The realm Jin stepped into was quiet. Too quiet.
Ashen clouds curled like smoke over a cracked, colorless sky. Trees—if they could be called that—stood twisted and calcified, like forgotten bones. Beneath them, nestled in the ruins of something once divine, Zhel-Vorah sat silently on a broken throne carved from obsidian and bone. His body bore signs of recent conflict—gashes across his chest, fragments of burnt cloth, and dried blood crusting his lips.
Jin walked forward slowly, his new form casting an ethereal light that dispelled the shadows around him. His robes of white and red whispered with each step, the dragon-forged sword Ragnar slung behind him like a sleeping comet.
He stopped before the broken throne.
"I think you got beat up pretty badly," Jin said softly, the smallest smirk tugging at his lips.
Zhel-Vorah glanced up, his voice calm and entirely lacking authority—but filled with something more ancient: serenity.
"You're looking good this time," he said.
"Thanks. I put in the effort." Jin shrugged slightly, blue and red eyes studying his father. "Where's Nyreth?"
Zhel-Vorah closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, the blue pupils sharp with knowledge.
"He went to the Throne World. To the heart of the True Realms. Where the five ancient Thrones lie in waiting."
Jin extended a hand with quiet confidence. "So what are we waiting for?"
Zhel-Vorah smiled faintly, but when he reached out to grasp his son's hand, his expression subtly changed. A chill ran through his fingers—a sensation not of fear, but of uncanny familiarity.
He whispered more to himself than Jin, "So he merged with the Nocturnal race... but the fusion is incomplete."
Jin narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Zhel-Vorah stood and exhaled, gesturing at his son's frame. "There's a reason the Nocturnal race went extinct. They had an ability no other race dared touch: the 'Blank Page.' A divine concept."
Jin blinked. "Blank Page?"
"It allows the wielder to 'write' any power into themselves. Any power they see, any power they know—becomes theirs. You already have stolen the true power of Zenex… but a blank page only has so much space before it breaks. Your current vessel—" he paused, "—has cracks. It was made too quickly."
Zhel-Vorah's tone darkened slightly.
"You're wielding the Ragnar Sword… a blade even Elder Gods feared. Your spirit is willing, your will is steel—but how long can your body endure?"
Jin absorbed the words in silence.
Zhel-Vorah smiled wearily. "But how did you know I was defeated?"
Jin offered a sheepish grin. "I read your memories."
Zhel-Vorah's eye twitched. "...You what?"
"Most of them. Not all." Jin said quickly, holding up his hands. "I skipped the parts about what you did with Mom at night."
Zhel-Vorah clenched his fists, muttering to himself, "By the ancient ones... he really is his mother's son."
With a groan, he summoned something in his palm—a jagged stone mask, half-carved, etched with old runes.
Jin tilted his head. "What's that?"
"This," Zhel-Vorah said, lifting the mask, "is my Stone Mask. It's designed to shatter my own limitations."
He turned to Jin. "Do you remember what I told you about Origin Generations when you are child?"
"First Gen controls elements as a canvas—Time, Space, Reality, Destiny," Jin recited. "Second and Third Gens can't use elements but they have developed their own unique powers."
Zhel-Vorah nodded, satisfied. "This mask will help me breach my limits and fight a First Gen Origin like Nyreth."
Jin folded his arms. "I already knew that."
"How—"
"I told you at the beginning. Just remember this carefully."
Zhel-Vorah realized something. Now his vein throbbed. "...I should've used a mental firewall."
With that, he cut his palm and pressed the bleeding hand against the mask.
Blue light bled from the sockets of the stone. The empty eyes of the mask opened, glowing with searing brilliance. In that moment, the sky trembled, and Zhel-Vorah stood tall—new energy coiling around him like dragons of dark flame and golden starlight.
His black cloak fluttered behind him as the mask cracked and dissolved, leaving his aura blazing like a miniature sun.
"Let's go." Zhel-Vorah's voice was fierce, rejuvenated.
Jin gave a rare smile. "Right behind you… Dad."
Zhel-Vorah turned to his son, eyes softening for just a heartbeat. "I never told you this before, but… I'm proud. Of who you are becoming."
Jin stepped forward and opened the portal with a slash of his sword. As the veil between worlds split open and white-gold light flooded in, father and son stood shoulder to shoulder—warriors of blood and fate.
"Let's go teach this idiot what it means to challenge the will of legacy."
"And destiny," Jin added, stepping through the gate.