There was no throne.
No crown.
No blood.
Only endless light.
King Allen floated through an abyss of radiant silence, surrounded by a stillness so absolute it pressed into his soul like the hush before a battlefield cry. He felt... detached. The weight of his armor gone. His wounds gone. His body gone.
And yet, he was aware.
His thoughts drifted through a void where time did not exist. Was this death? Or something worse?
"Is this heaven?" he asked no one. His voice felt distant. Hollow. Even he wasn't sure if he had spoken aloud.
But a whisper of memory answered him:
Fire. Sorrow. Betrayal.
Simon's tear-streaked face. The cold blade piercing his chest.
Allen gritted his spectral teeth.
"No," he muttered bitterly. "This isn't heaven. I don't deserve that."
He stared into the light, but it gave him no warmth.
"I fought to protect my kingdom," he said to the void. "But I ruled with fear. I trusted no one. Killed too many."
He lowered his head. "I did what I thought was right. But… the way I did it… wasn't."
The silence broke.
Not with thunder, but with presence.
Something ancient stirred the void—like a ripple in time itself. A figure appeared, not descending, but emerging, as though the light was shedding its disguise.
She stood tall, wrapped in celestial cloth that shimmered like galaxies. Her silver eyes held no malice, no warmth—only divine stillness. Her presence was not comforting. It was humbling.
"I am not here to absolve you," she said, her voice ringing like bells over a frozen lake.
Allen raised his gaze slowly. "Then what are you?"
"I am Aria," she said. "One of the First. A god, born of pure order."
He blinked. "Then… I'm in the realm of the gods?"
"Yes."
He swallowed the knot in his throat. "Why?"
Aria took a step forward—gravity bending around her, space folding at her will.
"You are dead, Allen Ragnard. In body. But not in purpose."
Allen's brow furrowed. "You mean to use me."
"I mean to summon you," she replied calmly. "Not for your world. That realm is behind you. What lies ahead is a world not your own—a world you must now protect."
"Why me?"
Aria's gaze pierced through him like judgment itself.
"Because I do not seek a hero born of purity," she said. "I seek one forged in ruin."
She gestured, and the light around them shifted, pulling away to reveal glimpses of another world—a land untouched by Allen's wars. Vast forests, shattered spires, skies split by black-winged monsters.
A world drowning in chaos.
"The realm I guard is not your kingdom," she continued. "It is a world called Eiraterra. It is dying."
"From what?"
"From Twelve," she said, her voice lowering. "Twelve beings who were once divine—now fallen. Not from my court. Not from any order you know. They are ancient betrayals made flesh. The Demonic Angels."
The images showed winged horrors blotting out suns. Cities burning. A boy—no older than seventeen—falling in battle, sword broken.
Allen stared at the boy. "Who is he?"
"Sion Ragnar," Aria answered. "A noble son of the Clover kingdom of Persia dukedom. The one whose body your soul shall inhabit."
Allen's eyes widened. "You want me to become him?"
"I cannot resurrect your body. It burned in your world. But your soul is unbroken. And his vessel is failing." Aria stepped closer, shadows swirling behind her. "You are all that stands between Eiraterra and extinction."
Allen hesitated. "Why me? Why not raise a champion of your own?"
Aria's expression flickered for a moment—subtle, but enough for Allen to catch. A hint of desperation, buried beneath godly calm.
"I am forbidden to act directly. The laws of creation bind even gods. But I can… choose a piece from another board."
Allen let out a slow breath. "So I'm a pawn."
"No," she said softly. "You are a king without a crown. And I am offering you a second chance."
He looked once more at the image of Sion Ragnar—young, beaten, moments from death.
A child whose fate would be rewritten.
Allen clenched his fist. "Then I'll fight."
Aria smiled faintly, and it was the first sign of humanity she showed.
"I do not need you to fight," she said. "I need you to win."
With a wave of her hand, the world shattered around them into starlight. The void collapsed, and Allen felt himself falling—not into darkness, but into life.
Aria's voice echoed one last time as the light consumed him:
"But beware, King of the Lost…
The world you awaken in may not be kind to monsters reborn."