The night stretched long across seven skies, and in each of those skies, the same moment unfolded—different places, different faces, yet the same pulse of memory began to stir within them. It was as though time itself had bent backward, allowing the echoes of the same story to ripple across parallel worlds.
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The Middle Ages: Swords and Magic World
The tavern's candlelight flickered softly, painting golden arcs across the walls. Outside, rain pattered on the cobblestone streets, and the faint smell of damp earth crept through the cracks of the door. Ragnar remained still, his gaze fixed on Lyra, his breath steady, waiting.
Lyra's lips trembled slightly as if the words she wanted to say were too heavy to be spoken aloud. For a long moment, she said nothing. The sound of the fire crackling filled the silence between them. Finally, she straightened up and spoke in a soft but firm tone.
"You're right," she began, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of the firelight. "I and six others… we all possess elemental powers. Mine is the element of Voltra." Her voice carried a faint tremor, but her gaze did not waver. "We come from another world—a world far from here. But something happened… a distortion, a force that pulled us apart. When we were forced to teleport, the seven of us were separated. I don't know where they went, or even if they're still alive."
Her hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. The memory seemed to sting as if reopening an old wound. "As for the origin of everything…" She trailed off, her expression distant, the flicker of a long-buried pain crossing her face.
Ragnar didn't interrupt. He simply leaned forward slightly, his ruby eyes locked on hers, urging her silently to continue.
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The Zombie Apocalypse World
The wind howled faintly through the broken skeletons of skyscrapers. Below, the ruins shimmered faintly in the pale moonlight, while a few distant groans of the undead echoed through the darkness. On the watchtower, Artemis stood with her back to the city, one hand absently brushing a lock of her silver hair behind her ear.
Noctus leaned against the railing, Razorgale resting on his shoulder, saying nothing. His eyes, however, studied her every movement.
After a moment, Artemis sighed and finally turned to face him. Her expression softened. "You're right," she said, voice calm but heavy. "Understanding allies is necessary."
She looked up at the moon, eyes reflecting the silvery light. "It's true… I'm the wielder of the power of Tempest. Or rather, that power was given to me—from a Power Sphere." Her voice slowed as she spoke, each word pulling her further into the past.
"And it all started one day when I was eleven years old…"
Her words trailed off into the night air, and for a moment, even the moaning of the wind seemed to quiet. Noctus listened, unmoving. The sharpness in his eyes softened, not out of pity but because of the faint recognition he saw in her—something in her story that resonated deep inside him, as if he had once walked the same path.
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The Ocean World Where the Seas Engulfed the Continents
The faint creaking of the ship echoed beneath their feet. Outside the cabin, waves whispered softly against the hull, and the golden light of the rising sun spilled through the wide glass window, illuminating the air with warm hues.
Tiama sat quietly, her hands curled around her teacup, feeling the fading warmth seep into her skin. Gaiard stood near the window, looking out at the endless horizon of blue. The silence between them stretched, deep and contemplative.
Finally, Tiama spoke. Her voice was low, like a soft ripple disturbing still waters. "The Crystal power exists in both of us," she said. "But I feel a difference."
Her gaze rose to meet his. "If I guess correctly… you were once a piece inside someone, weren't you?"
Gaiard froze. The sea breeze rustled his hair, and the faint glint in his eyes dimmed slightly, as though her words had touched something long buried. He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence was enough.
Tiama's lips curved faintly into a bittersweet smile. "I thought so." She looked back at her tea. "You might not believe this, but the power of Crystal came to me during an event that happened when I was eleven years old…"
Her words faded, carried away by the wind that slipped through the half-open window. Gaiard remained silent, listening, but his heart felt as though the waves had turned heavy, pressing upon him with memories of a world he could no longer return to.
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The Space-Exploring Civilization
The quiet hum of the spaceport could be faintly heard even from the restaurant. Outside, airships drifted through the night sky, their lights flickering like distant stars.
Flamme sat upright, her whip coiled neatly by her side, her crimson hair shimmering under the dim ceiling light. Ignis, sitting across from her, leaned back in silence, his hand resting on the table, a faint trace of heat still radiating from his body.
She had been trembling moments ago, but now her eyes steadied. "The power of Nova came from Novabot, right?" she said finally, breaking the silence.
Ignis blinked, his expression unreadable.
"I got the power from it," she continued, her gaze distant, her voice softening as memories returned. "And if that event hadn't happened, I would have remained an ordinary girl, like everyone else."
Her tone carried the weight of nostalgia — of something lost, something irreplaceable. For a fleeting second, the sparks that surrounded her fingertips flared faintly, echoing the memory of that long-ago day.
Ignis watched quietly, feeling the faint resonance of that same energy vibrating within him.
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The Rankers' World
In the café, the glow of sunset filtered through the windows, casting long shadows on the polished floor. The hum of quiet conversation faded as Friya set her cup of coffee back down on the table.
She took a slow breath and looked directly at Friz. "The power of Blizzard," she said clearly.
He raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of curiosity flickering in his icy eyes.
"It's been a long time since we were separated," she continued softly. "I never thought I'd meet someone who carried such a similar presence… the same coldness, the same aura." Her eyes shimmered with a quiet melancholy. "Our story, back in the old world—it went like this…"
Her fingers brushed the surface of the cup again, and for a moment, frost bloomed across the rim, catching the last rays of sunlight before melting away.
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The Primitive Beast World
The air was heavy with the scent of soil and sap. Around them, the forest was eerily quiet, as if the beasts themselves dared not disturb the calm after chaos. Heim stood motionless, his towering figure partially hidden by the dappled light breaking through the canopy.
Flora sat beside him, her hands resting on her knees, her hair still damp from sweat and dew. She bowed her head slightly, her expression tinged with embarrassment that slowly gave way to resolve.
"Actually…" she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Jungle power came to me by chance."
She lifted her gaze, her green eyes shimmering like sunlight through leaves. "It all started when a meteor shower flew over the town where we lived…"
Heim's eyes narrowed slightly. He said nothing, but the curiosity in his gaze deepened, as if her words had just confirmed an unspoken truth.
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The Digital Reality World
The digital river shimmered faintly under a false twilight, the light from fragmented data-particles drifting like fireflies. Alexandrite stepped onto the shore, her bare feet brushing against the wet, holographic grass. She walked slowly toward the cliff where Alstar sat, his gaze lost in the artificial horizon.
Without saying a word, she sat beside him, drawing her knees close and resting her chin on them. Her hair glowed faintly under the light of the setting sun in this virtual sky.
"Actually," she said after a long pause, her voice soft, almost fragile, "the Gamma power was given to me when I was eleven years old… in an event where each of us received those great powers."
Her reflection flickered across the digital water, breaking and reforming as if the world itself was listening.
Alstar turned his head slightly toward her but didn't speak. The silence between them was not empty — it was full of questions, of recognition, of the faint ache of remembering something both familiar and foreign.
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And across seven worlds — seven skies, seven horizons — the echoes of those words intertwined.
Different voices, same origin.Different memories, same age.Different destinies, same beginning.
They didn't question how or why. They didn't speak of destiny or coincidence. They simply sat in silence, listening — to the girl in front of them, to the resonance of the past, to the faint hum of something ancient beginning to awaken once more.
The night deepened across all seven worlds.And the silence that followed their stories was not emptiness — it was a bridge, stretching across realities.
Each of them — elements, human, fragments, and memories — listened in quiet understanding.
For though they now lived in separate universes, something in their hearts recognized the truth.
They were never truly apart.