Kalm sighed in bitter disappointment and coughed up blood.
**Riddles... puzzles... and so many truths buried in darkness.**
He stared at the first strange section—the nine identical figures. No… they were the same person, just shown differently. Then his gaze shifted toward the other side of the mural. It was equally bizarre.
**"The Eight Sovereigns..."** he whispered.
The moment the words left his mouth, his body convulsed violently. A strange energy surged within him, pressing outward from his core.
Helplessly, he trembled and vomited more blood, clutching his shattered chest, now soaked in searing heat and crimson agony.
**The truth itself was dangerous.**
A hidden corruption embedded by the Eight Sovereigns—designed to punish those who dared learn what must not be known.
But why? What lay within this mural that demanded such secrecy?
Kalm wheezed and struggled to breathe, his mind involuntarily replaying fragments of his moments with Kalistra...
And then, with a faint glimmer of understanding, his eyes widened.
He looked up at the mural again.
Each one of these eight figures represented a Sovereign.
The strange sphere inside them—**it symbolized a world.**
But… Kalistra had told him there were **seven worlds only.**
And yet—here there were eight.
He shut his eyes briefly, then opened them again, trying to focus elsewhere, to distract his curiosity before it consumed him. He knew if he allowed himself to dive deeper into the madness of truth, the corruption would take him—and it would be over.
So, he glanced upward and noticed something else.
There were words above each Sovereign. Words etched for him—soft, haunting, waiting to be read.
**"There is no reason... yet he acts."**
**"Time."**
**"Death."**
**"Life."**
**"Space."**
**"Heart."**
**"Reality."**
**"Dream."**
**"Soul."**
These were the names of the Eight Sovereigns. Each one embodied a concept far beyond human understanding—forces that governed existence itself, indifferent and absolute.
Take *Death*, for example:
*Death has no reason for being undefeated… even by those who see it coming.*
*Life has no reason for our birth without consent… yet we live it anyway.*
*Time has no reason to treat us all equally… yet it does not pause even for those who beg for more.*
And so it was with each power—each concept.
All operated by the same unyielding truth:
**"There is no reason…"**
Kalm stared in awe at the Sovereigns and their domains. His thoughts struggled to keep up—his understanding falling short in the face of everything laid bare before him.
After a long, stunned silence, his gaze shifted toward another part of the mural.
This one… had a grey background—neither black nor white—which gave it a unique, strange glow, unlike anything else.
And upon it… were **eight more figures.**
Kalm raised an eyebrow, surprised.
These too were eight—but utterly different from all the others.
Their faces were unclear, undefined… but there were faint expressions carved into each of them—subtle, emotional nuances that mirrored human feeling.
And atop each head, sharp horns like nails crowned their skulls, adding to their eerie, unsettling presence.
**"Demons…"** he whispered in stunned realization, seeing a single phrase glowing above each one:
**"There is no reason..."**
**"Desire."**
**"Hope."**
**"Fear."**
**"Fixity"**
**"Change."**
**"Forgetfulness."**
**"Wisdom."**
**"Despair."**
The Eight Demons—each one representing a distinct emotion.
Each one ruled a fragment of the human soul.
Kalm tried to process what he was seeing. It was strange. Terrifying. Complex.
**What… what even *was* he looking at?**
Kalm coughed violently, his mind's gears nearly burning from the strain. He asked himself—
**Was there even any meaning to all this?**
This bizarre, complex madness he was contemplating… He didn't even understand what it *was*.
And he had no idea what good it could do him. He knew well there would be consequences if he dared to feed that curiosity.
He had reminded himself again and again—**don't get pulled in**.
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to breathe.
It felt like dozens of needles were piercing his lungs.
Moments ago, he had been fine—at least, *relatively fine*, even in this dire state.
But he had no idea how much longer he could last.
His blood was pouring out. His bones were shattered and splintered. His mind on the verge of collapse.
And yet… he was still conscious—barely.
**"L-let's just… end this quickly…"**
He lifted his gaze once more, with immense difficulty—toward the third and final section.
The background was pure black, as if nothing had ever been born there… as if the world itself was still being formed.
