Before all else, there was the void.
I floated—not in silence, but in a realm where silence was law. Thought thundered here. A mere desire could ripple into galaxies. I could shape anything. Be anything. This wasn't power as mortals knew it—not magic, not divine command. This was Authority.
The original decree.
The force that told time it must move forward, that told the stars when to shine, that whispered to reality: become.
And yet…
"Does this even make sense?" I asked aloud.
Flashes interrupted the thought. Traffic jams. Broken phones. Cold ramen. A life of broken Wi-Fi and scheduled meetings. Earth—a world where people died in cubicles and prayed for weekend sales.
Was that world more logical?
A crack rippled through the void, not in fear, but in curiosity.
And then, the dream broke.
Southern Battlefield – Branthia Ridge
Kael Valtor stood on jagged blackstone, cloak torn and blood-drenched. Wind howled across the charred valley below, carrying the scent of scorched corruption and victory soaked in loss.
The siege was broken. Barely.
Biofortresses, grown from the living corruption of Vegrak'tal the Tyrant of Mutation, lay torn open like diseased wounds. Vile green ichor bubbled across the field, and mutated war-beasts twitched in death.
The human side hadn't won, exactly. But they'd survived. And that counted for something.
"Another miracle," muttered Major Torrin, spitting out ash. "Or a damned curse."
Kael didn't respond. His mind was already drifting—toward home.
Toward Seraphina.
His wife.
He hadn't seen her in months. And she'd been nearing her time. "Soon," they'd told him when he left last. "Maybe days."
He exhaled hard. The war gave no breaks. But maybe, just maybe—
"Commander!" a scout shouted, sliding to a halt. "Urgent message. Multiple high-value enemy generals approaching from the northeast ridge!"
Kael's expression darkened.
"How many?"
"Three. Confirmed visual: The Bone Hand, Maw Saint, and… gods help us—Fractal Blade."
Every officer went still.
Those weren't generals. They were executioners.
"Get the Nightguard," Kael said grimly. "And someone get my damn sword."
Branthia Ridge – Hours Later
The ridge had become a battlefield sculpted in dread.
Black frost coated every surface. Trees grew upside down. Gravity rippled unnaturally with every step. Time ticked wrong. This was enemy territory now—twisted by cursed rituals and divine corruption.
Kael arrived like a comet with his Nightguard at his heels—warriors forged in pain and magic, their armor humming with protective glyphs. They did not chant. They did not pray. Their silence was a blade.
Three enemies stood like titans before them.
Bone Hand, wearing his namesake like a cloak, rode atop a skeletal six-legged drake. The air around him reeked of rot and remembrance. He raised his staff, fingers twitching as corpses dragged themselves up from shattered earth.
Maw Saint, veiled in waxen linens, sang a hymn that made teeth ache and hearts sink. The world dimmed at his voice. His smile stretched too wide, like something drawn by a child who didn't understand faces.
Fractal Blade was already gone before she was seen—flashes in time, blinking in and out of visibility, her katana whispering through dimensions. She was death arriving before the cause.
Kael struck first.
His blade, Thorneater, roared with silver fire—the will of countless fallen. Each swing didn't just cut—it denied. Denied spells. Denied decay. Denied death.
He cleaved through Bone Hand's summons as though they were ghosts. One step, and he shattered the drake's spine. Bone Hand screamed and conjured a wall of memory-wrought bone—Kael shattered it with his shoulder and slammed him to the ground.
"You don't belong in this world," Kael growled.
"I was born from your sins!" Bone Hand hissed, before Kael drove Thorneater through his skull.
Maw Saint's hymn swelled in pitch, and three Nightguard turned on their brothers. One slit his own throat, smiling.
Kael didn't blink. He hurled the remains of Bone Hand's staff into Maw Saint's face.
They collided.
Flesh warped. Thoughts twisted. Maw Saint tried to pull Kael into delusion.
Kael answered with a headbutt.
"Shut up," he snarled, snapping the mad priest's spine over his knee. "Your god left you. I didn't."
Fractal Blade cut next—slices appearing on Kael's chest before she moved. He gritted his teeth, spun, and redirected a Nightguard's deflection mirror. Her own cut came back through time and slashed her side.
"You missed," Kael growled.
"Did I?" she whispered, smiling—and vanished again.
She blinked back into view, but this time Kael was waiting. He stabbed where she'd arrive, not where she stood. The trap rune snapped shut.
One down. One fled. One finished.
Kael dropped to a knee, panting. "Tell the wounded to regroup."
Captain Leen approached, bleeding heavily. "And you, sir?"
"I'm going home."
A Breather in Smoke and Ash
Kael stood alone at the cliff's edge, watching the ash drift like snowfall.
He should've been proud.
But he wasn't.
He should've been content.
But he couldn't be.
Because he didn't know what waited for him at home. Was he too late?
Seraphina. The twins. The unborn child…
"Gods, not now. Not after everything."
[Somewhere Else – In the Fold Beyond]
A small boy floated sideways in a sky filled with painted stars.
He wore a half-buttoned vest, mismatched socks, and had a sun-shaped lollipop melting down one hand.
The Sun God.
Age: Unmeasured. Appearance: 13-ish. Vibe: Absolute menace.
He licked his lollipop and stared into a floating golden orb. Inside it, the protagonist shimmered in a half-forgotten dream.
"He's dreaming again," the boy said, upside down.
Behind him, two other gods watched—Goddess of Life, radiant and calm, and Spirit Keeper, who wore smoke like a cloak.
"Should we intervene?" Spirit Keeper asked.
"No point," Sun God said. "This realm's rules aren't ours anymore. He wrote over them. Direct authority trumps divine influence."
Life folded her arms. "But the balance—"
"The balance is broken," Sun God said. "We're just here to see if he wakes up whole... or broken."
The orb flickered. Inside, the protagonist stood in darkness. Then light. Then snow. Then void again.
He was forming.
"Time to say hi," Sun God said and leapt forward.
[In the Dream]
The protagonist opened his eyes.
A golden horizon.
A child was standing on a hill.
"Who the fuck are you?" he asked instinctively.
The child blinked. "Language."
"Answer the question."
"You don't remember?" the kid asked, tilting his head. "I expected more drama. Lightning? A slow reveal?"
The protagonist stared. "You look like a 12-year-old cosplaying a sunbeam."
Sun God's expression twitched. "Listen, I've burned nations for less sass."
"Try me."
Silence.
Then the boy sighed and floated upside down again, licking his lollipop.
"Well," he muttered, "it seems you haven't remembered everything yet. Guess I came too early."
"Wait—"
"Nope. See you when your ego remembers how many galaxies you used to juggle."
And he vanished in a swirl of gold.
The void pulsed again. Warm. Familiar.
The protagonist exhaled. "I forgot everything…"
He looked down at his hand.
"But I remember everything, too. Because…"
He clenched his fist.
"…I rewrote the laws. And it took everything."
300 years. To return.
He woke up with a gasp.