow-moving blood inside a living body.
The ceiling arched high above, disappearing into shadow. No chandeliers hung here. No visible torches burned.
Yet the room was illuminated.
The silence in the chamber stretched thin.
Then—
The figure clad in silver armor stepped forward.
Each movement was precise, controlled. The metal that covered his body did not clink or scrape; it shimmered softly, as though forged from condensed starlight rather than steel.
His voice was cold. Calm. Absolute.
"Young Master Richard… it is time. Let us depart."
The words struck Richard harder than the earlier pressure.
'Young Master?'
Before he could react, the cloaked figure in deep crimson moved.
From beneath the folds of the hood, a pale hand emerged, holding a piece of translucent jade engraved with intricate patterns. The surface of the jade glowed faintly, as though something alive pulsed within it.
Without hesitation—
Crack.
The jade shattered between slender fingers.
In an instant, radiant lines of light exploded outward, forming a geometric array beneath their feet. Symbols ignited in midair, rotating in layered circles. The air bent inward, folding like fabric being gathered at a single point.
A formation.
Ancient.
Precise.
The chamber trembled softly as the light enveloped all four of them—Richard, the silver-armored knight, the crimson-cloaked figure, and the silent golden presence.
The pressure intensified.
Space twisted.
Sound collapsed into silence.
And then—
They vanished.
The room returned to stillness.
Only the faint glow of fading runes remained.
The green-haired overseer stood alone in the chamber.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he exhaled slowly.
A sigh—not of regret, but of reluctant acknowledgment.
"How extravagant…" he murmured.
His green eyes flickered faintly.
....
Darkness.
Not the darkness of night on Earth.
Not the kind softened by stars or moonlight.
This was absolute.
Endless.
A void stretching in all directions, swallowing light, sound, and time itself.
And within that infinite emptiness—
A floating island.
It drifted silently in the abyss, suspended as if reality itself had chosen to cradle it. Fragments of shattered stone orbited around it like broken moons. Waterfalls poured from its edges, cascading into nothingness below, vanishing before they ever reached a ground that did not exist.
At the highest point of the island stood a solitary hill.
Grass moved gently despite the absence of wind.
Ancient trees with silver bark shimmered faintly, their leaves glowing like scattered stars.
And then—
Space folded inward.
A circle of light carved itself into existence above the hill.
Symbols rotated.
Energy rippled.
Four figures emerged.
The silver-armored envoy stepped forward first, his boots touching the grass without making a sound.
The crimson-cloaked figure followed, robes flowing like liquid shadow.
The golden-aura figure appeared silently, radiating faint distortions in the air around him.
And finally—
Richard.
He stumbled slightly as his feet met solid ground.
His breath caught.
Above him, there was no sky.
Only an endless cosmic abyss filled with distant galaxies and drifting fragments of broken worlds.
Below him, the floating island glowed faintly, alive with quiet power.
His heart pounded.
"Where… am I?"
His voice sounded small.
Insignificant.
The silver-armored figure turned his helmet slightly toward him.
"You stand," he said coldly, "within the Outer Sovereign Domain."
The void pulsed faintly in the distance.
And far beyond the floating island—
Something enormous shifted.
Watching.
Waiting.
. ... ..... ... ...
Richard's hands were shaking.
Not slightly.
Visibly.
His breathing had become uneven, shallow, like his lungs had forgotten how to work properly.
Just minutes ago—he had been on his rooftop.
The cold tiles beneath him.
The moon above.
The quiet countryside air.
Now he was standing on a floating island in an endless void.
His mind couldn't process it.
It felt like a dream.
No—worse.
It felt too sharp to be a dream.
The grass beneath his shoes bent naturally. The air felt thin but real. His heartbeat hurt in his chest.
Fear wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't screaming.
It was quiet and suffocating.
His thoughts were chaotic.
This isn't real.
I hit my head.
I'm unconscious.
I'm dying.
But deep inside, something told him this was real.
He stayed silent.
Because that's what he always did when things became too much.
Observe.
Endure.
Don't make it worse.
Then—
Something inside his mind shifted.
Memories began surfacing rapidly.
Not slowly like normal recall.
They flooded him.
His childhood.
University days.
Covid isolation.
His brother knocking on his door.
But this time, he wasn't remembering them emotionally.
He was watching them.
Like scenes playing in front of him.
And a disturbing thought formed:
These memories belong to this body.
His stomach twisted.
But… they are my memories.
The contradiction made his head throb.
If this body had a past—
Then what was he before that?
Before he could think further, the ground trembled.
He instinctively looked up.
The massive statue rose slowly from the earth, stone grinding against stone.
It wasn't sudden.
It wasn't flashy.
It was heavy.
Oppressive.
His chest tightened as the statue towered above them. It wasn't just large—it felt significant. Like standing before something that should not be questioned.
And then—
Pressure.
An invisible force pressed down on all four of them.
Richard's knees buckled immediately.
He didn't choose to kneel.
His body gave in.
His palms hit the ground. His jaw clenched as he tried to lift his head, but it felt like hundreds of kilograms were pushing him down.
This wasn't aura like before.
This was authority.
When the statue's eyes slowly opened, glowing faint gold, Richard's heartbeat became painfully loud in his ears.
The lips moved.
Stone turning into flesh unnaturally.
The voice that came out was calm.
Too calm.
"This one is a failure."
No anger.
No disappointment.
Just evaluation.
"Remove him."
A brief pause.
"And sever his memories."
Richard's stomach dropped.
For the first time since arriving—
He felt real fear.
Not of death.
But of losing himself.
His memories.
His mother.
His brother.
His sister.
The moonlight on the rooftop.
If those were taken—
What would remain?