The wind howled across seven skies, seven worlds spinning under seven suns that shared no orbit yet pulsed with the same mysterious rhythm. Somewhere beyond comprehension, time and space folded upon themselves, drawing threads of fate together like constellations converging into a single, radiant star.
In each of those realities — so distinct, yet eerily connected — a question was asked. And in every world, silence followed.
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In the Middle Ages world of swords and magic, inside a small tavern in the central of Elerion Capital, the crackle of firewood echoed in the dim light. The fragrance of roasted meat and cheap ale lingered in the air, mixing with the faint trace of steel and mana. Ragnar leaned forward on the wooden table, his ruby eyes calm yet probing, watching Lyra across from him. The flickering firelight reflected on the surface of his eyes, distorting his reflection into something wild and uncertain.
"No need to be nervous," he said softly, his voice neither threatening nor friendly — simply honest. "I'm just curious. In my old world, people had theories — about parallel worlds, about alternate timelines, about souls reborn across dimensions." He leaned back slightly, folding his arms. "So tell me, Lyra. Your story… or rather, the story of those who share the same elemental power as us, but in a world completely different from that one."
Lyra froze. Her hand stopped mid-air, her eyes widened slightly, then lowered, as if trying to hide something that even her breath was afraid to reveal. The light of the fire painted her face in orange and gold, but beneath that glow, the shadow of fear and realization flickered.
Her heartbeat quickened. Ragnar's words weren't random curiosity — she could feel it. That energy, that familiarity, that instinctive pull that whispered from somewhere deep inside. It was as if the same flame burned within them both.
The noise of the tavern around them faded, replaced only by the rhythmic tapping of rain outside. Ragnar's eyes never left her. And Lyra's silence spoke louder than any words she could muster.
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In the Zombie Apocalypse world, on the rooftop of an abandoned military base, the world was bathed in cold moonlight. The ruins stretched endlessly across the horizon, a sea of shadows and flickering embers from far-off fires. The night was still, except for the faint groan of the wind passing through broken towers.
Noctus stood leaning against the rusted railing, Razorgale slung on his shoulder, the gleam of his sapphire eyes reflecting the light of the stars. Across from him, Artemis stood silently, her expression unreadable, one hand gripping, the other brushing her short, silver hair out of her face.
Then came Noctus's voice — deep, steady, resonating like a whisper through the apocalypse. "No need to worry. We're allies, after all. It's not too much to know about our comrades, right?" He paused, his gaze shifting to the shattered city below. "Tell me… the story of you — no, of those who wield the same elemental powers as us, but live in a completely different world."
Artemis's breath hitched. The wind caught the edge of her cloak and sent it fluttering behind her, but she didn't move. Her eyes narrowed — not in suspicion, but in dawning comprehension.
He knew.
Noctus, the enigmatic soldier who never trusted anyone easily, had seen through her. The same energy that swirled within her — the power of Tempest, the energy of — it was inside him too. Two shadows, shaped by different worlds, but carved from the same essence.
Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. For the first time, Artemis couldn't tell whether the tremor in her chest came from the cold or from the truth standing before her.
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In the oceanic world where the seas devoured the continents, aboard the sky-cruiser Arkworld AW-03, the gentle sway of the ship and the distant call of seagulls framed the tense stillness within Tiama's private cabin. Golden morning light streamed through the glass panels, dancing on the dark blue waves below.
Gaiard stood beside the window, the ocean wind brushing through his black hair. "The aura you released was… familiar," he said softly. "Too familiar."
Tiama, sitting at her desk surrounded by charts and water-magic devices, stiffened.
He continued, "I thought it was an illusion at first — that my own Crystal power had somehow reflected back at me. But no, it wasn't mine. It was yours." He turned to face her fully, his blue eyes as calm as the sea but as sharp as its undercurrents. "You're like me, aren't you? From another world."
His tone softened, curiosity replacing the sharpness. "Tell me, then. Your story — or rather, the story of those who wield the same elemental power as us, but from a completely different world."
Tiama blinked, unable to move for a few seconds. The pen in her hand trembled slightly. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears louder than the creaking of the ship.
The sea outside the window seemed to freeze for a moment. Her throat felt dry, though moisture was her very element. She wanted to deny it — to brush it off as nonsense — but deep inside, that connection Gaiard spoke of pulsed like a tide responding to the moon.
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In the world where humanity first reached for the stars, the neon lights of the spaceport city painted the restaurant windows in vibrant colors. The sound of airships hummed faintly outside, blending with the chatter of the late-night crowd.
