The broken land stretched out in silence — jagged plains of fractured stone, veins of golden heat glowing beneath their feet. The air shimmered faintly with residual energy, warped and heavy. Every now and then, distant howls echoed from unseen crevices, sharp and guttural, but nothing came close.
Anthony led the way. His movements were cautious but practiced, like someone who had walked this road too many times to count — and survived each one by instinct alone.
March followed close behind, her bow slung over her back. She glanced at Anthony, clearly curious but unsure how to ask. Then she spoke up. "S-So… Mr. Anthony… how old are you? Y'know, since you've been here for twenty-two years and all…"
Anthony looked down, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. His voice came quieter now. "I'm either forty… or forty-one."
Dan Heng gave a subtle nod, his expression unreadable but attentive.
"I was definitely in my twenties when I was taken," Anthony continued, exhaling slowly through his nose. "That much I remember. Somewhere around twenty… maybe twenty-one."
March blinked. "So you've been here since you were barely an adult…"
"Assuming time passes the same way here as it does out there." Anthony tilted his head back slightly, casting a long look at the fractured red sky. "Some days it feels longer. Way longer. Like time just… stretches."
His voice trailed off, quieter toward the end — fraying around the edges.
Welt noticed the change in his tone — the way something in him dimmed — and stepped in gently. "It may feel that way. But you've endured. That means something."
Anthony didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was faint. "Thanks."
There was no embarrassment in the way he said it — only distance. Like that word, endure, had lost its shape over the years. In the beginning, it might've meant something. Back when he still marked the walls with tallies carved from Pyre Dog bone. One for each day.
But he'd stopped counting a long time ago, using his synergy skill to count the time.
Anthony's eyes fixed on the horizon as he continued to lead the Nameless. Dust stirred along the cracker stone path, and for a moment, no one said anything.
Then, Dan Heng spoke up, his tone was level but laced with curiosity. "Do you know how long the Stellaron has been here, Mr. Cloyne?"
Anthony took a second before answering. "Five years"
Surprised, Welt glanced over to him. "You're certain?"
"I'm a hundred percent certain." Anthony didn't miss a beat.
That gave them all pause.
Even March, who'd been quietly scanning the strange landscape with her crossbow half-lowered, blinked and looked back at him. "Five years? But the state of this planet… it looks like it's been decaying for decades."
Anthony paused as he looked at them, confused. "What do you mean by that? Decaying for decades?"
"You've really… never noticed how torn up this world is?" March asked, her tone uncertain.
Anthony blinked, confused. "Torn up? What do you mean?"
Welt adjusted his glasses, speaking steadily. "From orbit, this planet showed signs of extreme degradation. Cracked tectonic plates, collapsed ecosystems, zones saturated with Fragmentum energy. Structurally speaking… this world is barely holding together."
Dan Heng stepped forward, scanning the land ahead. His brows furrowed. "…But from here," he said slowly, "everything looks… normal."
March, who had been half-distracted, turned to him. "Huh?"
He gestured toward the barren landscape. "I mean… from orbit we saw a fractured planet — tectonic scars, regions swallowed by Fragmentum, even what looked like a collapsing crust. But here? It just looks like a desert. Dry, cracked… but stable."
March blinked and looked around properly for the first time. "You're right…" she murmured. "No glowing lines. No Fragmentum corruption. No storms. Even the air's still. That's weird, right?"
Welt's eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced around. "Very."
Welt turned in a slow circle, taking in the terrain — the way the haze hung in place, how the light fell just a little too evenly. It wasn't just that the world looked calm. It felt curated. Held together. As if something was maintaining a surface-level illusion of stability.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Welt's expression shifted — not to fear, but to realization.
"…Why didn't we notice this sooner?" he said quietly.
March tilted her head. "Huh?"
"The moment we landed," Welt continued. "We commented on the skies, the terrain. But not the discrepancy. Not the fact that this world looks nothing like the one we saw from orbit. It's like… we just accepted it."
Dan Heng's eyes sharpened. "That's not like us."
