The wind tore past him.
Dantero drifted across the layers of light, coat flapping behind him like a banner of freedom that didn't belong to any kingdom. He wasn't flying so much as gliding, weaving through streaks of color that weren't supposed to exist in the same sky.
Each streak was a world.
He passed through one where the clouds were made of rivers that flowed upward, filled with fish that sang instead of swam. Another was a desert of mirrors that reflected cities that didn't exist yet. Further still, a realm where gravity bent sideways and the ground pulsed like a heartbeat.
Dantero: Damn. Cosmic wasn't lying. This place really went insane.
He smirked and tilted forward, speeding up. His boots cut through clouds that hissed like steam. Trails of light followed in his wake, stretching behind him across entire atmospheres.
The deeper he flew, the more the worlds began to blur together. Some looked alive, like they were breathing. Some were dark, broken, unfinished. And yet all of them spun around one faint center — the same silent point where the Dark Empire slept.
Dantero slowed down.
Ahead of him floated a small world. Simple. Quiet. No glowing cities, no shifting seas. Just blue oceans, white clouds, and the golden shape of a sun.
Dantero: Huh. That one looks... normal.
He hovered for a moment, tilting his head.
Dantero: Figures I'd end up in the only boring one left.
He chuckled and descended, breaking through the first layer of atmosphere. The sky turned blue. Wind howled past his ears. Heat wrapped around him like the breath of something familiar.
Below stretched continents of green and gray, mountain chains splitting vast oceans, the pulse of life echoing faintly through the air.
Dantero: It feels... peaceful. Weird.
He fell lower, spinning once midair just for fun. The world rushed up to meet him. Trees blurred into view. Rivers curved through valleys like silver veins. He braced himself and slammed down into a forest clearing, the shockwave scattering leaves and bending trunks outward.
Dantero straightened his coat and looked around.
The forest was alive — birds darting between branches, faint light filtering through. He could hear running water somewhere nearby, the buzz of insects, the whisper of grass.
Dantero: A planet like this, in all that chaos? Guess luck's still on my side.
He took a few steps forward, boots crunching against the ground. The soil was soft. Warm. Real.
For a moment, he just stood there, letting the calm sink in. It had been years since anything had felt grounded. Everything in this new existence was so massive, so layered, that he'd forgotten what a quiet world looked like.
Dantero: Yeah. I could get used to this.
He looked up. The sun broke through the clouds in patches. Somewhere far above, between folds of atmosphere, he could still see faint outlines of other worlds drifting — distant spheres of light crossing the sky like ghostly moons.
Dantero: The hell did you do, Cosmic...
He started walking toward the sound of running water, humming a tune under his breath. Each step felt lighter, freer, as if this one small world had somehow escaped the madness.
But it hadn't.
Because in the distance, something watched him — a presence cold and familiar, its aura hidden beneath the calm. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable meeting that neither of them had planned.
Dantero stopped at the edge of a stream. He crouched, scooped a handful of water, and let it run through his fingers.
Dantero: Peaceful. Too peaceful.
He smiled faintly.
The forest thinned the further he walked. The air opened into rolling grasslands that stretched toward a faint skyline. Hills dipped and rose under the golden light, and at the edge of the horizon, smoke curled upward in thin gray trails.
Dantero squinted.
Dantero: Civilization. Finally.
He grinned, resting his hands behind his head as he strolled downhill. Wind brushed through his hair, carrying the scent of earth, grain, and something faintly sweet.
He crossed a small river and followed a dirt path that led toward the village. It wasn't large. Wooden houses, stone fences, a few animals grazing between fields. Windmills turned lazily under the sky, their blades creaking in rhythm with the breeze.
It was simple. Quiet. Real.
Dantero slowed his walk. After seeing infinite worlds of fire and glass, this place felt almost unreal in its normalcy. People worked in the fields. Children ran across the dirt roads. A few merchants argued over prices at a wooden stall.
Dantero: Not bad. Could use a bar, though.
He kept walking until someone noticed him.
The first to react was a farmer carrying a bundle of wheat. His steps faltered. His eyes narrowed at the stranger in a long black coat, boots that looked nothing like local wear, and a silver chain glinting around his wrist.
Farmer: Hey! You there! Stop!
Dantero stopped, palms raised casually.
Dantero: Yo.
The man's voice shook, but he stood firm.
Farmer: You're not from here. What are you?
Dantero: Relax, man. Human. Last time I checked.
