Niko sat down beside Iri's bed, the dull cold of the stone floor pressing into his skin. The silence of the sector wrapped around him like a blanket—but not a warm one. This place had no sky, no stars, not even a ceiling. Just a void. A silence so thick it nearly had weight. A place where the House didn't lie to you—no illusions, no fake clouds, no sunsets to lull you into peace. Just reality. And reality here was empty.
He watched as Iri pulled the worn blanket over her shoulder and turned away without a word. She didn't say goodnight, and neither did he. You didn't waste words here.
Niko winced as he adjusted his arm. The soreness hadn't gone. His body was still recovering from the last encounter, muscles tight and aching. He pulled off his torn top layer, unraveling a bandage roll from his side pouch. Slowly, carefully, he began to wrap it around the still-healing wound beneath his ribs. The sting made his breath hitch.
"Still stings…" he muttered to himself.
His eyes drifted toward the bed again. Iri was still. Resting. Breathing.
He let out a long breath and rested his head against the wall, the silence wrapping around him again. His eyes closed slowly, and sleep took him.
A sharp voice ripped him awake.
"Get up."
Niko jolted upright, blinking. "Wha—what?"
Iri was already standing by the entrance of the room, fully dressed, cloak tied, boots buckled.
"We're going to the Pale Arc."
Niko's eyes were still crusted with sleep. "Wait. Why?!"
Iri shrugged. "Why not?"
"…Seriously?"
"Come on, I've already packed food."
There was no point in arguing. Niko groaned and stood up, stretching his arms with a wince. Still sore, but not dying. He strapped his sword to his back and followed her as she led the way out.
They descended the sector ladder, but before Niko could even get one step in. Iri was already gone. He didn't even hear her move. She had leapt down in total silence.
A rune fluttered up, glowing softly with pulsing energy. It drifted like a feather and landed in his palm.
"Teleport to Iri."
He had seen this rune before.
A moment later, the world around him bent—his vision pulling into a thin thread before snapping back—and suddenly, he was in the corridor sector again.
Here, unlike the voided sector below, the House faked its beauty. A false sky stretched above them—bright and streaked with golden clouds, the illusion of a perfect afternoon. Warm wind swept through the sandstone walls of the city beside them. Laughter echoed distantly. Lanterns swayed, as if this were a peaceful place.
But Niko knew better.
He and Iri walked through the twisting corridors and stone roads. The Pale Arc flickered in the distance—massive and spiraling like an open eye, slowly forming its gate. They would only have minutes to enter once it opened.
As they rounded a corner, Niko's eyes lit up. There, tucked beneath a crooked archway, stood a small stall covered in patched cloth. Its wooden sign was barely hanging on, carved with shaky letters: Cherry Mangoes – Final Batch.
Niko stopped. "Wait, wait—that's it. That's the shop."
Iri paused. "What shop?"
"I told myself I'd get one if I ever made it here. I've never had one before."
"You're seriously stopping for fruit right now?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"It's a promise I made to myself."
She scoffed and leaned against the wall. "Fine. Be quick, idiot."
Niko approached the stall. The vendor was old, hunched beneath a wide hood, skin like dry bark. His hands trembled slightly, arranging the fruit with ritual care. The mangoes were unlike anything Niko had seen—bright red with golden flecks, their skin glowing faintly, as if alive.
"I'll take two cherry mangoes," Niko said with a small grin.
The vendor turned toward him slowly. His eyes—clouded, silver-white—fixed directly on Niko's. His face remained still as stone.
"You have a storm ahead of you," the man whispered.
Niko's heart skipped. "…What?"
The vendor didn't blink. His voice was soft and hollow. "A storm. Cold and cruel. But you'll face it anyway. Thank you… for what you did in the city."
Niko tensed. "How do you know about that?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the basket, selecting two flawless cherry mangoes. He placed them into a small cloth satchel and handed them over.
"No charge. A gift."
Niko took them, swallowing a nervous breath. "Thanks."
He walked back to Iri, still turning the vendor's words in his head. She snatched one of the mangoes from the satchel without hesitation.
"You better not have paid too much," she said.
"Actually… he gave it to me free."
"Must've pitied you."
Before Niko could respond, she bit into the fruit—hard. Juice exploded from the side, dripping down her chin. Her teeth tore through the flesh like it was nothing. In less than a minute, the entire mango was gone.
Niko blinked. "You're a beast."
She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "Damn good. Should've gotten ten."
