Arc of Divine Dimension
"The beginning is the most important part, it's from it that the journey truly starts." — Words of a wise librarian.
His body resisted waking. There was discomfort, as if he had been lying on a rigid surface for ages. He felt worn out… yet, at the same time, new. It was strange: his body felt newborn and, simultaneously, marked by extreme experiences that had pushed him straight into adulthood.Everything he sensed came as instinct — a feeling that this spirit had not belonged to this physical form before.
"He's taking in more power! Damn it! Give it everything you've got! [...] It can't be! This is the end of us… someone will have to inherit this fate for us…"
These phrases echoed like fragments of memory, a distant past lived while his body remained trapped in a state of temporal stasis. It felt like a bad dream, an omen, or a curse. When he finally opened his eyes, he found only confusion.
He tried moving — his limbs were numb, as if they had been forgotten by time, but still responsive. As he pushed himself up, staggering, he looked around: he had been lying on a fallen pedestal, surrounded by ruins set on a floating island. The architecture resembled ancient Greek temples, destroyed and abandoned in the void of the universe. Vines and moss covered his body, though it was impossible for any form of life to have developed in such a place.
On his chest, a star-shaped scar — eight black points — glowed with a faint purple light, pulsing with his heartbeat. He wore only an old cloth around his lower body. When he raised his head, he saw a horizon torn open by an endless rift: a dimensional tear that had destroyed all reality around it. Pure collapse.
As he stood, he noticed he didn't need to breathe oxygen. His body had been prepared to survive where no life should exist. Despite his youthful appearance — frozen at the peak of adolescence — his muscles held absurd, evidently inhuman strength.
He walked with difficulty through the area, observing everything. He could think clearly, perceive the environment, feel it as something tangible… though a deep doubt erased any expression from his face. Something was incredibly wrong — and the sensation unsettled him.
In the distance, he saw two men dressed like knights advancing in his direction. Their golden and black armor glimmered, and both wielded heavy swords. A hollow aura poured from their bodies, an atmosphere suggesting that whatever they truly were should not exist. There was something complex and dangerous in their mere presence.
The way they approached showed that they saw him as someone important — perhaps feared. The soldiers' eyes, though empty of meaning, were filled with emotion.
"He has awakened! We must stop him! That bastard has really awakened!" they shouted.
The hostility caught him off guard. He had only just awakened… why did they already want him dead? He approached cautiously, seeking answers:
"I don't know who you are. I'm lost and I need help. I'm not looking for trouble… just guide me, please," he said politely.
He received no answer. Instead, he watched as both began to condense dark magic at the tip of their swords, pointing directly at him.
"He's using his magic again! Don't let him hit you, Maron! You'll die!"
The fragment of memory struck his mind like a blade — and fear overtook him. A survival instinct ignited within him, as if he had faced this exact situation before. His body reacted before any conscious decision.
"I can feel your intentions! Don't come any closer!" he warned.
The men ignored him. And then, his body took control.
His movements became fast, brutal, feral — almost demonic, yet executed with absurd precision. He dashed forward like a shadow and struck both from behind with a single punch. His speed surpassed even the light emitted by his own body. For an instant, he seemed to exist between dimensions.
The impact was devastating: the soldiers' bodies exploded, reduced to droplets of blood that fell like rain upon the ruins. Even as they died, they managed to release the magic they had prepared. The black beam tore through space, disintegrating everything it touched — including the island.
He noticed he could float effortlessly, as if space itself were nothing more than a trivial detail. The only illumination came from the dimensional rift, burning silently across the horizon.
Amid the remains, he found one of their badges:
"Soldier Rickhard."
He didn't know what the name meant, but kept it anyway.
Now, alone in the void, he wondered:
"How did I get here? I can't remember anything."
No name. No origin. No direction.
But there was something — an absolute impulse — pushing him forward. It wasn't his conviction; it was something deeper, buried within that body, determining his path even as his mind still staggered through the darkness of his own awakening.
And so he moved on, guided by an objective impulse, for he felt that one day he would find his answers.