The world was quiet.
Aurelion stood in the middle of a street—not the valley, not Central City, not anywhere he recognized. The buildings were strange. The sky was strange. The air smelled strange. He had been walking, trying to clear his head, trying to understand what was happening to him.
He felt it before he understood it—a flicker, a shudder, a wrongness in his own skin. His hands trembled. His vision blurred. The shards beneath his flesh pulsed with a light that was too bright, too erratic.
He looked at his hands.
They were flickering. Human. Demonic. Human. Demonic. The obsidian armor of Azrathor bleeding through the flesh of Aurelion Kade. The horns of the Demon King phasing in and out of existence.
No, he thought. No, no, no—
He stumbled, catching himself on a wall. His body was tearing itself apart. He could feel it—the two halves of himself fighting for dominance, neither willing to yield.
Something followed you home.
The Chrono Guardian's warning echoed in his mind. He had dismissed it—had convinced himself it was just a threat, a warning, a final jab from an ancient being. But it wasn't. It was a prophecy.
And it was coming true.
He didn't know how long he wandered.
The city around him was strange—advanced, but decaying. Gleaming towers stood next to crumbling buildings. Hovering vehicles drifted past abandoned cars. People in strange clothes walked past him without looking twice.
He didn't recognize any of it.
He found a bench and sat down, his body trembling, his mind reeling. The episodes were getting worse. His hands flickered—human, demonic, human, demonic. He could feel the two halves of himself tearing apart.
He was dying.
He could feel it. Not in the way he had felt death before—not the sharp edge of a blade or the cold grip of a wound. This was different. This was slow. This was a fading. A dissolving. A self unmaking itself.
He closed his eyes.
The night it happened, he was alone.
He had found a place to rest—a small alcove between two buildings, hidden from view. He sat in the darkness, listening to his own heartbeat. It was erratic—too fast, then too slow, then too fast again. His body was failing. His soul was failing.
He looked at his hands. They were trembling again. Flickering again.
Aurelion.
A voice. Not his own. Something else.
He closed his eyes.
The world fell away.
He was falling.
Not physically—spiritually. He felt himself being ripped from his body, torn away like a leaf from a tree. The darkness pressed against him from all sides, cold and hungry. The stars blurred past, streaks of light that made no sense.
He heard fragments of the Chrono Guardian's warning.
"You will slowly lose all of your memories."
"Eventually, you will be nothing more than a shell."
He tried to scream. No sound came out.
He fell.
And fell.
And fell.
Then—
Light.
Not the golden light of Uriel. Not the crimson light of the Demon King. Just... light. Soft. Warm. Gentle.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying on something hard. Cold. Metal. He blinked, his vision adjusting to the brightness. He was in a room—a small room, cramped, filled with strange machinery and glowing screens. The walls were metal. The floor was metal. The ceiling was metal.
He tried to sit up.
His body moved differently. Lighter. Smaller. Weaker.
He looked down at his hands.
They were small. Soft. Pale brown. The hands of a child.
No, he thought. No, no, no, not agai—
He scrambled to his feet, stumbling, falling, catching himself on the edge of a console. He looked around, searching for a mirror, a reflection, anything that would tell him what had happened.
He found one on a dark screen.
The face staring back at him was not his own.
It was a child. A boy. Nine years old. Maybe ten. Dark hair, pale brown skin, wide eyes that were not his eyes. He was wearing a simple tunic and trousers—clothes that looked worn, practical, strange.
Aurelion stared at the reflection.
The reflection stared back.
And then—
A voice. Inside his head. Small. Frightened. Young.
"Who are you?"
Aurelion froze.
The voice was not his own. It was the child's. The child whose body he was in. The child whose life he had stolen.
"Who are you?" the voice repeated. "Why are you in my body?"
Aurelion opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I'm..." He didn't know what to say. "I'm Aurelion. I'm..."
"You're not supposed to be here," the child said. "This is my body. My room. My life. You're not supposed to be here."
