The portal cracked open like a breath drawn through the folds of existence—then exhaled.
Ryu and Luto stepped into silence.
The skies of Vanthelos shimmered in muted greys and rusted golds, as if twilight had forgotten the sun. A massive, endless expanse stretched before them: hills of shattered stone, ruins worn hollow by time, and obelisks that pulsed with dying light. Wind howled gently across the cracked earth, carrying whispers of ancient battles and the scent of dusted starlight.
This place felt like a truth buried so deep that even time itself had forgotten how to grieve.
Luto adjusted his cloak, scanning the terrain.
"This place feels like a memory trying to forget itself," he muttered.
Ryu had already wandered up a jagged hill, fingers grazing the golden-brown grass.
"Creepy," he said with a grin. "I like it."
That's when they saw him.
A figure stood at the cliff's edge, silhouetted by a broken sky—waiting.
⸻
The Nomad Known as Caelren
As they neared, the figure turned slowly—weathered skin like sanded bronze, eyes like mirrored moons. His cloak was stitched with fragments of dimensional maps, and across his back, a long staff etched with both elven script and something older.
"Been watching your ripples," he said, voice gravelly but melodic. "Didn't expect you this soon."
Ryu blinked. "Are we… expected?"
"The stars have been gossiping," the man replied with a lopsided smile. "Said you'd come loud and reckless."
"Sounds about right," Luto sighed.
"I am Caelren Voth. Some call me the Seer of Ash. I once served the Old Realm before the gods decided truth was a threat."
He turned, motioning them to follow.
"Come. If you seek answers, Vanthelos remembers. You just have to know how to ask."
⸻
A Forgotten Sanctuary
They followed him through twisted ruins, where gravity bent sideways and time-worn libraries hovered midair. Cracked lenses reflected different starfields, and altars pulsed with echoes of things once worshipped.
Finally, Caelren brought them to a sunken amphitheater.
He sat cross-legged in its center, gesturing for them to join.
"I don't just study history," he said. "I trace energy threads—tied to your souls."
He motioned to Ryu.
"You carry a power that shouldn't exist. The Astral Echo—an echo of a soul older than the gods. You're tethered to a war they pretend never happened."
Ryu furrowed his brow. "What war?"
"Between the First Sparks—those who forged creation—and what tried to consume it."
Luto leaned in. "And Onyx?"
Caelren's eyes dimmed. "Still fighting. But they're turning him into a myth. Onyx the Voidwrath. The kind of story used to end others."
Ryu's fists clenched.
"We'll save him."
"You'll have to become more than warriors," Caelren warned. "You'll have to become anchors. If your bond breaks—this multiverse will follow."
⸻
He opened an ancient relic—a cosmic vault lined with stardust-woven cloth, housing pre-divine weapons, soul-linking techniques, and dimensional keys.
"These are not mortal creations," he said. "They predate the gods. Made by a race long extinguished… or hiding."
Luto studied a silver-glowing schematic.
"You're not just showing us this out of kindness. What are we preparing for?"
Caelren's expression hardened. "A nightmare wrapped in ceremony."
The canyon behind them cracked open—revealing a staircase of shifting runes and logic-warping light.
"Beyond this is the Chrono-Veil Sanctum. A time-dilated dimension. One month inside is a day outside. I can hold it open for three days—no more."
Ryu's eyes widened. "So we get… three months?"
"No," Caelren said. "Inside the Chrono-Veil Sanctum, your minds will be forced to adapt faster than the laws of nature would normally allow. One month inside is a day outside—but that's just the shell. The core simulates combat, loss, memory, rebirth—over and over again. The average mortal mind survives a decade before breaking. But you two… you might just claw your way through ninety years of potentialmastery. That is… if your souls don't shatter first."
The brothers stood stunned, but a fire burned hotter in them both.
⸻
The Sanctum of Slowed Eternity
Inside the Sanctum, there was no ground. Only floating platforms stitched together by veins of memory. Time bled sideways—thoughts echoed before they were spoken, and movement left trails of shimmering light.
Caelren led the way.
He taught Luto to manipulate kinetic intent—predicting energy before it existed. His mind, already a weapon, became something closer to a living processor.
Ryu was sent toward a strange cathedral made of dreams. Alone.
Inside, he faced… himself. And something older.
He emerged changed—hair tipped in crimson glow, and his right arm adorned with an ancient, glowing tribal symbol that pulsed when he engaged in any high tensity situation.
