The fight had been a lesson. One that no classroom lecture or textbook could ever provide.
An almost all-out clash, where both fighters genuinely tried to kill each other.
Almost—because Vael hadn't revealed everything. His Dimension Sword remained tucked away, his trump card still a secret. And he was just as certain that Arconis, too, had held back.
Still, a tie was a tie. No matter how anticlimactic.
But the real lesson hadn't only been combat.
It had been one of the mind.
The room itself was the true teacher. A living textbook for his own project—crafting a dimension of his own.
During the fight, he had nearly recreated the Mana Sword from the dream. That single breakthrough was the foundation of everything—the same principle required to weave space into form.
And now, he had the perfect model set before him. A dimension he could walk through, touch, test. He could observe how the terrain bent, how the air shifted, how heat and pressure responded. All of it could be broken down, studied, and eventually integrated into his own design.
It was a gift. No longer would he be fumbling blindly, forced to imagine every step on his own.
But it raised a far more pressing question. Who was the mage that had forged this place to begin with? The work bore the mark of another Space user—someone powerful, meticulous.
And if Veltren's words about their rarity were true… then just who had left this legacy behind?
Though not entirely drained of mana, Oculor had slipped into his meditative state, quietly recovering.
For once, Vael's mind was silent. A rare, almost alien calm.
By the time he stepped into his room, his body was already giving out. Floor or bed—it didn't matter. Collapse was inevitable.
Curfew hadn't struck yet, but he couldn't care less. He wasn't staying awake another minute.
His eyelids sank. Darkness claimed him before he even knew where he had fallen.
It didn't matter. All that mattered was rest. And for the moment, he was safe.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
"Mirror to the body. Squid of life. Twenty-nine eyes. Afternoon curtain. Articulation. Scream… and despair."
The cosmos stretched open, infinite and merciless.
Stars flickered like scattered embers in the void. Worlds. Planets.
Galaxies. Dimensions.
And in that endless vastness, a single figure stood.
Its frame was human—bipedal, one-armed, a thumb.
Yet its face was smothered in a living shadow, clinging with intent. A mask of darkness with the weight of a soul.
Smoke clothed the figure, shifting and formless. Pure black vapor, as though the void itself had been draped across its body.
Though it shouldn't have been possible, the being's words echoed through space.
Not sound—something deeper. A ripple. A whisper of a god.
Most never heard it. Some did, but turned away.
A rare few… it reached.
"Spot me, if you can. Spit me out. See what happens."
The figure twisted on itself—a strange gesture in the weightlessness of the void.
Time frayed around it. The past stuttered forward into the future, then folded back again.
"Mirror to the body. Squid of life. Twenty-nine eyes. Afternoon curtain. Articulation. Scream… and despair."
The chant returned, only this time the figure's mouth did not move.
This time, something real happened.
Matter appeared—summoned from nothing. No fusion. No reaction. Merely willed into existence.
It swelled denser with each heartbeat.
By the time it reached the size of a basketball, its weight rivaled the Sun.
It burned white-hot—then collapsed.
Black. Lightless. Perfectly swallowed by the backdrop of the void.
And then—gone.
No. Not gone. Moving. Faster than thought, faster than comprehension.
A singularity loosed across the cosmos.
The being stood untouched.
Unbothered.
Until—
A red light flared in the distance. Not unlike an explosion, but older. Hungrier.
GRLLLLLLOAAHH!
The scream ruptured the void. Alien. Wrong. A sound no universe should carry.
Behind it, entire constellations winked out. Not dimmed. Not hidden.
Erased.
"All right," the shadowed being murmured. "Time to wrap this up."
It vanished—disappearing from perception, from time itself—
and hurled toward the origin of the scream.