After the unexpected meeting with Aris, Karl quietly left the village of Valon, returning to the Evermount as dusk painted the sky in shades of red. He said nothing. No reason, no farewell — like a passing breeze.
That night, he went to bed earlier than usual. But rest did not bring him peace.
In his dream, Karl stood in a formless space — no ground, no sky, only a hazy mist of glowing light. From the distance, a priestess appeared. Her long silver hair flowed in an unseen wind, and her robe shimmered with a gentle glow. Her eyes had no pupils, only pure light, and her voice echoed as if spoken from a hundred years ago.
"Bearer of the eternal blood… your trial draws near. When the gate opens, you must choose — to protect or to destroy."
Karl couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Strange glyphs spun around him like a glowing ritual circle. Behind the priestess, a mirror materialized — showing Enel consumed by fire, faceless black knights, and a towering figure crowned with twisted thorns.
Karl tried to move within the dream, but it felt as if invisible chains held his body in place. The priestess stepped closer, her aura bending the space around them.
"You still carry eyes full of doubt," she said, her voice echoing like wind through an ancient valley.
Karl frowned. "Who are you?"
"I have long since forgotten my name," she replied. "Merely a guardian of dreams… and the threshold between this world and the darkness rising."
"This dream… is it a warning?"
"Not just a warning. It is a fragment of a forgotten memory. A part of the truth you've buried deep inside."
Karl remained silent. He felt something stirring within him — as if his soul had been touched by an ancient bell's toll.
"The day will come," she continued. "When the sky is torn apart, and blood stains the land of Enel. You must choose — to run as you always have… or to stand."
"…I made that choice once," Karl whispered. "And the price was memory… and blood."
The priestess only smiled. "And this time, the price will be everything."
The dream dissolved. Karl awoke — the sky still cloaked in night, his heart racing as though he had just escaped a real battle.
The faint light from the horizon began to creep through the clouds, bathing the world in a soft amber hue. Karl quietly stepped out of his room, poured some water into a kettle, and lit the wood stove.
The gentle bubbling of boiling water felt like a familiar whisper, easing his nerves. He brewed a cup of hot tea, took a seat on the porch, and silently watched the sun rise beyond the distant hills.
"The guardian of dreams… what a strange title," Karl muttered, his eyes still lost in the distance.
The image of the priestess lingered in his mind — the hazy light that surrounded her, her cryptic words, and the look in her eyes… as if she had known him long ago.
"I made that choice once…" The words echoed again in his mind, like an old wound reopened. He took a sip of tea, grimacing slightly at the bitterness.
"This… probably wasn't just a dream."
Still, Karl wasn't in a hurry. He sat quietly, letting the steam from the tea mingle with the morning breeze and his silent, nameless doubts.
After finishing his tea, Karl stood up, brushed the dust off his cloak, and walked into the deepest room of his home — his private study.
Sunlight from a high window spilled down onto wooden shelves, where ancient tomes, yellowed by time, lay in still silence as if waiting to be awakened. The scent of old parchment, ink, and beeswax mingled in the air, forming a space where Karl always found peace — and truth.
He pulled out a chair and sat down, opening a tattered, handwritten journal with a cracked leather cover. In last night's dream, when the priestess spoke to him, strange symbols had appeared, swirling around his body like a magical circle — glowing, flickering, real. And now, Karl knew they weren't merely figments of sleep.
He turned to a page depicting a runic circle — eerily similar to what he had seen in his dream.
"'The ancient language of Etherion… revealed only to those who have touched the border between dream and reality.'" He read the faded note scrawled along the margin.
Karl's eyes narrowed. Etherion... a name he hadn't thought of in a long, long time.
"Could she… be from Etherion?" he whispered, tracing the lines of the symbols with his finger.
The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the rustle of turning pages and the quiet murmurs of doubt and distant memory.
t was late afternoon when Karl donned his cloak, pulled the conical hat low over his face, and left Mount Eternal. A gentle breeze swept past his shoulders, as if whispering warnings. He said nothing — just moved silently in the direction of Valon village.
In his mind, the strange characters from the dream still danced like flickering flames in the dark. They hadn't left him since morning.
"There must be a record somewhere," he muttered. "The ancient library in Valon held scrolls from the early royal dynasties… If any of them survived the Great War, they'll be there."