At a corner table, Ignis and Flamme sat facing each other. The remains of their meal lay untouched — the tension between them heavier than the weight of any words.
Ignis leaned back in his chair, his crimson eyes half-lidded but sharp. He sighed and ran a hand through his messy red hair. "Actually," he said, voice low, "I might've been too direct earlier."
Flamme didn't reply. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her whip still faintly visible in its holster, glowing with residual ember energy.
"But I can't ignore it," Ignis continued. "That familiar energy you released during our match. The Nova power… I know it because I once carried it myself." His gaze met hers directly. "So tell me — your story. Or rather, the story of those who wield the same elemental power as us, but in a completely different world."
The words hit her harder than she expected. The flicker of the neon lights outside mirrored the flicker in her mind. Nova power.
Her fingers twitched, a spark of flame unintentionally forming at her fingertips before she quickly extinguished it.
Flamme's lips parted, but the only thing that came out was a faint exhale. The air around her shimmered from the heat of her confusion.
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In the world of Rankers, where powers were measured and classified by ranks, the quiet café opposite the International Ranker Association glowed softly under the evening sun. The smell of roasted beans and warm bread filled the air, calming yet sharp enough to stir the senses.
Friz sat opposite Friya, his face calm, though his cold blue eyes gleamed like frozen mirrors. He stirred his coffee absentmindedly, then set the spoon down with deliberate quiet.
"No need to be so surprised," he said, breaking the silence. "You felt it too, didn't you? During our fight."
Friya's hand trembled slightly as she held her cup midair, frozen halfway to her lips.
"I don't care much about theories of multiverses," Friz continued, his gaze distant. "They're troublesome. But an individual possessing the same power as your own… that's rare. Almost impossible." He turned his eyes back to her, cold and piercing. "So tell me — your story. Or rather, the story of those who wield the same elemental power as us, but in a completely different world."
The café's ambient chatter faded away. Friya's lips moved, but the words caught in her throat. Her heartbeat thundered against her chest, her breath visible in the sudden chill that formed between them. The ice in her veins told her the truth — this wasn't coincidence. This was connection.
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In the primitive world ruled by giant beasts, the jungle was alive again after battle — the scent of damp earth mixing with the iron of spilled blood. Heim stood tall, his wooden club Logbuster resting against his shoulder, vines and roots still swaying faintly as if breathing with him.
Flora, still sitting on the ground, tried to compose herself, cheeks flushed. But her calm broke instantly when Heim spoke again.
"It's not hard to notice," he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Jungle power connects through plants — every vine, every leaf resonates. Even if you only called a small one, I'd know."
He sighed, half amused, half intrigued. "Solar was right. Parallel worlds really do exist. So tell me, Flora — your story. Or rather, the story of those who wield the same elemental power as us, but in a completely different world."
Flora blinked rapidly, panic flickering in her green eyes. Her breath hitched. The vines around her wrist tightened instinctively as her emotions spiraled, betraying her inner turmoil.
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In the digital world invaded by reality, the sea shimmered with pixelated light. On a lonely cliff above the river, Alstar sat gazing at the virtual horizon while Alexandrite stood waist-deep in the glowing water below, her expression tense.
Alstar didn't look back when he spoke, but his words were clear. "The multiverse theory was common in my old world. So from the first time I met you, I knew you weren't from here either."
She froze.
"The light you used to heal me — it resonated with the Gamma power. I could feel it. So I was right." He turned slightly, his eyes catching the holographic glow of the setting sun. "Tell me, then. Your story — or rather, the story of those who wield the same elemental power as us, but in a completely different world."
The water around Alexandrite rippled. Her hands trembled, her pupils dilated. The air felt heavier, like the gravity of revelation pressing down on her.
She stood there, the water dripping from her hair, her lips parted — but no answer came. Only silence.
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And in every world — the tavern, the rooftop, the ship, the restaurant, the café, the jungle, and the digital river — silence fell.
A silence born not from fear, but realization.
Because each of the girls, in their own worlds, felt it — that same strange pulse, that recognition in the questioner's eyes, the resonance between powers that should never coexist.
A realization bloomed inside them all at once, across seven worlds divided by time and space.
That the ones standing before them — the boys who shared their element — were not coincidences.
They were fragments of something far greater.
Something once whole.
Something ancient.
Something beginning to awaken again.
And for a brief, suspended moment in the fabric of existence, seven silences echoed in perfect harmony.
(To be continued)