It was another sunny day on Paradise Island. Fields of wild, colorful flowers swayed in the breeze, drinking in the morning light. At the island's heart, the Great Tree stood like a silent sentinel, its colossal trunk gleaming with soft veins of gold beneath the sun. Within the wooden hall nested in its roots, a group of figures was gathered. Crystal cups glimmered in their hands, with laughter and the soft clink of glass filling the air. The room held some of the realm's most formidable beings. Besides Lady Erda, ruler of the Paradise Domain, the pale figure of Asher Winter, First Seat of the Drakaryx Clan, was present. In the corner stood Vasticus, the onyx-skinned wanderer, and Ignovar stood near the food table eating like it was his last meal, his molten eyes half-hidden under his wild mane of red hair. Around them were four other seat-holders, and beyond those, several other individuals of matching might could be seen. To an outsider, such a gathering would have seemed an omen, as though calamity had struck the Drakaryx clan, or a world event had shaken the order of things, forcing this council of power into assembly. Yet one was to hear their talk, one would find a far lighter purpose. Their words circled around one name, a single individual being mentioned by many nicknames. Little Monster. Ice Cube, but mostly, Aeon. A woman draped in a colorless white gown leaned lazily against a chair, mist-like strands of hair flowing down her shoulders in soft, shifting waves. Her eyes, bright and empty with boredom, drifted over the room as she spoke. "I'm so bummed I wouldn't get to see those two monsters fight," she said, her thin, lilting voice threading through the chatter. "Yes, it would have been fun," Another answered. "Lady Mieher," asked a young girl seated beside her, brows furrowed, "I know that other guy is strong, but do you really think Zarach could hold his own against the Hidden One? He trained under all of you, and spent five whole months under the Great Master's guidance." "Faylen…" Mieher said, the corners of her lips curving as she lifted her cup. "Young lady, that other guy spent more than two years with the False King." Faylen's mouth opened, a correction rising on the tip of her tongue, but she quickly realised that her elder intended to intentionally say the wrong title, so she promptly bit it back. "But," Mieher continued, chuckling softly, "you're right about one thing. Who knows how much Aeon has changed in those five months? Before he left, I snuck a peek at him, and he felt like a completely different person than the one I knew." Her laughter lingered for a moment, light and careless. Asher Winter, clad in flowing icy white robes, wore his usual air of indifference. He swirled a glass of pale wine in his hand, the liquid catching the light in soft spirals. Then, with a faintly mischievous grin, he broke the lazy chatter. "We all know he will win," he said. The room quieted, as nearly every gaze turned his way. Asher let the silence hang for a beat before adding, "But the question is, how long will the battle take, and how challenging would it get?" He slowly turned, eyes glinting. "Let's make it interesting and place wagers on the result. Whoever comes closest to the correct result, both in time and in difficulty, takes the prize." A few brows lifted, as faint smirks tugged at lips. "So," he continued, his voice carrying that smooth, teasing cadence, "Make your pick. Will it be extremely competitive, competitive, or easy? And if anyone's bold enough to bet on him losing..." His grin widened. "You are welcome to do so." Asher raised his glass, announcing, "I'll stake an unconditional favor from me. My call, competitive battle, lasting four minutes and twenty-five seconds." "Count me in," Mieher said swiftly, her smile sharp and amused. "I'll call it competitive as well, and the time would be five minutes, forty seconds. My wager, the Heart of the Eternal Winter." A low, gravelly chuckle rolled from the far end of the room. "I wasn't going to play along," came a heavy voice, the words laced with a faint scent of sulfur, "but with odds that generous, how could I resist?" That broke the tension, as murmurs rippled through the hall as others joined in, laughter and voices overlapping. In an unknown region of the Ancestral Realm, a vast expanse of dark land stretched endlessly in every direction. Nothing lived in this strange land, not sound, not light, not even the whisper of wind. Above, the sky was a colorless void without stars or horizon, a ceiling of absence pressing down upon the silent plain. The stillness was shattered when two rifts tore open in the air, hundreds of meters apart. They formed like wounds in space itself, mirrors of shifting smoke, rolling inward upon themselves with a muted hum. A single heartbeat passed before two figures stepped through, almost simultaneously. From the right rift emerged a man dressed in black armor, twin blades resting on his waist. He stood tall, six and a half feet, with sharp, clean features and long black hair that brushed his shoulder blades. His eyes were dark and expressionless, empty of warmth, his presence as still and cold as the land around him. From the second rift stepped a boy. Young and bright, an almost jarring contrast to his surroundings. His hair was a luminous blue, his eyes a deep oceanic hue that seemed to ripple faintly with light. He wore light armor of white and gray, practical, fitted, yet finely crafted. Etched upon his cuirass was the image of a faceless gray worm, its body coiling endlessly, covered in countless open eyes that seemed to follow the world. A single shoulder guard rested on his right side, and iron plates shielded his thighs and shins, while the rest was layered leather, flexible, built for speed and control. A small smile curved the boy's lips as he lifted a hand in greeting. "Hello there, friend," he said, his voice light, almost beaming. "I hope you have enjoyed the last three years." The man in black said nothing. His stillness seemed to stretch the silence around them. "No response?" the boy asked with a playful shrug. "Then at least answer this. What should I remember you by? Aeon? Hidden One? I know those aren't your real names." When the man finally spoke, his words came like a slow exhale, flat, measured, without emotion. "I have