While the divine realm was still shaken by the aftermath of the battle between Khaz and the Square, in another dimension — where the sky seemed to have been transformed into a blazing galaxy, Ascil was walking slowly on the cracked ground of the old arena.
His footsteps were now silent
He gently raised his hand, and from the thin air filled with ashes and memories, the sword bearing his "name" once again appeared. But this time, it was no longer a mere weapon of battle — it was a part of his soul
Ascil stopped in the center of the arena, where a few minutes ago, he had redefined Tyler's fate. A quiet expression appeared on his face, neither pride nor regret.
"I changed his ending… but is that really liberation?"
The wind blew by, carrying with it traces of blood and the aftershocks of stories that had ended. A strange voice suddenly rang out — not fiercely, but softly, like an echo from another dimension:
"You have felt it, Ascil… the price of 'miracles'."
He did not turn his head, but only tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and replied:
"I know… Every time I change the fate of others, I myself am gradually removed from the original timeline."
"And I am not sure… until when I will be me."
Another portal opened ahead — but this time, it did not lead to an arena. It led to a place where those who survived after overcoming fate would have to make a choice.
Ascil stepped through the portal of light, where everything around him seemed to melt into streams of metallic data floating in the void. A transparent window appeared before his eyes, with two simple choices:
[1] Power
[2] The Truth of the World
He looked at the two lines of text, without hesitation. In the past battles, he had witnessed too many people abusing power, too many souls perishing because of it.
And most importantly — he had never fought for power.
Ascil reached out, touching the "Truth of the World".
In that moment, the world suddenly slipped away like a curtain being pulled down. He fell into another dimension, where there was no ground, no light, only floating lines of text as if written in pure thought.
A quiet, unknown voice echoed in his head:
"If you want to know the truth, then start at the root.
Everything you see… all living things, the laws of physics, time, the principle of cause and effect…
It all revolves around one thing — the Name."
Ascil was silent, but his mind was wide open. Memories, symbols, fragments of symbols he had never learned — all of them automatically lined up together in a complete logical structure.
"When something has a 'Name,' it is not simply called or identified.
It is formatted.
It is tied to a place in the invisible network that governs all of reality."
"From there, the laws of matter, instinct, life, and even death… are all woven together.
A name is not a label — it is a foundational pillar, a template that all the movements of living things must follow."
Ascil felt something burning in his head. Not pain, but enlightenment. He began to understand—why when he knew someone's name, he could read their story.
Why when he rewrote the ending, the timeline changed.
Why a person's name, if erased… would cause everything that had ever been related to them to collapse, like a link removed from a chain hanging in the abyss.
"Each 'Name' is a window to a deeper level—where reality is written in will and system."
"But remember: once you open the door to that level, you are no longer just a person living in this world."
"You become part of its operating architecture."
"The world you live in is not made of bricks or gas.
Everything, from grains of sand to nebulae, is held together by an invisible thread."
The lines of symbols moved like living things, weaving together into an abstract vortex.
"That thread has many names — some call it a concept, some call it structure, some call it law.
But whatever you call it, it is the first inscription — the place where all beings are woven."
A symbol appeared in Ascil's mind. Not a language. Not an image. But a pure meaning, indescribable.
"When it is woven into a living being, it not only defines its form… but also guides its fate, limits its actions, and even its farewell when it is all over."
"And when it is pulled from the fabric — even if you breathe, no one will remember that you ever existed."
Ascil was pushed out of the gate like a returned object. He collapsed in the middle of the main hall of the central arena, breathing raggedly, his hands on the ground. Cold sweat rolled down his forehead—not from fear, but from the information load that had just hit his mind like a conceptual tsunami.
His eyes were still open, but before him was no longer physical space. Instead, tens of thousands of invisible symbols were automatically sorting, chaining, connecting… things he had never known he had "seen" before.
Every object around him—from the floor tiles to the dried blood stains he had yet to wipe away—now had their masks stripped away. He saw what held them together. Not atoms. Not logic. Something that was almost a name, almost a law, almost a destiny, but not quite any of those things.
Ascil muttered softly, half to himself:
"This world is not durable because of material… but because it is believed to be so."
He pushed himself up on his hands. The world around him began to close in on its original silence. The power that had just been planted in him was not yet tamed—but not completely unfamiliar either.
He sighed, his lips curling slightly.
"I don't need power. But it seems… I have just received something more dangerous than power."