March rubbed the back of her neck, now clearly unsettled. "So… something made us not notice?"
Welt turned to Anthony.
The man stood with his arms loosely at his sides, gaze distant but focused on them. There was no magic in his eyes, no aura of power. Just exhaustion — and wariness.
But still… something had changed when he spoke, when he questioned them, when he asked why.
"…It's because he asked," Welt murmured. "Because Anthony asked us."
March turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"He made us think," Welt continued, his brow furrowing deeper. "He's been out here questioning everything for years — his world, his surroundings, his own senses. And when he pointed it out… when he asked why we thought the planet had been dying for decades—"
"—it made us stop and really think," Dan Heng finished. "Like it pushed the thought past whatever was keeping it out."
Welt nodded. "Awareness. That's all it took."
Anthony's voice cut in, quiet but edged with confusion. "What… are you guys talking about?"
The three Nameless turned toward him. March opened her mouth, but it was Welt who stepped forward, his expression serious.
"When we first landed," Welt began, "none of us questioned the inconsistency. From orbit, we saw a planet split open. Bleeding light. A world on the brink of collapse."
Dan Heng picked up smoothly. "But on the surface, it didn't match. No massive craters. No scorched tectonic fractures. It looked… normal. Worn, yes — but not broken."
Anthony's brow furrowed, eyes flicking between them. "And you didn't notice until now?"
"It was like something was keeping the thought out," Welt said, folding his arms. "Not erasing it — just blurring it. Enough to keep us from asking the question."
Anthony looked at them, uncertain. "I can't say anything about that. I… wouldn't know what the planet looks like from the outside."
Welt's pointer finger tapped against the handle of his cane — a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
"…You know what bothers me?" he said, voice softer now. "That we didn't notice it. The terrain, the atmosphere — the moment we landed, everything felt normal. Barren, sure, but not dying. We saw a shattered planet from orbit. But the second we stepped down here…"
"It felt stable," Dan Heng finished, his expression tightening. "I didn't even question it. None of us did."
March turned to look behind them — toward the ridge they'd descended. "But that doesn't make sense… we saw the cracks, the storms, the broken surface. All of it. We should've been asking questions the second we touched down."
"And yet we didn't," Welt said. "Not until he" — he glanced at Anthony — "asked us why we thought the planet had been dying for decades."
Anthony said nothing. Just stood still, quiet, listening.
"It's like something didn't erase the thought," Dan Heng said slowly, "just... muted it. Blurred the edges of our awareness. Not enough to feel wrong — just enough to make us ignore the details."
"To make the abnormal feel normal," Welt added. "Subtle, but deliberate. Almost like it was placed there."
Dan Heng's gaze sharpened. "…The Stellaron."
A long pause.
"We know what a Stellaron can do," Welt continued. "Fragmentum corruption. Civilizational collapse. Reality instability. But this… this is different. We didn't forget the damage. We just… stopped thinking about it. Stopped connecting dots."
Anthony furrowed his brow. "You think the Stellaron is behind that?"
Dan Heng stepped forward slightly, arms crossed. "That's what doesn't make sense. Stellaron phenomena usually have clear, physical effects. Concrete damage. But this — this feels like… interference. Mental, perceptual. Why would a Stellaron do that?"
Welt was quiet for a moment.
"…That's the part no one understands," he admitted. "No one knows where Stellarons come from — only that they're linked to entropy and chaos. We study the symptoms, but not the root. Maybe this one is… more evolved. Or maybe it's something else entirely."
Anthony's gaze lowered, eyes clouding as the words echoed in his mind.
"Something else entirely…"
Welt's voice faded into the background as Anthony slipped into thought — not out of disinterest, but because something clicked. A memory, long buried under survival instincts and ash-covered years, surfaced like a corpse in still water.
He remembered that moment — Before Thelha Ra'tha. Before the hunger, the blood, the years of clawing through ash just to stay alive. Back when he still had a name that meant something… and a future he thought belonged to him.