my reasons for keeping secrets," he said. "Same as you. Your appearance is false, so is your name, and from what I can tell, even your purpose in this realm is false as well." The air between them rippled faintly, not from wind, but from tension alone, like the land itself was holding its breath. "At least, it's not what people like me came here to do," Alex said. His voice was flat, almost detached, as though stating a simple fact. From his solemn expression, it was clear he wasn't seeking an answer, as if anything Zarach could say held little weight to him. A faint smile crept across Zarach's youthful face before his form began to shift. His height rose by several inches, his soft features sharpening into something older, colder. His once-blue hair drained to white, and his eyes faded into a colorless gray that seemed to swallow the light. "It's good that you are confident," Zarach said, his tone now carrying a heavy, resonant undertone. A low chuckle followed. "I was a little worried at first, after learning that the old dragon had taken a personal interest in you. Since it would have been easy to discover that I belonged to Saelvar House, it would have been troublesome if he valued you too highly, because that would have ruined my plans." He paused, studying Alex's unmoving face, then continued, his grin widening. "But now that you are here, there's no need to hide my secrets." Their eyes met, cold against colder, and Zarach's smile stretched, almost gleeful. "Since you won't remember any of it, anyway." He tilted his head slightly, as if offering a gift. "As my show of appreciation, I'll tell you what purpose your life serves for me." His words were smooth, but they carried the sharpness of certainty, a predator's calm. "As you said, unlike you, I didn't come to this realm to grow stronger. My household has far better cultivation grounds than this sh..." he paused, a flicker of distaste crossing his face, "This simple little garden." He let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, before his voice steadied again. "I came here to find a particular item." His lips curved as he spoke the words like a sacred truth. "The Tablet of Fate." "A shard of it, to be precise, but even a shard holds more worth than entire star systems... In your terms, more than your entire world," his eyes glinted with mock pity. Zarach's smile deepened, amusement touching his tone. "So, you can take comfort in knowing that something on you carries value equal to the Tesseract Collection itself." Alex's expression didn't change, but beneath that calm, a single realization settled, clear and cold. Zarach hadn't challenged him out of hatred. The two had never even met before he approached Alex with the wager, so if anything, it was he who carried resentment, for the theft of his legacy weapon. No, Zarach's motive was far more calculated. The Tesseract Collection wanted something that Alex possessed, something only he could deliver, and since no offer, no threat, no exchange could make him surrender it willingly, Zarach had chosen the only path left. Zarach had planned to force Aelx into a corner after defeating him a second time, the kind of corner where, even if unwillingly, it would be in Aelx's best interest to comply with his demands. And even if expulsion from the realm weren't enough of a threat to make Alex surrender what the Tesseract Spirit desired, then a reward would surely do the trick, a price Zarach was more than willing to pay. "I'm in a generous mood today," Zarach said, his tone carrying lazy amusement. "So I'll reveal another truth about myself, one that might help you accept your defeat." His lips curved faintly. "Not that it matters. You'll forget everything soon enough." The space behind him rippled, turning hazy and distorted, as if reality itself were struggling to hold form. Then, in the next moment, a tall, feminine silhouette stepped out from that distortion, crossing the threshold from unreality into reality. Alex's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his usually calm expression. The entity's presence was wrong, regal, and alien all at once. Her form was both corporeal and incorporeal. Her head was narrow and angular like that of a moth, crowned by two sweeping, feathered antennae that glimmered faintly with silver light. Her eyes, vast, hazy white, shone like mirrors filled with mist, endless and unreadable, offering neither warmth nor malice. Her humanoid torso was long and slender, her limbs tapering into elegant, jointed shapes, her fingers unnaturally long, almost mantis-like, yet softened, each tipped with a faint glow. The contrast of fragility and precision gave her the air of something both soft and predatory. Her skin was smooth and faintly luminous, a seamless blend of pale, soft tissue and metallic chitin that radiated dim light. Incorporeal wisps of downy white fur cloaked her shoulders, chest, and hips like a mantle of winter mist. And on her back, two sets of incorporeal wings. The upper pair is broad and flowing, the lower is narrower, both translucent like sheets of moonlit silk. They shimmered faintly, casting slow, rippling reflections across the ground, as though made of liquid glass. 'An Elemental Spirit, ' Alex realized instantly. A frown marred his face, not in fear, but in recognition. He knew all too well about such creatures and the world they belonged to, and also the immense authority over elements they commanded. Latest content publıshed on novel•fire.net The first ever otherworlder Alex had encountered in the realm belonged to a fairy world, the man named Tsolmir, who had given him quite the challenge, and now he was known as a name in the realm, a proof of the strength he commanded. But this one, this one was different. The presence that she gave off was cold and not the elemental type, it carried an invisible weight that reached into the soul, whispering the language of stillness and control. "Ayah," Zarach said softly, his hand stroking along the entity's neck with familiar ease. "She's a very special spirit, an empress among her kind. Born once in an age, as rare as a negative star." He looked back at Alex, eyes gleaming with arrogance. "You can guess what element she rules over." "Soul," Alex said with a frown, realizing the difficulty of this battle had just grown exponentially.