"Victory is a pause... not the end. Behind the calm, a new storm crawls silently."
Spring was almost here, yet the air in Frosthelm still carried the scent of metal and lingering magic. The sky seemed calm, but the ground held an unseen tension. The city was now filled with rumors—of a shattered ancient altar, of light splitting the night sky. But no one knew who did it... or perhaps, they chose to remain silent.
In a modest inn on the edge of the eastern district, I sat quietly. My left hand was still bandaged; the scars from the "Second Flame" hadn't fully healed. Although the pain had dulled, the strange sensation lingering beneath my skin kept reminding me that the battle at the altar left more than just physical wounds.
"You're still alive, and that's enough," said Elvira, leaning back on her old wooden chair. "But that expression... it says you know something has changed."
I looked at her face, radiating a rare glimpse of anxiety. With a soft voice, I nodded.
"When I destroyed the Dark Priest... I saw something." "Not just him. There was something behind it. Something bigger. Something that was waiting for all this to happen."
Elvira fell silent. Not because she didn't believe me, but because she knew—those words weren't empty warnings. Since the first time we touched ancient magic, the world had never been the same.
In the kingdom of Arvendel, within an underground room illuminated by blue lanterns, several nobles gathered in the shadows. The air in that room was thick with the smell of burning candles and high-tier protective magic. A man in a golden robe stood at the front. On his chest hung a medal shaped like a closed eye—the emblem of the Third Sky Order.
"Minato Ascheveil... he's still alive," he said coldly. "And he's touched final-tier ancient magic. Fate has spun faster than our plans."
Whispers filled the room.
"Will he be an obstacle?"
"No," the man in the golden robe answered calmly. "He is not an obstacle. He... is a catalyst."
"He will be the final fuel. And after that, the sky will open."
Someone swallowed hard. No one dared to object—because behind his words lay the script of a plan that had been crafted for decades.
Elvira spread a large map of the continent across the wooden table. On it, an ancient magic tracker glowed softly, showing three points of light that had never appeared before.
"Three active reactions," she said, pointing to the spots. "One in the west—Gravenshade Mountains. Another in the Ilmara Forest. And the last one... in the capital of the Tretz Empire."
My eyes narrowed.
"Tretz... the birthplace of the artificial heroes."
Elvira nodded slowly.
"And also the location of the last demon artifact experiment before the Great War. All old traces... are starting to return."
I stood up. My right hand gripped the hilt of my sword, which now felt heavier than before. A sword that had seen too many of the world's secrets.
"If this world is going to move, I must step forward first."
"Are you sure you don't want to rest first?" Elvira asked. "You almost died two weeks ago."
I turned, gazing at the sky that was slowly changing color. The morning breeze carried a chill, as if reminding me that time would not wait.
"I've rested enough."
"Now... it's time to seek the answers."
Far to the south, deep within the Ilmara Forest, still shrouded in magical mist, a young man with white hair stood atop the roots of a giant tree. Behind him, a monstrous figure emerged—a demonic magic beast with a shell-like insect body and three stacked glowing eyes.
The young man smirked.
"Minato Ascheveil... you've finally started to move."
His eyes narrowed. His right hand lifted, and dark magic flowed from his palm to the beast's body.
"If that's the case, let's begin round two."
The world began to move... but its direction was still uncertain.
And amidst the rising secrets, one name began to echo in the underground corridors:
Ascheveil.