Class 12-A was wrapped in an eerie silence.
No chatter. No casual jokes.
Only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard—each click like a countdown to something inevitable.
Bluish light from the digital screen danced across the students' faces, casting sharp shadows on the white walls. Some had their heads lowered. Others stared blankly ahead, as if trying to comprehend something far too vast to grasp.
At the front of the room, Professor Liemn stood tall in Nythera's official academic uniform. His gaze was calm, but there was a weight in his voice that hadn't been there before.
Behind him, the screen displayed a complex diagram—a tiered dimensional structure that moved slowly, as if breathing. Delicate lines connected minor realms, major realms, and swirling shapes that looked like endless vortices.
"Starting this semester," he said, "you will study your world's place within the greater multiversal structure."
"The curriculum has been updated to reflect the new reality—a reality unveiled by one thing: dimensional fracturing."
Liemn pointed at a small dot on the screen—Earth. Then, his pointer slid slowly toward the edge of the map, where a dark vortex pulsed like a wound that refused to heal.
"And this… is the Forsaken World.
A world with no sequence of time, no tether to reality, and one that rejects any world system that tries to enter without bleeding."
Kaelen stared at the screen without blinking. The blue light reflected in his eyes, but his mind had drifted far from the classroom.
That fracture exists because I destroyed the future.
His breath was deep, steady—like he was trying to hold back a tremor only he could feel.
Not a metaphor.
He had literally erased the future by rewinding time, creating a void at the edge of the timeline.
An emptiness that called out to something beyond reality.
The Forsaken World was the universe's response to that destruction—like blood in the ocean calling sharks.
"Why does a world like that matter?" a student asked, hesitantly.
Liemn answered without pause.
"Because the Forsaken World carries primal resonance. And more than that—it holds the possibility of an unplanted World Seed. That world isn't just a threat. It's an opportunity."
Kaelen closed his eyes for a moment. In the dark, he saw the destruction he had once caused.
It's true.
That world turned its jaws toward this one because I released the scent of doomsday.
But now…
I can bite back.
The fracture that touched Earth wasn't just ruin. It was a trail—a set of coordinates that could be traced, a reverse path leading to a world no one should be able to reach.
If he could open a portal there… he could cross over.
And if it was true that the Forsaken World had devoured fragments of the shattered Miriad World, then in that place—somewhere within—it might still hold traces of Little Garden's original power.
Maybe, even…
"There's another World Seed."
The words barely left his lips, but they slammed into his mind like a hammer.
Professor Liemn ended the lecture with a warning that was almost cold.
"The Ten Kingdoms cannot conquer the Forsaken World. But they can exploit small realms like this one to reach it."
"Which is why your generation won't just learn to become heroes or guardians.
You will become bridges—between reality… and ruin."
Rooftop.
The late afternoon sky was wrapped in thin clouds glowing orange-gold. A soft wind blew through, stirring a worn piece of paper left near the rooftop exit.
Kaelen stood alone. His shadow stretched long and solitary across cracked concrete lines.
Up there, he saw something no one else did—a hair-thin dimensional fracture, pulsing gently like the faint heartbeat of a dying world. Pale violet light seeped through the slit, like a wound in the sky left unstitched.
He raised his left hand. An old magic circle, faded like an ancient tattoo, glowed faintly on his wrist.
"This world's going to get devoured," he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the breeze.
"But if I can turn the tide... I could be the only predator among predators."
The sky quivered—subtly, almost imperceptibly—but enough to stir the dust on the rooftop floor.
Beyond the veil of dimensions, something… heard him.
Not his voice.
But the feeling.
Cold.
Sharp.
Tempting.
Nythera Embassy on Earth – Nightfall
Moonlight was dimmed by a veil of thin clouds as the diplomatic compound stood in silence at the heart of the neutral zone, separated from the chaos of human cities. Its white stone walls—woven with dimensional magic—reflected a soft glow like frozen dew. Ethereal candles flickered dimly along the corridors, casting long shadows that seemed to move on their own—as if aware tonight was no ordinary night.