Niko kept quiet, still thinking about the vendor's voice. He considered telling Iri what he'd said, but something held him back. Maybe he didn't want to admit it scared him.
As they neared the Pale Arc, the false sky above them began to shift. The "sun" began to dip toward the horizon—though it was only an illusion. A signal that time was short.
They found it—a narrow alley of black stone, hidden behind a tilted stairwell. At the end of the alley, a tear in reality shimmered, barely large enough for a person to squeeze through. The Pale Arc. Forming. Breathing.
The air became colder.
Iri turned toward him, one hand on his chest.
Her eyes gleamed.
"Welcome," she said, "to the real House."
And with a smirk, she shoved him into the tear.
The corridor vanished.
The warm wind. The sky. The illusion of peace—gone.
All around him was colorless. Directionless. Light twisted like oil on water, and gravity pulled sideways. For a moment, Niko couldn't even tell which way was down.
Then Iri stepped through, calm as ever.
Here in the Pale Arc, the House didn't pretend anymore.
No mercy. No sky.
Only what truly waited beyond the door.
And something ancient… already watching.
…
…
…
The realm of shadow was still.
Nothing stirred.
A hollow, black expanse stretched infinitely in every direction, broken only by the pulse of violet stars that flickered like dying embers. In this place, time moved strangely. Faster when you wanted it slower. Slower when you wished it would end. And here, in the depths of this private world carved from darkness itself, lived a boy who laughed like nothing mattered.
Juno.
His cloak of shadows swirled lazily as he leaned back on a throne not made of stone or wood, but of coiled shadow tendrils that moved subtly with every breath he took. His left hand was still wrapped in thick gauze, faint glimmers of black energy escaping from the seams. A grin stretched across his face—wide and content.
"Hah…" he chuckled to himself, eyes staring up at the swirling nothing above. "That was awesome."
Across from him, Mena stood silently, her violet hair falling over her shoulder like silk, the blindfold still covering her eyes.
"My lord," she said gently, "you are still injured."
"I know," Juno replied, laughing again as he pressed a hand to his bruised side. "But did you see her face when I got that hit in? Priceless. I thought she was gonna kill me for real!"
He shook his head, leaning forward on the throne now, elbows resting on his knees.
"I haven't had that much fun since… huh…" He paused, thinking. "Since I got here, maybe. Yeah. Iri's intense. Way too serious, but man, she's sharp."
Mena tilted her head slightly. Her voice came soft. "My lord… it's only been a year."
The words made Juno blink.
He sat upright again, blinking toward the ceilingless void as if realizing something for the first time.
"Only a year?" he repeated.
Mena nodded.
There was a long pause. And then Juno shrugged.
"Huh. Weird. Feels like longer. Like… way longer. I feel like I've always been here."
"You haven't," Mena replied, stepping closer. "You arrived bleeding and laughing. A year ago to the day."
Juno grinned at that. "Bleeding and laughing, huh? Sounds about right."
He lifted his left hand slowly, unwrapping the gauze one layer at a time. Shadow leaked out from underneath, writhing like mist caught in a bottle. His fingers curled slowly into a fist.
"I've heard of the Pale Arc," he muttered. "That's where the real ones are. Most of the Ten—they stay there. That place is their playground, their kingdom… their prison, maybe."
Mena's blindfolded face turned toward him again. "You are thinking of leaving."
"Thinking?" Juno scoffed. "I've already decided. I've stayed down here long enough. What's the point of shadow if you never step into the fire?"
He stood, shadow trailing behind him like a living cape. The throne melted back into the floor, vanishing into the dark.
Mena bowed low. "Then I shall prepare."
He turned to her, flashing a grin that could have belonged to a devil or a child.
"Pack light," he said. "We're not going for a vacation. We're going to crash the main stage."
"And if the Pale Arc resists?" Mena asked, already retrieving her twin daggers from the altar of swirling shadow behind her.
Juno chuckled. "Then we show them what darkness really looks like."
He walked to the edge of his domain, where the shadows thinned just enough to form a path—a long one, winding up toward the surface of the House. His form shimmered slightly as the realm responded to his will.
The void groaned.
Above, the walls of the shadow began to crack just slightly—an opening forming.
"Let's go," he said.
Mena appeared beside him in an instant, blades sheathed, cloak already fluttering as she matched his stride.
The shadow dimension—his sanctuary, his home—began to dissolve behind them.
And Juno walked forward, toward the unknown.
Toward the Pale Arc.
Toward them.
