He ran—but a soldier grabbed him. Pain tore through his shoulders as he struggled.
The tall man stepped forward, sword still wet with Serna's blood. His eyes were cold. To him, Cal was just another man.
Then the screams grew louder.
Wounded villagers stumbled into the square. Some were bleeding. Some carried others in their arms. All of them looked at Cal.
"Divine One!" a mother cried, holding her injured child. "Help him!"
"Save us!" someone else begged, falling to his knees.
"Call the gods!" another shouted. "Stop them!"
More came—crawling, limping, reaching out.
"Please!"
"You're the Divine One!"
"You healed the crops—remember? You can stop this!"
"Do something!"
Cal stood in the middle of them all.
Frozen.
His body wouldn't move.
His heart raced. His hands shook. He couldn't breathe.
The cries grew louder.
"Help us!"
"You promised!"
"We believed in you!"
A little girl grabbed his arm. Her voice trembled. "Please don't let them kill my papa…"
Cal looked down at her. His mouth opened—but nothing came out.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't move. His legs felt like stone.
The fire crackled. The sky glowed orange. Soldiers closed in.
And still, the people begged.
And still, he stood there.
Not a god. Not a savior.
Just a man.
Just Cal.
Powerless.
He shook, barely able to stand, the voices pressing in from every side.
I have to do something.Anything.
With a grunt, he grabbed a sword from the ground. It felt wrong—heavy, unfamiliar.
"Stay back!" he shouted.
But the soldiers didn't stop.
One rushed him. Cal raised the sword—too slow. The blade hit hard—he barely blocked it. Another soldier came from behind. Cal tried to turn.
Too late.
A sword stabbed through his side.
He gasped. The pain was sharp and hot. Blood soaked his tunic.
He fell to the ground.
His eyes searched the square.
There—Serna. Her body lay still.
Her golden hair spread around her like a halo—now dirty with ash and blood. The soft smile she always wore was gone.
He crawled to her, his strength fading.
His fingers brushed her hair from her face.
Her eyes were empty.
Cold.
Dead.
His chest ached—not just from the wound, but from something deeper.
I was supposed to protect them. I promised…
Tears blurred his vision.
Why wasn't I enough?
I couldn't save her.
I couldn't save anyone.
He pressed his hand to her forehead, barely able to keep it there.
His heart screamed.
I don't care if I'm a god.
I don't care if they believe in me.
I just want her back.
The pain grew worse. He couldn't breathe. Everything spun. The world twisted.
Then—
Stillness.
Everything stopped.
The fire froze in place. The air went silent. The soldiers, the villagers—motionless. As if time itself had paused.
And Cal stayed there, hand on her face, eyes closed.
Far away, the boy who had brought him berries that morning stood in the middle of the chaos.
His eyes were wide. His small hands shook.
"W-what's happening?" he whispered.
He couldn't move. Couldn't understand.
The sky was breaking—cracking like glass. The ground shook and shifted. The world was falling apart.
Then—silence. Everything snapped.
The ground grew still. The sky repaired itself. The fire flickered again, but nothing felt the same.
The boy blinked.
Where was everyone?
Where was Cal?
-
Somewhere deep within the Citadel—
A door shut.
Four figures stood around a table marked with scars and age. No names. No ranks. Just shadows and voices.
"Was the clearing successful?"
"Mostly. The village is gone."
A pause.
"And the anomaly?"
"Not accounted for."
"Eliminated?"
"...Unclear."
Silence pressed in.
A crystal hummed faintly on the table's center. Within it, flickers of warped light—people caught mid-motion, sky fracturing like shattered mirrors, earth twisting in ways it shouldn't.
"This wasn't temporal."
"No."
"Then what?"
"Space ruptured. Topology collapse. All anchor-points severed."
"Survivors?"
"Scattered. maybe got teleported at random places in the world."
-
Cal's eyes shot open.
He was in a bed. The sheets were cold and unfamiliar. His side hurt, and his body felt sore, like he'd been through a long struggle.
His hands felt heavy, as if he'd been holding something for too long. The smell was clean, almost medicinal—nothing like the smoke or blood from before.
His breath was shallow. The air felt thick, heavy. Where was he?
He looked around. The walls were stone, cold and gray, like an old building or tower. Light came through small windows, but it didn't make the place feel any warmer. Something was wrong.
His chest tightened as memories rushed in—pain, blood, Serna's lifeless body. The village. The screams.
He touched his side. Bandages were wrapped tightly around it, stiff with dried blood. The pain in his body made it clear he had been through something bad.
Why wasn't he dead?
He remembered the sword stabbing through his side, the burning pain. Then… everything had gone still, like the world broke apart.
He sat up, his head spinning. He looked around again. A small wooden chair sat in the corner. A table with empty bottles and some torn paper.
Where am I? Who brought me here?
His fingers brushed the bandages again. They were too neat, too clean.
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
What happened? Where did everyone go?
His vision blurred. He grabbed the bed's edge to steady himself.
The door creaked open. He froze.
"Is he awake?" a muffled voice asked, calm and strong.
"He's stirring," another voice replied, and the door opened wider.
A person in dark robes entered, their face hidden in shadow, their presence commanding.
Cal's breath caught.
"You should've been out longer," the figure said, their voice calm. "You're lucky to be alive."
Cal tried to speak. "Who… are you? Where am I?"
The figure looked at him for a moment, as if deciding what to say next.