Meanwhile, far away, in another region of the Multiversal fabric.
The sun was lazily setting over the burnished steel rooftops. The streets of the kingdom of Nevrak were bathed in copper hues, while floating crystals softly hummed in the sky. It was a world where magic and technology coexisted with tension, like two ropes whimsically tied to the same mast.
The Last walked with his group along the cobblestone path, laughing after a successful mission. The hearty laughter of Tyron, his swordsman friend and a great marksman, broke the calm.
"Hey, buddy," he said with a lopsided smile, "I've always wanted to ask you something... Why do they call you The Last?"
The Last fell silent. For a moment, his eyes dimmed as if looking inward, towards an old, dirty, painful memory. He opened his mouth to answer... but didn't.
A distant murmur interrupted the moment. Two men were arguing by a stall selling magical fruits.
"...I'm telling you it's not normal. Last time, my staff barely let out a fizzle of fire. And it was fully charged. Something's wrong with the mana in the air, I feel it, brother."
"Yeah..." responded the other, an older man in guild officer robes. "The elders of the arcane council have been talking about 'structural failures in magical resonance' for weeks. Even they don't understand anything. They just know something is breaking."
The Last lowered his gaze, uncomfortable. It wasn't the first time he'd heard something like this. For days, spells had been failing more frequently, and some floating crystals had begun to fall from the sky without explanation.
"They say one of the royal sages from the old days has spoken again. One who never leaves his tower..." the man continued, lowering his voice. "That he feels something is about to break, though even he doesn't know what. He believes what's coming isn't from this dimension, though I don't even know what they mean by that."
The Last swallowed. He was about to speak, but then, a familiar voice called him:
"Ah... by all the planes... Look who it is!" exclaimed the old man in the gray robe, emerging from among the stalls. "Long time no see, young man!" It was the sage. He always appeared out of nowhere, always with that casual but disturbingly opportune tone.
"Could you help me with a small errand? I need to take some things to the eastern village. It's important, but... a bit private."
"Can we go with him?" Tyron asked, suspicious.
The sage responded with unwavering calm. "I'd prefer if he went alone. It's... a matter that only he can understand."
The group exchanged glances. They hesitated, but finally nodded. The Last said goodbye with a quiet smile, though his chest felt heavy as lead.
He walked with the sage through alleys as the villagers' voices faded behind them. The Last walked alongside the sage on a cobblestone path that led to an old square surrounded by twisted trees. It wasn't a secret place, but it was quiet enough for a conversation without curious glances.
"Hey, young man," the sage said in an almost relaxed tone, looking at the gray sky. "Have you also noticed what's happening with the magic?"
The Last nodded, a little wary.
"I heard it. Some magic soldiers complain that their spells are failing. Some villagers say there's less mana in the air. But no one understands why."
The alarming sage smiled wryly, with that typical expression of those who believe they know something others don't.
"Well... I see a future in this."
"What do you mean?"
"Business, young man. Business. If magic starts to fail and I manage to invent a stabilizer, can you imagine? We could manufacture artifacts that keep it 'healthy.' Control it, sell it... make a fortune!"
The Last frowned, unsure whether to admire his ingenuity or condemn his opportunism.
"And why don't you go alone?"
The sage chuckled softly. "Because, unlike me, you can still lift a sword without dislocating your shoulder."
The silence between them was filled with the distant sound of wind and dry leaves rustling across the ground. Finally, The Last sighed and looked up at the sky.
"I think we should start charging you for all this help," he said with an ironic smile.
Far off, hidden behind an old broken fountain and a vine-covered wall, his companions used scrying and listening spells to follow the conversation unseen.
"Are you picking anything up?" Kaela asked, frowning.
Rynn replied, "Almost nothing. The connection is destabilizing."
"This place is a magical mess..."
Tyron murmured, "It's not the first time I've seen that old man do weird things. A few days ago, I saw him leave the market with a sack full of dark crystals and illegal runes."
"Is he trafficking in forbidden things?" Kaela asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I don't know exactly what he's planning, but I don't like it. This goes beyond simple madness for power or money."
"Maybe he's just looking for solutions... or maybe there's something bigger I don't understand," Rynn murmured, without much conviction.
The spell flickered one last time, then broke completely, leaving only the sound of the wind and doubts suspended among them.
The square was silent and barely illuminated by the last rays of the sun. It was an almost abandoned place, a space that seemed forgotten by time and by people. However, something unusual broke the stillness: a child appeared playing among the stones, throwing a small ball against a wall and laughing without a care in the world.
The Last, walking with the sage, saw him out of the corner of his eye. For an instant, their gazes met. It was a fleeting but strange moment, as if an invisible flash had passed through the air between them. The child stopped abruptly, his smile vanished, and without a word, he turned and ran off towards a dark corner of the square.
The sage, walking beside him, frowned and looked at The Last with concern.
"Are you alright? Did something happen?" he asked, his eyes searching for any clue on his young companion's face.
The Last shook his head, trying to shake off the uneasiness that had invaded him. "No, nothing..." he replied, though his voice sounded hesitant. "But you said not many people usually come here."