…
…
The moment Niko and Iri stepped into the Pale Arc, the world shifted.
All at once, there was nothing. No floor. No walls. No ceiling. Just white—pure, endless, suffocating white. Not light. Not fog. Not even silence. Just a void that hummed with tension, like something ancient was holding its breath.
Niko blinked rapidly, his heart already pounding. He couldn't tell if he was walking or floating. There was no direction—no gravity—just the sense that if he moved too far from Iri, he might simply vanish.
"How do you know where to go?" he asked, voice uncertain in the stillness.
Iri didn't look at him. Her gaze was locked ahead—though what "ahead" meant in this place was anyone's guess.
"I've been here before," she said flatly. "Years ago. When I fought Morrow."
That made Niko shiver. "She brought you here?"
Iri shook her head. "No. She was here. This is where she thrives. The Pale Arc follows no law, no direction, no time. It drops you where it wants. Last time… I got lucky. This time, I'm making sure we land together."
She glanced at him, eyes sharp. "Stay close. If you get even a few steps away from me, we'll be dropped in different places."
That was enough. Niko inched closer, practically shoulder to shoulder now, his eyes darting around the blinding void. There was nothing. Not even his own shadow.
And then—
The void collapsed.
It didn't vanish. It collapsed, like the floor beneath them had never existed. One instant, Niko was beside Iri. The next—
He was falling.
Falling fast.
Air slammed into his face as sound returned like a slap. The scream ripped from his throat before he could stop it. The white gave way to blue—a vast, endless sky above him, painted with long, drifting clouds.
Below him… was land.
The first thing he saw was green. Sweeping fields of it. Mountains in the far distance. Winding rivers. Stone towers. And a city—a real city—resting in the cradle of hills, built from pale brick and silver rooftops. It looked medieval, ancient, but alive.
"What do I do!?" Niko yelled, still tumbling through the air.
Beside him, Iri was already in a dive, cloak fluttering like wings, expression calm.
She looked over with a half-smile and shouted, "Brace for impact!"
He barely had time to flinch before they tore through a layer of clouds, wet and cold and wild. The wind roared in his ears. His limbs flailed. His thoughts blurred into chaos. But even through the panic, he caught Iri's face again—and it wasn't smiling now.
It was serious.
"Where are we!?" he shouted through the wind.
"The 50th ring," she replied. "They call it The Sanctuary."
The name seemed gentle—safe—but her tone was not. There was weight in it. Warning.
She continued, "Even though Morrow is a wanderer… this is where she returns. Her anchor. Her grave. Her throne."
Niko gulped, clouds rushing past. The land below was so clear now. The breeze from the fields curled upward, laced with warmth and wildflowers. The sun above them was golden—real—and the sky stretched on forever. A sky. A real sky. Not illusion. Not ceiling. Sky.
Then Iri raised one hand, and a rune flared to life. Gold, etched with delicate patterns, pulsing with soft power.
"Feather Falling," she murmured.
Instantly, Niko's speed slowed. The pressure vanished. He felt as though he were being cradled by the wind. His descent turned from a plummet into a drift, like a leaf on the breeze.
They touched the earth with barely a sound.
Niko dropped to his knees, grass brushing against his palms. It was warm. Soft. Real. Wind ruffled his hair. Somewhere, birds were chirping. The scent of spring surrounded them.
He looked up. Blue sky. White clouds. A world.
He whispered, "This can't be the House…"
But it was. Iri confirmed it with a single glance toward the distant city. "This is one of the only places in the House with a sky," she said. "And it fools people. Makes them think they're free. But this is still a ring. Still part of the machine."
Niko stood slowly, stunned by the sheer beauty around them. "It's… huge."
"Continental," Iri said. "Some say it's the largest ring. Others say the most dangerous. Not because of the monsters, but because of who rules here."
Niko didn't need to ask.
"Morrow," Iri said flatly. "She's somewhere out there. And if we're here long enough, she'll know."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The grass swayed gently in the wind. The illusion of peace held strong—but Niko could feel it. Beneath the surface. A weight. A pull. A waiting.
He looked at Iri. "So what now?"
She exhaled slowly. Then turned toward the city in the distance.
"Now?" she said. "We walk. We explore. And we hope we don't run into the queen of time herself."
And so they moved forward—two figures walking beneath the rare sky of the House, toward a city wrapped in sun, secrets, and the ever-looming shadow of Morrow.
Introduction End.
Sanctuary arc Begin.