The moment the translucent spiral of El'therra's trial vanished into stardust, the forest didn't just go quiet—it rearranged itself.
Ren blinked. Once, twice. Trees that had been rooted a moment ago now curved toward him like dancers mid-bow. The soil shimmered like wet ink under sunlight, and the wind whispered not in gusts, but syllables.
"Gloop," he said, softly.
The jelly-like companion bounced beside him, gurgling curiously. Still gloopy. Still blue. Still Ren's only consistent piece of reality so far.
Ren stood, brushing off imaginary dust. "Okay. We survived a celestial judgment, gained a shiny anchor of purpose, and… now everything looks like a Salvador Dalí painting with a caffeine addiction."
The path before him no longer led forward. It folded upward, forming a spiral stairway into the sky. Not made of stone—no, of pages, fluttering, blank, inkless. They pulsed faintly with mana. Gloop nudged one and it flipped on its own, revealing… Ren's name, etched in tiny, looping script.
He stepped back instinctively. "That's not creepy at all."
A sound like a harp being plucked underwater echoed above. Then a voice—not El'therra's, but… newer. Younger. And… oddly amused.
"So you're the Wanderer. Took you long enough."
Ren's head snapped up. A girl was floating three steps above, upside down—her cloak rippling in the wind, and her eyes gleaming silver. She wore no shoes. Her toes wiggled freely as if mocking gravity.
He groaned. "Not even five minutes of peace?"
"You passed your trial," she said, flipping gracefully until she landed right-side up, her cloak fluttering like petals. "Now you get to choose where to go next."
"I thought I could go anywhere."
"You can," she replied with a wink. "That's the problem."
She snapped her fingers.
The world exploded into motion. Stairs unraveled like a ribbon, creating branching walkways that led into different pocket realms floating midair—some blazing with jungle storms, some frozen with still time, some looping infinitely into mirrors of themselves.
"Cindale isn't a world," she said. "It's a library of possibilities, shelved in chaos. Most Wanderers never even leave the cover."
Ren stared, awestruck. Each realm pulsed with its own mana flavor. One buzzed with laughter, another with sorrow, and one… tasted like home. Not his, but someone's.
Gloop burbled, oozing closer to the nearest gate.
"You're not supposed to just travel," the girl added. "You're supposed to disturb the order."
"Disturb?"
"Break patterns. Create echoes. Dream aloud. That's how Cindale evolves around you. Not by walking… but by changing what it means to walk."
Ren exhaled. The words hit deeper than he expected. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a chosen one. But maybe—just maybe—he was a spark. And sparks? Sparks burn.
He cracked his knuckles, turned to Gloop, and grinned. "Alright, buddy. Let's choose a chapter."
He pointed to a glowing bridge made of floating paintbrushes, leading into a swirling pastel storm.
The girl laughed. "A chaotic one. I like you already."
And with that, Ren stepped forward—into the artstorm, into the unknown, into the next fold of Cindale.