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A vast observatory hangs at the edge of everything, overlooking the universe entire. Stars drift past its windows like slow breathing. Time does not apply here.
A hooded girl stands at its centre. Her face is hidden — all of it — except her lips, curved into a smile that knows too much. Dark hair spills from beneath the hood like ink into water.
A lamp was hanging from the ceiling ancient looking direct at the middle.
Suddenly a star blinked in the multiverse and the lamp ignetied not with the warm red flames but with cold blue flames that seem to devour light.
Then she speaks.
"Ah.. The third arrives now. Bound by destiny. Fated to die."
A pause. The stars drift.
"But their kind never follows destiny, do they."
It is not a question.
She turns — not to anyone, to everything —
"So this will be a different tale. They are not heroes. Not legends. Not the white-armoured, glowing-sword saviours. Not the godlike myths. Not the twisted villains. Not the ones driven mad until they become destroyers."
Her smile does not waver.
"They are the constant. An error. The ones who never bow. To anyone."
The universe listens.
"This is the tale of the Walker. The one who will walk — and walk — not on the path of his destiny, but on the path he has made. The Walker walks and never stops. Not until the destination comes."
She tilts her head, as if hearing something only she can hear.
"Heroes retire. Legends fade. Saviours break. Myths are forgotten. Villains are slain. Destroyers vanish."
"But the Walker — he fell. And rose. And continued to rise. Until no one could challenge him."
The smile widens. Just slightly.
"Let us get ready."
"For the tale of a cosmic error."
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What do you want next?