By now, more people had gathered. Men with tools that looked like weapons. Women pulling children behind them. The energy shifted from curiosity to tension in seconds.
Someone shouted from the back.
Villager: Show your mark!
Dantero blinked.
Dantero: My what now?
Another villager lifted their wrist. A faint spiral of light glowed there, dim but steady.
Villager: All humans bear the mark of the Heartforge. If you don't have one, you're not one of us.
Dantero raised his wrist. Nothing.
The murmurs turned sharp.
Villager: He's a mimic. A Hollow in disguise.
Dantero sighed.
Dantero: Here we go again.
A few of them stepped closer, holding pitchforks and rusted blades.
Dantero: Look, I don't know what a Hollow is in this world, but I'm not one. I just got lost. You ever get lost? It's a thing. Happens to the best of us.
No one laughed.
Dantero exhaled slowly and crouched, resting an elbow on his knee.
Dantero: Okay, listen. If I was here to attack you, we wouldn't be having this talk. You'd all be, you know... not standing.
The crowd hesitated. They could tell from his tone he wasn't bluffing.
Dantero: I don't hurt people who don't give me a reason. I'm just hungry. Maybe thirsty.
From behind the crowd, a woman pushed forward. She looked older than most, hair streaked with white, eyes sharp but calm.
Woman: Lower your weapons.
Farmer: Elder, he's unmarked.
Elder: And yet he's standing here talking instead of killing. Lower them.
Reluctantly, they obeyed. The tension thinned but didn't vanish.
The woman looked Dantero over from head to toe.
Elder: Stranger. You claim to be human. Prove it.
Dantero: How do you expect me to do that? Sing a song? Solve math?
Elder: Eat.
She motioned toward a barrel of grain nearby. Dantero raised an eyebrow.
Dantero: What, that's your test?
Elder: Mimics can't eat what we grow.
Dantero shrugged.
Dantero: Sure. Why not.
He grabbed a handful and bit into it. The taste was dry, earthy, not exactly good, but he chewed and swallowed.
Dantero: Happy?
The villagers stared. The woman nodded once.
Elder: Then you're no Hollow.
Dantero: Great. Now that we've confirmed I'm not some monster, how about we skip to the part where I get food that isn't raw grain?
A few of them chuckled nervously. The Elder smiled faintly.
Elder: Follow me, traveler. You'll eat at the hall.
Dantero: Finally. Hospitality.
They walked through the village together. The people still watched from a distance, whispering, their eyes filled with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Dantero ignored it. He was too busy looking around. The streets were lined with small lamps that burned with blue fire. The air smelled of baked bread and oil. Children peeked from behind doors, some whispering, some daring each other to step closer.
He grinned and waved.
Dantero: Hey, little man. Nice hat.
The kid gasped and ran back inside.
Dantero: Tough crowd.
The Elder led him to a large wooden hall at the center of the village. Inside, the light was warm, flickering across rough walls. Long tables, carved chairs, bowls of stew.
Elder: Sit.
Dantero: Don't mind if I do.
He sat down, boots up on another chair. A few younger villagers brought food — soup, bread, roasted meat. He didn't hesitate.
Dantero: You guys cook better than half the universes I've been through.
Elder: You speak like a man who has traveled far.
Dantero: Further than most can imagine.
Elder: And yet you look no older than twenty-five.
Dantero smirked.
Dantero: Must be the skincare routine.
That earned an actual laugh from a few of the villagers nearby. The tension started to fade.
Elder: You have a strange energy about you, Dantero. You are not like the others who came from the skies.
Dantero: Others?
Elder: Travelers. Beings of power. Some kind. Most brought ruin. You, however... I cannot read.
Dantero leaned back in his chair.
Dantero: Good. Keep it that way.
He finished another piece of bread and glanced toward the window. The sky outside had deepened into purple.
Elder: You may rest here tonight. But understand this — peace is fragile in this land. If trouble follows you, it will find us too.
Dantero: I don't plan on bringing any.
Elder: No one ever does.
Dantero smiled faintly.
Dantero: Fair enough.
The Elder stood and bowed her head slightly.
Elder: Sleep well, traveler. Tomorrow, you may decide where your path leads.
She left, leaving Dantero alone with the quiet hum of firelight and distant laughter outside.
He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded as he looked up at the rafters.
Dantero: Whole new world, same old people. Paranoid, hungry, but decent.
He smirked to himself.