It had happened so suddenly. A moment that carved itself into his bones. One second he was in his world — whole, grounded, real — and the next, he was somewhere else. standing. Drowning in a presence that defied all logic. He couldn't see it. Couldn't touch it. Couldn't even describe it, not properly. Trying to would make him sound insane.
It wasn't a figure. It wasn't a shape. It was a presence, impossible in form — neither light nor shadow, and yet somehow both. It had no face, yet he knew it was looking at him. It had no voice, yet it spoke to him.
And in that place — that void — those words had echoed through him.
"Calm yourself, Anthony Cloyne… You've been chosen. That is all you need to know."
He didn't respond. Couldn't. The only thing he could do was think. The air had vanished from his lungs. His limbs refused to move. He had never felt so small. So insignificant. Like a grain of sand in the palm of something that had existed since the start of time.
And then it was gone.
The presence. The void. All of it.
Replaced by heat. Light.The smell of burning stone and distant thunder. He had awoken on a cracked ledge beneath a bleeding sky, the land around him fractured and lifeless. Thelha Ra'tha. His prison.
And hovering before his eyes was the first thing the planet ever showed him — a glowing yellow prompt. A system. And for some reason, he can't tell these people about... it.
[ Welcome, {Chosen One}, to Thelha Ra'tha. Your Testing Grounds. ]
[ Your goal is to survive and grow stronger in this world. ]
He'd stared at it in disbelief. Tried to swipe it away, talk to it, ignore it. But it stayed. Then faded. Then came back. A system. Some kind of… guiding force? He didn't know. Not then. Not even now.
What he did know was that it was tied to that being. The one that dropped him here. The one that chose him.
But... why him?
He'd asked that question every day for the first few years. Screamed it into caves, whispered it to firelight, etched it into stone with bloodied fingers. But no answer ever came.
And over time… he stopped asking.
Now, though, walking with the strangers from the stars — hearing their theories, watching them unravel pieces of this world he had long stopped trying to understand — that question was clawing its way back into his mind.
Was this the Stellaron's doing?
Or was it that being?
Or… were they the same thing?
The questions circled like vultures in Anthony's head, pecking at memories he'd long since buried beneath hunger, pain, and silence. Was it the Stellaron? That thing in the sky? Or… was it the being he saw before all of this? The one that pulled him from his world, tore him from his family?
were they even the same thing?
He didn't have the answer. He never did. But the thought wouldn't let go of him.
"Mr. Anthony…?" March's voice came soft, uncertain — like she wasn't sure he'd heard her.
It barely reached him.
"Mr. Cloyne?" Dan Heng's tone was sharper, firmer, cutting through the fog clouding his mind.
Anthony blinked and exhaled, startled by the sudden awareness of where he was — not trapped in memory, but standing among strangers, on ground he knew all too well.
"O-Oh!" he said quickly, hand rising to rub the side of his head. "Sorry. I was… I was just thinking about something."
March tilted her head. "Something important?"
Anthony nodded faintly, his gaze distant again but steadier this time. "Yeah… I guess you could say that. It's just—" He paused, searching for the words. His voice dropped. "The only reason I survived out here — the only reason I kept going — was because I thought, maybe, somehow, I'd find a way back to them."
March's expression softened. "if you don't mind me asking... who?"
Anthony looked down. "My family. My little sister, Rose. My mom and dad. I was just barely an adult when I was taken… twenty-something, like I mentioned before. But Rose — she was only six. She was always the loud one. Bright, curious, always asking questions. My mom was strict, but loving. And my dad… he was the type who didn't talk much, but when he did, it meant something."
He looked at the red sky again, voice dropping to a whisper. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."
Dan Heng looked down, silent for a long moment. Then finally, he said quietly, "You endured twenty-two years alone for the chance to see them again. That's not something most people could do."
Anthony let out a breath that might have once been a laugh — but it was hollow now. A ghost of a sound. "It wasn't strength," he muttered. "Not really. It was desperation. Obsession. A thread I wrapped around my heart and refused to let go of. Something to hold onto when everything else broke."
For a moment, none of them spoke.
The weight of it hung in the still air — not oppressive, but honest.
