The world froze.
Emeron's claw hovered midair, inches from Luca's sabers. The black mana that had moments ago threatened to consume everything... stopped. The battlefield turned silent. Still.
Luca blinked—
And suddenly, he was somewhere else.
The choking corruption of the dungeon vanished. Warm light filtered through towering stained-glass windows, painting the white marble with hues of gold, crimson, and sky-blue. A soft hymn echoed in the distance—voices raised in praise. Frankincense and wild lilac floated in the air.
The Holy Kingdom.
But not as it was today. No.
This was before, perhaps 40,45 years back from today by seeing the surroundings.
Luca found himself standing in the middle of a grand chapel, sunlight spilling across a boy kneeling alone on the stone floor. No older than ten, frail, bones too visible beneath the robe. His hands were clasped, eyes shut in fervent prayer.
Luca felt it before he realized it.
His hands.
That boy's hands.