The villagers began to settle again, returning to their chores and voices, when the sound of footsteps came from the path leading down the hill.
They all turned at once.
A few of them smiled. Others straightened their backs like soldiers at attention.
Villager: He's back.
A man walked through the fading light. His hair was long, silver-gray, messy like it hadn't been cut in months. His eyes carried that same tired calm that made people unsure if he was angry or just exhausted. His clothes were torn and patched, the color lost under dried dust. The curved blade across his back glimmered faintly, catching streaks of red sunlight.
Children whispered his name first. Then the adults joined.
Voices: Rykaou. The protector. The Beast of the Valley.
He nodded once toward them, silent but warm in a distant way. A few villagers stepped forward, offering him food, water, anything, but he waved it off gently.
Rykaou: I'm fine. Keep it.
An older woman smiled up at him.
Woman: The storms stayed quiet while you were gone. The sky hasn't screamed for days.
Rykaou: Good. Then maybe they're learning to fear this place again.
He walked past them, calm, almost ghostlike. The crowd parted for him. Not from fear — from respect.
That was when Dantero noticed.
He had been leaning against a wooden fence, half watching the sunset, half bored, until he saw how the entire village reacted to one man.
Dantero: Damn. Looks like you're the local hero.
Rykaou's steps slowed. His gaze shifted toward Dantero, eyes unreadable.
Rykaou: And you are?
Dantero: Name's Dantero. Wanderer, adventurer, occasional disaster. Depends on who you ask.
The tired eyes studied him for a moment, the faintest flicker of recognition crossing them.
Rykaou: You're not from here.
Dantero: Is it that obvious?
Rykaou: It's in your scent. You don't belong to this world's air.
Dantero smirked.
Dantero: I'll take that as a poetic way of saying I stand out.
Rykaou looked toward the villagers again.
Rykaou: They stand because of him.
Dantero: Who?
Rykaou: The Emperor. Dark.
The way he said the name carried weight. Even the villagers nearby lowered their voices. Some touched the ground, others bowed their heads.
Dantero: You follow him too, huh.
Rykaou: Follow? No. I survive because of him.
He walked toward a nearby well and leaned against the stone edge. His fingers brushed the blade's hilt on his back.
Rykaou: When my world fell apart, when everything I had turned to ash, I saw him stand against the End itself. Everyone else ran. He didn't. That's all the reason I needed.
Dantero crossed his arms, studying him.
Dantero: That's a hell of a thing to live by.
Rykaou: It's enough.
One of the children approached, holding a small bunch of flowers. She smiled shyly, holding them out.
Child: Welcome back, Rykaou. Mama said you keep the monsters away.
Rykaou took them carefully. The faint smile that touched his lips looked real for only half a second.
Rykaou: Your mama gives me too much credit. The monsters fear the Emperor more than me.
The girl laughed and ran back to her mother. Rykaou watched her go, his eyes softening just slightly before the tired weight returned.
Dantero: You're good with them.
Rykaou: I'm just honest.
The evening wind picked up. The smell of rain and earth drifted through the village.
Dantero: So what now, Beast of the Valley? You gonna stay here forever?
Rykaou: No one stays anywhere forever. The scent of change is already here.
Dantero: You smell that too?
Rykaou: I smell everything. Even the things trying not to be found.
He turned toward the horizon. Clouds were gathering — slow, black, heavy.
Rykaou: Something's moving out there. Something that remembers his name.
Dantero's grin returned, sharp this time.
Dantero: Then maybe it's time I tag along.
Rykaou glanced at him again, expression unreadable.
Rykaou: You talk too much.
Dantero laughed.
Dantero: Yeah. You'll get used to it.
Rykaou didn't reply. He looked down at the flowers still in his hand, then placed them gently beside the well. The wind stirred again, carrying dust and petals down the empty road.
Rykaou: Night falls fast here. Rest while you can. Tomorrow always finds its prey.
He walked away, his silhouette fading into the orange haze at the edge of the village.
Dantero watched him go, hands still in his pockets, grin softening into something closer to respect.
Dantero: That guy... he's seen more than he lets on.
He looked toward the distant sky where storms brewed between fractured worlds.
Dantero: Guess I picked the right place to crash.
Dantero grins slightly.
The night settled. The wind carried the scent of rain and thunder. Somewhere far beyond, something stirred, not fate, not destiny, just the quiet promise of another beginning.
To be continued.
End Of Chapter 3.