And within that abyss, there were **creatures made of nothing**—living darkness wandering without purpose or form.
They were terrifying… more horrifying than anything Kalm had ever seen.
But among those shadowy beasts, there were *others*.
Beings with wings—white feathers streaked with black lines that wrapped their bodies like an embrace of night.
Their eyes were blood-red, with golden pupils like endless voids—pits where every horror of the world dwelled.
Crowned with sharp, jagged horns, their bodies were cloaked in black mist.
And there were *many* of them. Hundreds… no, **thousands** in that realm of un-creation.
Kalm gasped—and the blood in his veins froze.
His body trembled uncontrollably, his teeth clattering so loudly they echoed through the silence.
He tore his eyes away. He *had* to.
It felt as if those drawings were staring into his soul… like they would claw their way out and devour him—or worse.
But… just before he turned away completely, he caught a glimpse.
In the corner of the mural, above the drawing…
A faint word—written in glowing black ink, flickering gently in the darkness.
It was in the same ancient tongue he'd heard from the world itself, and the others…
Though Kalm had no formal education, he understood the word instantly.
As if it were burned into the essence of his being.
He whispered it aloud, barely louder than a breath.
"The Void…"
He braced himself, expecting something to happen—expecting pain, or a rupture in reality.
But nothing came.
Not even the crimson light reacted.
He took a shaky moment to calm his racing heart—nearly pounding out of his chest—and turned his gaze back, scanning the drawings again, carefully avoiding the Void creatures.
His mind and body were on the verge of collapse.
A storm of questions raged inside his skull.
**Who were those nine figures in the first mural?**
Were they manifestations of something lost?
Or perhaps predecessors—those who bore the mark before him?
Compared to the others, they were the only ones who looked remotely *human*.
But he couldn't reach any clear conclusion.
All he knew for certain—was that **those nine were either rejected by the others… or at war with them.**
Maybe both.
Their mural had no background—no place, no context.
It was as if they didn't belong anywhere at all.
As if they simply existed… lost in everything and nothing at once.
As Kalm tried to piece the truths together, he felt a creeping chill rise over his body.
A weight pressed against his eyes, and his head throbbed.
His arms and legs began to feel heavier—pain deepening, spreading.
**He had already reached the point of collapse.**
Neither his body nor his mind could hold out much longer.
He raised one hand in front of him and crawled—dragging his broken form forward before his strength gave out completely and he died a pathetic death, *so close* to the turning point of his life.
He bit into his lower lip, drew blood, and pushed forward.
Just ten meters.
Ten meters separated him from the first step of his dream.
He couldn't stop. He *refused* to stop. Stopping meant death. That was the truth.
Blood trickled freely, and his eyelids fluttered, threatening to close.
But he kept himself going—through sheer will.
**"Just… a bit more… One more step, and I'll make it…"**
Kalm dug his fingers into the strange, watery surface beneath him, clawing forward.
His leg—the only one not completely ruined—pushed with all its remaining power.
Seven meters remained.
It felt like the distance between heaven and earth.
He pulled… and pushed…
Bit harder, the taste of blood filling his throat.
But he wouldn't stop now.
**"Come on… Kalm… just a little more… it's not far…"**
He begged—silently, in his heart—
Pleading with his shattered body to keep moving.
Then… when only **three meters** remained—
The crimson light above him flared brighter, glowing like encouragement.
It hovered over his head directly, casting a strange radiance on the steps of the mausoleum.
And through blood, and pain, and tears—
**Kalm reached it.**
He lifted his trembling, blood-stained hand—
And laid it on the first step.
Its texture was alien. Neither hard, nor soft.
Not cold… not warm.
Unlike anything he had ever touched before.
But he didn't care.
He climbed the first step, gasping.
Then the second. Then the third.
Each breath felt like a blade drawn across his throat.
But he pressed on.
Just before collapsing, Kalm reached out—
And placed his hand on the massive door.
On its right side—where the Nine stood.
And then—
A voice, unlike anything ever heard, echoed not in his ears, but in his soul:
[The condition… has been fulfilled.]