The stars blinked—not from distance, but from distortion. Time itself wavered at the edge of creation.
A man in a black-and-gold cloak stood at the border between realms—Earth fractured, Hell rising, Heaven silent. He stood on nothing, above everything. His katana hummed softly at his back. A golden gun hung loosely from his side. Behind a mask forged of celestial steel, his eyes scanned reality with calm detachment.
Author: "This version is flawed. But even flawed stories deserve closure."
The man known only as Author walked forward.
He wasn't a myth. He wasn't a savior. He wasn't even from this timeline.
He was the one who remembered how it was all supposed to go.
Through a ripple in reality, he watched a girl—Syra Kaelion—wake up from a dream that was not hers.
Narration: "Before the blood. Before the betrayal. Before the seven keys scattered through Hell and Earth... he was already there."
The war had yet to begin. But the rewrite had already started.