The air in the Citadel of the End was colder than ever, frozen with a rage that simmered beneath the surface. The icy wind blowing from the motionless figure before the dark window was so sharp that even Lucius, Lord of Manipulation, felt a fragile shiver pierce through his flawless exterior. He did not kneel—such submission was for lesser servants—but his bow was deep, expressing a respect that only he could fake so convincingly.
"Master," he began, his voice perfectly controlled, a smooth mixture of reverence and urgency. "The report from the sanctuary's border is... final. Nyx has been destroyed."
The silence that followed was more terrifying than any noise. It seemed as if the very dark ether that formed the citadel's walls recoiled, frightened by the intensity of the emotion radiating from its master. Unknown did not sit upon his throne of hardened darkness. He stood before the massive, shadowed window, gazing over the wasteland of his domain—a sea of shadows and despair.
"Destroyed?" Unknown's voice was not thunder; it was a dangerously quiet, sharp whisper that sliced through the darkness itself, each syllable cutting like a knife. "No. He has been **freed**." The word hung in the air, saturated with bitterness. "They stole from him the honor of battle and gave him... **mercy**."
At that moment, Lucius saw something that disturbed him so profoundly it nearly broke his flawless mask. In Unknown's clenched fist, the dark ether forming his body released tiny, golden sparks. They were fragments, impure remnants of light—a part of Tharos' essence that, under the surge of unspeakable pain, had momentarily escaped. *He still loved him,* Lucius realized with a shock that shook even his cynical heart. *Even after dismantling and remaking him, even after turning him into a weapon… he still loved him.*
"Those children..." Unknown continued, his voice rising now, cold fury finally breaking through. "Those **grains**… they dared to take what was mine. They took Nyx from me. My most loyal, my most faithful." His voice trembled, not with weakness—but with wrath so intense it seemed to fracture reality itself.
Slowly, he turned, and Lucius met his gaze. These were not eyes, but two fractures in the very fabric of the universe, a tumultuous void threatening to devour everything before it.
"Lucius," Unknown said, the air itself bending around his words, "you will undo them from within. You will earn Akero's trust—become his ally, his *friend*. Let him believe in you. Let them *all* believe in you. And when their guard falls…" His tone darkened to a whisper that could have frozen fire. "You will break him. You will destroy everything he loves. His friends, his mentor, his light. All of it."
Lucius's expression did not change, but his heart quickened. Even for him, the order was… cruel. Precise. Beautiful.
"You will do this," Unknown continued, stepping closer, shadows trembling with each word, "because they must feel what I felt when Nyx fell. Every heartbeat, every breath they take, will lead them to that moment of loss. Only then will they understand the price of defying me."
"I understand, Master," Lucius replied quietly, his mind already calculating pathways of deceit.
"You will handle it. Approach Akero. Let him see in you a savior, a friend. Gain his trust. And when the time is right—make him watch as everything he cherishes turns to ash."
Lucius bowed again, a narrow, sharp smile playing across his lips that never reached his eyes. "It is only a matter of adapting the tool to the environment. He will open the door himself, Master. And when he does…"
"…you will close it forever," Unknown finished.
Turning, Lucius melted into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Unknown to burn in his solitary, icy rage.
---
The sun shone upon the inner atrium of the Old Sanctuary, light breaking through a shattered roof window and casting golden streaks across the stone floor. The air was warm and calm, rich with the scent of old wood and earth, infused with the gentle pulse of pure light now flowing through the walls. After a day of battle, this tranquility felt like a gift.
In one corner, Akero sat cross-legged on the floor, holding an old wooden doll whose one broken eye socket was missing. Sweat beaded on his brow, his eyes fixed on the wooden figure.
"Do not push," Serin said, her voice soft as a breeze. She stood beside him, her presence calming. "You will force it. Let time show you. It is your ally, not your servant. Close your eyes. Feel the flow, not the force."
Akero inhaled deeply, trying to relax. Instead of attempting to *pull* information from time, he tried to *receive* it. Beneath his fingers, the wood trembled. He did not see a clear image, only a *feeling*. A fleeting, flickering moment of joy, the warmth of wood in a small hand, the sound of a child's laughter long silenced. The moment passed quickly, but it was there. He opened his eyes, smiling wearily.
"I saw… he was happy."
Serin nodded, satisfied. "Good. Very good."
Across the atrium, another kind of fire blazed. Kael stood in stance, fists clenched, and from them surged hot, orange flames. Opposite him, Kaelion stood calmly, one palm open, where a faint, whitish flame flickered like a candle.
"Why doesn't mine look like that?" Kael asked, frustration lacing his voice, his fire snapping angrily. "Mine just… burns. Yours… *shines*."
"Your fire comes from anger, young Kael," Kaelion said, his voice deep and steady. "And that is good. Anger is fuel. But the true fire of a Guardian… it comes from intent. From love for what you protect, not hatred for what you destroy." He approached Kael and laid a hand on his shoulder. Kael flinched, but did not pull away. "You do not eliminate anger. You direct it. Anger at injustice is good. But the will to *protect* is stronger. Focus on us, this room. It wants you to *clear* it of enemies, not to *burn* it."
In the third corner, a quieter scene unfolded. Alabaster sat on a stone bench while Nea knelt beside him, her palms glowing softly as she healed a deep cut on his forearm—the remnant of the battle with the Senkolik.
"Your light is… so pure," Alabaster remarked quietly, almost reverently. He watched as his wound closed under her touch, the faint traces of Unknown's energy disappearing under her gentle, greenish light. "It does not just heal wounds. It washes away the remnants of darkness. It is a rare gift."
Nea looked up, a soft smile on her face. "The scent of pine helps," she said playfully, though her eyes were serious.
---
Later that afternoon, Akero went alone to the edge of the forest surrounding the sanctuary's valley. The need for solitude, to test what he had learned on his own, was strong. He stood beside a small stream, attempting to feel the flow of time through it, as Serin had taught him. The movement of a leaf, the twitch of a fish in the water—he tried to slow or accelerate these moments not by force, but by intent. He was frustrated, but determined.
Suddenly, he heard soft but deliberate footsteps behind him. He turned quickly, instinctively raising his hands, feeling time thicken around him into a defensive shield.
The boy standing at the edge of the forest did not seem like a threat.
He was tall and slender, dressed in a harmonious ensemble of black suit over which he wore a long, dark purple velvet cloak. In one hand he held a thin, golden staff topped with a single red crystal. His hair was unusually short and silver-white, and his eyes were two grains of red, like ancient rubies. A fresh, red scratch marked his forehead. Though he looked refined, his cloak was dust-streaked, and his face showed faint weariness.
"Relax," the boy said, his voice calm and friendly, without a trace of arrogance or malice. "I am not here to fight. In fact… I was running from them." His gaze grew serious, sincere. "I believe you know them as well. Servants of the one called Unknown."
Akero did not relax. The feeling of something unseen, something waiting in the air, ran down his spine. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice firm.
"My name is Lucius," the boy replied, deliberately leaving a pause after his name, without titles. "I was… a prisoner. I managed to escape one of their dungeons while they were distracted by another battle." He looked Akero directly in the eyes, his gaze open, full of pain and a trace of hope that felt genuine. "I have heard rumors. Whispers. About the boy who controls time. About the group fighting against him. I sought you… hoping to find allies. Or at least refuge."
Akero stood, staring at the stranger, feeling his instincts struggle. The boy seemed sincere, wounded. Yet something waited, imperceptible, in the air between them, like a string pulled taut. Lucius remained standing, waiting, as his carefully crafted illusion began to unfold, and Akero's uncertainty became the door through which betrayal would enter.