In the main conference hall, Princess Velia Syn Ravnall stood poised before Ambassador Virell. Her deep silver gown clung to her form with regal grace, and the small crown upon her head shimmered faintly, still adjusting to the frequency of Earth's unfamiliar magic—a resonance not yet fully attuned to her noble blood.
"So you're certain... the ones who fought that night weren't part of any local power structure?" she asked quietly, though there was an edge in her tone—the guarded sharpness of a young sovereign.
Virell nodded. His long robe shifted softly over the mosaic floor.
"Yes, Your Highness. From the information we've gathered, they're known as The Last Six. But none of the registry systems—Awakeners, Naturals, or Earth-based Factions—have any record of them. Even our intelligence network suspects they're... foreign entities. Possibly from an uncharted dimension."
Princess Velia gazed at the floating holographic projection between them—a recording of the battle. Magical detonations, spatial distortions, movement honed to deadly precision. No emblems. No insignias.
"They move like Naturals," she murmured.
"And more than that," Virell added, his voice low, "they emanate magical pressure... on par with Transcendents. Equivalent to the High Council."
Princess Velia inhaled slowly, then turned to face the large window overlooking the embassy garden. The human city's lights sparkled in the distance, unaware of the fracture in reality lurking beyond their dimension.
"I want to meet them," she said at last. "If they're truly that powerful, they could tip the balance—toward order or annihilation. We need to reach them before the other Factions infiltrate deeper. Prepare a covert diplomatic channel. If necessary... bring them here."
Just then, the candles went out.
Darkness fell all at once. Not a flicker, but a devouring. A cold aura spread through the room, and Virell knew instantly—this wasn't a simple power failure.
"The magical barrier... just collapsed," he whispered.
From the garden, magical mist began to gather. Within it, dark shapes emerged slowly. Undefined, but heavy and real. Five... six... seven robed figures walked in, calm, as though the air itself parted to let them through.
Their steps were silent, but every motion left traces of black magic that broke normal limits. Their presence pierced like dimensional shrapnel—not of Earth, nor Nythera. As if they were wounds made flesh.
"An attack on diplomatic grounds?" Princess Velia's voice was strained, but unwavering.
The royal guards reacted instantly, their hands flaring with defensive spells. But they didn't even have time to cast.
In a heartbeat, one by one, their bodies fell—slashed, frozen, torn apart by undetectable magic. It wasn't speed—it was absolute force.
"Protect the Princess!" Virell shouted, raising his black staff.
An eighth-tier magic circle formed around Princess Velia, glowing with silvery violet light. She stood firm, unflinching, her noble eyes locked on the intruders.
Virell stepped forward, his body surging with woven spells. He unleashed a storm of flame, dimensional arrows, and vacuum waves that shredded the air. Three attackers disintegrated, torn apart. The others… continued forward without hesitation. Their bodies burned—but did not fall.
"They're not assassins," Virell muttered. "They're... world-eaters."
The guards' blood stained the marble floor. Pillars collapsed. Walls cracked. Alarms began to wail—but help would not come in time.
"We need to retreat," Velia said.
"You need to retreat," Virell replied, slamming his staff to the floor.
An ancient teleportation seal bloomed beneath them, inscribed with ancestral runes. A one-way banishment spell—for hopeless scenarios only.
"I can't protect you and fight at the same time. But I can buy you time. And you'll know how to repay it, someday."
"Don't do this—!"
"Your Highness…" Virell's eyes softened, just once. "Live your future. Let me finish the past."
Light enveloped Princess Velia. As her body began to fade, she saw Virell smile—the smile of an elder who knew he would not be on the ship, but wanted the voyage to be safe.
An explosion rocked the embassy.
A wave of deep violet magic burst from the garden, engulfing the intruders. The world seemed to hold its breath, witnessing a Circle Eight burn his life for a single princess.
Somewhere Else — Post-Teleportation
Silence.
Then breath.
Princess Velia's body collapsed to her knees as the spell completed. The brilliant teleportation light faded into a soft shimmer of residual magic dust, floating like dandelions in the void.
The teleportation seal had brought her somewhere safe