The alley was quiet. Too quiet. Elijah's footsteps echoed against the cobblestone path as he followed the stranger deeper into the narrowing passageways of the Velmoria market. The bustling sounds of the city faded behind him, swallowed by silence and shadow.
The man—tall, clothed in a long brown coat and wide-brimmed hat—walked ahead without a word, his stride steady, his presence commanding.
Finally, the stranger stopped beneath the arch of a crumbling stone wall. Without turning, he spoke in a low, measured tone.
"I told you not to use Musagi."
Elijah blinked, confused. "Yes… but I didn't use it. My uncle did."
The man slowly turned his head, his eyes sharp beneath the shadow of the brim. "You may not have cast the spell yourself… but you permitted its summoning. Intentional or not, its essence answered your call. And that is enough."
Elijah's brow furrowed. "But… how did you know that? Who are you? And why do you keep appearing out of nowhere?"
Before the man could answer, he raised a single gloved hand—and reality twisted.
With a sound like cracking glass and whispering wind, a Domain bloomed around them. The world outside dimmed into silence. The sky above turned a deep violet, and threads of glowing silver hung motionless in the air, like frozen strands of fate.
Within the sealed domain, the man finally turned to face Elijah fully.
"I will answer your questions later," he said, his voice no longer casual. It was something colder—older. "But first, I came here to warn you."
Elijah stood still, eyes narrowing. "Warn me? Warn me about what?"
The man's eyes gleamed faintly beneath his hat. "Very soon… the Probability Threads will shatter. The Final Boundary will close. And when it does… a being beyond comprehension will awaken."
Most would have reeled in disbelief at such a claim. But Elijah's expression remained steady.
"I already knew that," he said calmly. "So this won't surprise me."
The man tilted his head slightly. "You speak with confidence. But I wonder… will that confidence endure when your knowledge becomes reality?"
There was no malice in his voice—only certainty. A certainty that pressed against Elijah like the weight of fate itself.
Elijah fell silent for a moment, unsettled not by the words—but by the absolute finality in the tone. Then he took a breath and spoke.
"Please… continue."
The man gave no immediate reply.
Instead, with deliberate slowness, he lifted his hand and removed his hat. His movements were smooth, almost reverent, as if unveiling something sacred—or cursed.
And then—
Time itself seemed to shudder.
The wind stilled. The flicker of torchlight froze mid-dance. Even the sound of rustling leaves seemed to vanish, as if the world were holding its breath.
The man's eyes—deep, ancient, and unsettling—met Elijah's.
"This must happen," he said, his voice echoing like a memory through the frozen silence.
"And no one can stop it. The gears have already begun to turn. This moment… will mark the beginning of the Prophecy."
A chill crept down Elijah's spine. His heart began to pound, not from fear alone, but from the sense that something enormous—something incomprehensible—had just shifted around him.
His calm cracked.
"Wait—what?" he demanded, his voice louder than intended. "Prophecy? What prophecy are you talking about?"
The man's gaze was unwavering, like stone carved by time.
"You are not yet ready to hear it."
Elijah took a sharp step forward, fists clenched at his sides, his eyes ablaze with confusion.
"Then why mention it at all?" he snapped. "Why tell me anything if you're just going to speak in riddles?"
The stranger bowed his head, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter—but laden with a sorrow so old it seemed to echo through generations.
"Because…" he said, each word weighed down with pain, "when the brave hear the Prophecy, they die. And when the weak hear it, they descend into madness… or end their own lives."
Silence.
The words hung in the air like poison, sinking into their skin, into their bones.
Elijah felt as though the breath had been stolen from his lungs. His throat tightened, and a thousand thoughts raced through his mind, none able to fully form.
"Then what should I do?" he finally whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of uncertainty. "Why are you telling me this? Am I part of it?"
The man nodded slowly.
Then a rush of wind followed.
The world around them rippled, and violet flames began to rise. His form shifted, melting into shadow and light. The brown coat gave way to a glimmering suit of black and white armor, and from behind him, a black horse emerged—its mane and hooves wreathed in ethereal purple flame. A long black cape flowed behind him like smoke in the wind.
When the transformation completed, he sat upon the flaming steed, a towering figure of dread and dignity.
Elijah's breath caught. He staggered back a step, heart pounding. His eyes locked on the figure before him.
"Who… who are you?" he asked, the words trembling on his lips.
"I go by many names," he said at last, his voice now echoing like a chorus of whispers and bells. "But you may call me… the Death Knight."
Elijah stared in silence, trying to steady his breath. There was a strange pressure in the air, as if the domain itself recognized this knight as its master.
"You are not part of the prophecy," the Death Knight continued. "But your actions will decide its course—whether it is delayed, hastened… or stopped entirely."
"What should I do, then?" Elijah asked
The Death Knight's hand rose and gently touched Elijah's shoulder. The touch wasn't threatening—it was heavy, yet calm. A weight, not of pain, but of purpose.
"Stay away from Musagi. It seeks to devour you. It lives to twist your fate. And above all—help the one called the Child of Light. Do not refuse him. No matter what."
Elijah frowned. "And how will I recognize him?"
The Death Knight's eyes, glowing purple beneath his helmet, narrowed. "He is the one who bears pure divinity. The child untouched by corruption. You will know him by what he is, not who he claims to be."
Elijah hesitated. "My friend, Cilie… she has four God King bloodlines. Could she be the Child of Light?"
The Death Knight gave a hollow laugh—an echoing sound that rang with both amusement and ancient sorrow.
"Cilie? No," he said. "She is something different. Something greater. Her blood was not inherited—it was bestowed. She received the blessings of four divine beings:
1. The God of Light
2. The God of Reason
3. The Goddess of Twilight
4. The God of Darkness
She is not the Child of Light. She is the Convergence of the Divine—the one destined to surpass all God Kings who came before"
Elijah staggered back, speechless. The weight of those words left him dizzy.
"Then… how do you know all of this?" Elijah breathed, eyes wide. "About me? About Cilie? The prophecy—how could you possibly know?"
The Death Knight fell silent.
The wind within the domain whispered around them. The threads of probability shimmered dimly, like stars about to fade.
And still… the Death Knight said nothing.