The sage nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That's true, there's usually no one. But sometimes children sneak in here. This place is so empty that they come to play when no one sees them. They're... like shadows trying to find some light."
The Last, not entirely convinced, after a moment of silence added: "Well, do you know where we're going now? The village of Eldrath? If you don't have anything else to do, let's go."
The irritating sage, adjusting his robe, said, "Yes, let's go. I have to prepare a ritual that could change everything."
More than an hour passed since they arrived at Eldrath, the semi-abandoned village with ruined houses and streets that time seemed to have forgotten. The Last and the sage stood in the center of an old square covered with symbols and runes carved into the stone.
"This is where I'll perform the ritual," the sage said. "This isn't just a cheap trick to get gold; I designed it extensively to create the object."
The Last nodded, ready to help. "What do I do?" The Last asked, swallowing, looking at the runic star distrustfully. "Are you sure about this?"
The sage nodded with a tired smile. "Of course. It's not like anything... bad is going to happen. Just keep an open mind," he said, as his gaze briefly lost itself in a non-existent point. His eyes gleamed with a murky glow, as if they didn't entirely belong to him.
"First, I'll put a protection spell on you, just in case something goes wrong."
Then, he raised his hands and began to trace invisible lines in the air with his fingers, whispering words that had no human root. His voice multiplied, as if several mouths spoke from his throat. Each gesture seemed to unleash a vibration in the environment, as if something very ancient was responding from another plane.
The Last felt a tingling sensation run through his body as the spell activated. The star carved into the ground burned with an unnatural, dark, almost profane light. Ancient voices began to fill his head, whispering words in a language that even his own mage, the most erudite of the group, had never dared to pronounce.
Without warning, an invisible force lifted him off the ground. He remained suspended in the middle of the symbol, motionless, with his eyes closed as his mind was bombarded by impossible sounds. Tongues tearing at his consciousness. In a matter of seconds, his body became completely unconscious, floating like a will-less corpse.
In the distance, his companions, who had secretly followed the sage and The Last, felt a burst of energy that shook the air like a dry thunderclap. They ran towards the location, guided by the instinctive terror that this arcane explosion caused them, but they arrived too late.
Upon arrival, they stopped abruptly. In the center of the square, amidst the cursed circle, the sage lay kneeling, his body trembling convulsively, as if something fought to emerge from within. The Last still floated, unconscious, above the star that now seemed to burn with its own hatred, its black runes pulsating with unholy life.
The sage let out an inhuman scream, a dry, broken shriek that echoed as if multiple creatures were screaming from inside his throat. His flesh began to writhe, tearing into impossible patterns. As if it wasn't made to contain what was inside. Bones elongated, broke, reconstructed themselves. Black veins coiled around new muscles that surgically appeared where there were none before. From his broken mouth, tentacle-like tongues hung, dragging across the ground, leaving a viscous, steaming trail.
What once seemed human was no longer so. A creature emerged from within him, as if it had always been there, waiting. Its size vaguely resembled that of a golem, but its form had no symmetry or logic. It was made of living shadows and dark flames that crackled without emitting heat. Parts of its body momentarily pixelated, as if reality couldn't decide what form to give it. As if it were a glitch in the fabric of the world.
One of The Last's companions, upon seeing it, fell to his knees, gasping, sweating cold. He didn't faint, but his body trembled as if he had seen death itself.
"What... what the hell is that?" he stammered, his voice broken.
The entire group was paralyzed. What they saw had no name or meaning. It was like looking at a blasphemy against existence itself.
The creature turned its head—or what appeared to be a head—towards them. It had no eyes, no mouth, but it looked at them. They felt the gaze in their souls, as if something old and hungry had smelled them. The creature took a step, and the entire earth groaned as if it were about to give way.
At that instant, The Last suddenly woke up. He sat up in the air, still suspended by the spell, and seeing the scene, he extended his arm to invoke his magic. Nothing. Not a flicker. His power was completely sealed.
"Back!" Tyron shouted, gripping his weapon even though his hands trembled.
The creature raised a hand, composed of claws fused with dark flames, and extended it towards them. It was a single second away from smashing them to the ground and disintegrating them with a simple touch. The air became dense, burning their throats as they breathed. Nothing they knew could stop that.
And then...
From above, a vortex opened in the air like an interdimensional rift. A whirlwind of shadows sucked everything into it. The creature stopped. One edge crossed its body. Something larger called it. The force of the vortex dragged it as if it were wet paper. It deformed, stretched, screamed, and disappeared with a snap that left a hollow echo in the plane. Silence returned abruptly.
The air became heavy. The runes on the ground slowly faded. And only silence remained.
The Last fell to his knees on the ground, exhausted and disoriented, not knowing what had just happened, and finally passed out, enveloped in a cold sweat, with remnants of black energy still floating around him.
His companions approached cautiously. No one said a word. They just stared at the place where the sage had been. Or what was left of him. No one understood what they had witnessed. But they all knew one thing: what had happened there did not belong to their world.