"I know." Aurelion's voice was barely a whisper. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't know how I got here. I don't know what's happening."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You're lying!" The child's voice was louder now, more frantic. "You're a demon! I can feel it! You're a monster!"
Aurelion flinched.
"Get out!" the child screamed. "Get out of my body! Get out!"
The child fought.
Aurelion felt it—a pressure, a weight, a force pushing against his consciousness. The child was weak, barely present, but he was determined. He was fighting for his body, for his life, for everything he had.
Aurelion fought back.
Not because he wanted to hurt the child. Not because he wanted to steal his body. But because he couldn't afford to lose. Not now. Not when he had just found a way home.
"Stop!" he shouted. "I'm not trying to hurt you!"
"You're a demon!" the child screamed. "Demons hurt people! Demons kill people! That's what my parents said!"
"I'm not—" Aurelion stopped. What could he say? He was a demon. He had killed people. He had hurt people.
But that wasn't who he was anymore.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice softer now. "I promise."
"You're lying!"
"I'm not."
"You're—"
"I'm not!" Aurelion's voice was sharp now, cutting through the child's panic. "Listen to me. I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I'm in your body. But I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to figure out what's happening. And then I'm going to leave. Okay?"
The child was silent.
"Okay?" Aurelion repeated.
A long pause. Then, quietly: "Okay."
Aurelion let out a breath.
He looked around the room again—the strange machinery, the glowing screens, the metal walls. He didn't recognize any of it. This wasn't the valley. This wasn't Central City. This wasn't anywhere he had ever been.
"Where am I, Noah?" he asked. "What is this place?"
"My home," Noah said. "My room. My shelter."
"Shelter?"
"The city," Noah said. "The city of New Haven."
Aurelion frowned.
New Haven. He had never heard of it.
"What country?" he asked.
"Country?" Noah sounded confused. "What's a country?"
Aurelion's blood went cold.
"What year is it, Noah?"
"Year?" Noah paused. "I don't know. The year of the Colossi? The year of the Godframes?"
Aurelion stared at the reflection.
The child didn't know what a country was. He didn't know what a year was—not the way Aurelion did. He spoke of Colossi and Godframes as if they were normal. As if they had always been there.
This wasn't his Earth.
This was something else.
He stepped back from the screen, his small hands trembling. The room around him was strange—cramped, cluttered, filled with machinery he didn't recognize. Screens flickered on the walls, showing data he couldn't read. A bed sat in the corner, unmade. A small desk held scattered papers and strange devices.
"Noah," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "What is this place? What are Colossi? What are Godframes?"
The child was silent for a moment. Then, quietly: "You really don't know?"
"No."
"But you're a demon. Demons know things."
"I'm not..." Aurelion stopped. He didn't know what he was anymore. "I'm not from here, Noah. I'm from somewhere else. Somewhere far away."
"Where?"
"A place called Earth."
Noah was quiet. Then: "This is Earth."
Aurelion froze.
"What?"
"This is Earth," Noah repeated. "The planet. The world. This is Earth."
Aurelion's mind reeled.
This was Earth. But it wasn't his Earth. The buildings were different. The technology was different. The history was different.
"Noah," he said slowly. "What year is it?"
"I told you. The year of the Godframes."
"What does that mean?"
Noah paused. "It means... it means the Godframes are still fighting. It means the Colossi are still here. It means..." He trailed off.
"It means what?"
"It means we're still alive."
Aurelion absorbed this.
He didn't understand. He didn't understand any of it. But he understood one thing—he was not where he was supposed to be. He was not on his Earth. He was not in his body. He was not himself.
He was trapped.
"Noah," he said. "I need you to tell me everything. Everything you know about this world. Everything you know about the Colossi. Everything you know about the Godframes."
"Why?"
"Because I need to understand. I need to figure out what's happening. I need to find a way home."
Noah was silent for a long moment.
Then: "Okay."