When Karl reached the village gate, a few villagers cast wary glances his way, perhaps recognizing the tall, cloaked figure, but none dared approach. Beneath the grey folds of his cloak, Karl walked steadily down the uneven stone path toward the village's heart — where the old library sat, like a ghost from another time.
The wooden door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, the air was thick with mildew, old parchment, and the faint scent of forgotten years. Dim light filtered through high windows, casting shadows across shelves laden with dust.
An old man was dozing at the reception desk, his head nodding in rhythm with his breathing. Karl didn't disturb him. He merely bowed slightly and turned toward the back section — the least visited part of the archive.
After a while of searching, Karl's eyes landed on a decaying black leather-bound book. The faded title was written in an ancient tongue, but a few of the symbols matched those from his dream.
He opened it.
A spiral of runes appeared on the first page — the exact formation from his vision. In the center lay a symbol: two interlocked circles with a single eye in the middle… crying.
Karl froze. His fingers gripped the edge of the page tightly.
"What is this…?" The question echoed in his mind, but no one answered.
"Still skulking around like a ghost, huh?"
Karl flinched and turned. The voice was light as a breeze but hit him like a thunderclap. In the dim glow of the ancient library, Aris stood leaning casually against a dusty bookshelf, her eyes narrowing as if she'd just caught a misbehaving child red-handed.
"Aris?" Karl frowned, surprise creeping into his tone. "Are you following me?"
"No, I just came here to… read," she said, trying to maintain a serious face, though the corners of her lips betrayed a smirk. "Didn't expect to catch the mysterious hermit fondling ancient tomes."
Karl sighed, closing the book. "You always appear out of nowhere."
"And you always make me curious." Aris stepped closer, eyeing the black leather-bound book. "What's this? Looks cursed."
"Maybe it is," Karl replied flatly. "I'm not sure… but it's connected to symbols I saw in a dream."
Aris fell silent for a moment, then whispered, "I dreamt of them too."
Karl stared at her, eyes sharp as a blade. "What did you say?"
"I'm not joking." She folded her arms. "The same markings. The same feeling… like someone's trying to send a warning."
They stood among the ancient shelves, the silence between them thick and tense. A chill crept into the air, as if the old stones were listening.
Then, just as suddenly, Aris shattered the mood:
"But if someone's going to destroy the world, I'd bet you're in the top three."
Karl chuckled. "And you'd be number four."
The initial tension faded completely, replaced by an odd warmth—like two strangers reminiscing over memories they'd never shared. Aris leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her palm as she watched Karl scan through old manuscripts like a scholar deciphering forbidden magic.
"Do you always look this serious?" she teased.
"No. Just when I'm reading, slaying monsters, or being forced to eat boiled greens," Karl replied without looking up.
She chuckled. "You're not exactly what I pictured when I heard 'reclusive warrior.'"
"And what did you imagine? A white-bearded hermit muttering, 'Back in my day…'?"
"Close," she said. "But I expected you to talk more about your glorious past."
Karl looked up, his gaze quieting for a beat.
"The past is best left buried. Digging it up just wakes the ghosts."
Aris studied him for a moment, then changed the topic. "Ever heard of the 'Faceless One'? Some say he roamed near this region."
"Heard of him. But if I were him, there wouldn't be a legend."
"Oh? Am I speaking to a living legend then?"
"No," Karl smirked. "Just a tea-loving guy who hates loud noises."
"Tea-loving uncle, perhaps? You don't look over thirty."
"That's just good library lighting."
They laughed. Their voices echoed through the bookshelves, stirring a fleeting warmth in the quiet night.
Then Aris suddenly grew still. Her voice softened.
"Thanks… for not ignoring me that day."
Karl shrugged. "It's rare to meet someone who can read and ask questions at the right time."
"UUUU–UUUUUUUUU–"
The curfew horn pierced the air, snapping them back to the present.
Karl rose immediately. "Time to go."
"You always vanish like some kind of ninja," Aris muttered.
"Survival tactic."
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Same time, same place. Bring bread."
"You bring sword names."
They shared one last smile before Karl slipped into the night, leaving Aris under the warm library light, her eyes thoughtful and wide awake.