Caelren had never seen anything like it.
⸻
On the Third Cycle
Caelren summoned them back.
"I need you both to hear me carefully," he said.
He closed the vault behind him. The light dimmed.
"The gods are setting a trap—not for you. For Onyx."
Ryu froze. Luto went rigid.
"They sent him to Deravak—a planet designed to kill. When he failed, they declared him a divine traitor. They've announced his execution."
Caelren hesitated. "I only just discovered this. I wouldn't have held it back."
Ryu's voice burned. "Then we don't wait."
Luto narrowed his gaze. "One month."
Far away, in a silent divine cell, Onyx looked to the sky—shackled, but not yet broken.
⸻
Flashback – The Mission Meant to Kill
The divine sky opened as Onyx stood before the gods.
They gave a mission with no chance of success:
"Cleanse Deravak. Retrieve the artifact. Return in three days. Or face Divine Dissolution."
Deravak was madness. A planet that devoured will.
Onyx descended into the abyss.
"You do not belong to them…"
"You are not theirs…"
Voices called.
He fought. He endured. Until the void swallowed him whole.
⸻
Divine Broadcast – 30 Days Remaining
A herald read the sentence aloud.
"Onyx the Voidwrath… has failed.
Public execution by divine unraveling. One month from today."
Across the multiverse—screens glitched. Galaxies went still. Some wept.
Most watched in silence.
⸻
Return to Vanthelos
Ryu stood beneath a sky alive with violet fireflies. His bandana sat low, and blueprints floated around him.
Luto wrapped the hilt of his reforged kaskara sword.
"You ready?"
Ryu nodded. There were no more jokes.
They turned toward the next gate—revealed by Caelren. The safest route to begin their journey.
Above them, stars whispered a countdown.
Execution Date: 29 Days Remaining
⸻
The Island Detour
Their journey to the Fyr Domain began with… a mistake.
They landed on a tiny floating island covered in puffball critters and sentient mushrooms trying to sell them soup.
"Nope," Luto muttered, shoving one aside.
Ryu laughed. "Come on, they're cute."
"Cute things bite."
Back on the path, Luto opened his dimensional pocket and tossed Ryu some smoked Luna deer meat.
Ryu chewed. "Still warm. Nice."
Luto sighed. "We're going up against divine structures. Executioners and angels are the lowest tier. Then Lesser Gods. But above them…"
He paused.
"Seven Voices," he said. "Only two are named: Fate and Order."
"And below them?"
"Something called Sentinels. No records—just warnings."
Ryu blinked. "Fun."
"The multiverse isn't fixed," Luto added. "There's no map. It grows. It shifts. Might even be alive."
"You sound insane."
Luto shrugged.
And off they went—two brothers chasing the impossible.
The wind carried them toward the Fyr Domain.
The stars kept counting down.
and far beyond stars and the multiverse…
In a void where time bent inward and the multiverse itself bowed in silence, seven thrones floated—anchored not by space or structure, but by pure divine will.
They were known only as the Seven Voices.
Entities beyond worship. Beings beyond comprehension.
The true architects of dominion, who whispered laws into existence and as the multiverse revered them as gods and obeyed them.
Only two among them had ever been named by mortals.
The Voice of Order, cloaked in symmetry and celestial silence.
And the Voice of Fate, forever spinning the thread of possibility between her fingers of spiraling light.
The others remained unnamed.
Unspoken.
A ripple reached their realm—an echo of something small… becoming significant.
Fate tilted her head.
"The brothers have touched Vanthelos."
Order replied without breath:
"Caelren opened the sanctum. They've survived."
A third voice stirred—unidentified, faceless, yet deafening:
"Good. Let them continue."
Another—a shadow among shadows—spoke in a frequency older than stars:
"They chase the Voidwrath. As they were meant to."
Fate's tone softened, coldly amused.
"How tragic it is… to run toward a reunion, unaware that the ending was decided eons ago."
Order's form pulsed, absolute.
"Their bond is strong. Let them believe in it."
And then, one of the silent Voices finally broke its silence—its words like oil on water:
"Let them come."
"Let them see."
"And when they do… let them fall."
A stillness swept across the divine circle.
Then, Order gave the final decree:
"If they reach us—
…they die."
The void closed in, reality recoiled, and somewhere—across galaxies and forgotten stars—two brothers walked forward, unaware they had just been invited to their own end.