Then Anthony blinked, seeming to pull himself back to the present. His eyes lost some of that far-off glaze, and he straightened up, brushing dust from the pelt slung over one shoulder.
"I should get back to leading you guys," he said, voice low but more focused. "Apologies… I didn't mean to drift like that."
March offered him a soft smile, trying to lighten the moment, even if her voice had a small hitch to it. "No need to apologize, Mr. Anthony. I think… if it were me, I'd probably have lost it by year one."
Her attempt at humor faded into a quiet murmur, barely audible. "Honestly… I don't know if I would've lasted that long at all."
The words hung in the air for a beat, and as they walked, her smile faltered — just a little.
She didn't say the rest aloud, but the thought dug in like a thorn: Maybe...If I had crash-landed here… if the Express hadn't found me when they did…
Would she have survived like he did?
Would she have endured two decades of silence and storm, of red skies and black dust? She didn't have memories to anchor her — no family to dream of, no home to return to. No little sister waiting.
What would've pushed her forward?
She glanced at Anthony again. He walked ahead, his shoulders bearing more than just the weight of years — there was a gravity to him, something carved out of pain and perseverance, unspoken but always present. Not like a hero. Not like a soldier. Like someone who refused to let go.
And for a moment, March felt small. Not in a bad way — not exactly. But in the way someone feels when they realize just how much someone else has been carrying.
Then Anthony broke the silence.
"…By the way," he said, tone slower now. "Why haven't you asked about the █ █ █ █ █ █ at all?"
Three heads turned toward him.
March blinked. "The what?"
Anthony tilted his head. "The… you know. The thing I told you about when we first met. The █ █ █ █ █ █ that got censored when I tried saying it out loud?"
Dan Heng's brow furrowed slightly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cloyne. But… I don't remember you ever saying that."
Anthony froze.
"What?" he asked flatly, his voice a touch quieter.
Welt's expression had grown thoughtful again, but not in the way Anthony expected. "That word," he said, carefully. "I feel like… I should know what you mean. Like there's something at the edge of memory. But when I try to bring it up — there's nothing."
Anthony's eyes darted between them. He opened his mouth, only to close it again. Then he slowly took a step back and narrowed his eyes.
"You're saying you don't remember me ever saying anything that got… blanked out?"
March shook her head. "Sorry, Mr. Anthony. I swear, we don't. Are you sure you said it out loud?"
"I—" he stopped himself.
He had. He remembered it perfectly — Welt had even asked him to repeat it. Twice. Dan Heng had pointed out the silence. March had joked about it being a scary word.
He remembered the look on their faces. The static in the air. The way time skipped.
But now?
Nothing.
No recognition in their eyes.
No memory of that moment.
It was gone.
"I'm not making this up," Anthony said, his voice strained. "You were there. All of you. I said it, and the world — it just glitched. Like something didn't want you to hear it."
"…And now," Welt murmured, his voice dropping as realization dawned, "it wants us to forget we ever did."
Anthony felt a cold sweat break down his back.
"Is that even possible?" March whispered.
Dan Heng folded his arms, his expression grave. "If it could censor a word from reality… memory tampering might be within its power, too."
"That's not a Stellaron ability, is it?" Anthony asked.
Welt was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally: "…No. Not that we've seen."
"An Aeon," he murmured again. "Perhaps."
Anthony looked over at him, visibly confused. "A what…?"
Welt glanced back, one hand resting over the curve of his cane. "Explaining them thoroughly would take some time… but in the simplest terms? Aeons are high-dimensional beings — entities that transcend conventional existence. THEY'RE…difficult to define. But THEY preside over the very concepts that make up our universe."
"Concepts?" Anthony echoed.
Dan Heng spoke next, his tone calm but firm. "Yes. Concepts like Destruction, Preservation, Harmony, Nihility… each Aeon embodies and enforces a specific Path — a fundamental force or idea. And wherever THEIR influence touches… that concept becomes law."
Anthony's gaze flicked to him. "Preservation…?"
Then his eyes widened slightly — as if something clicked. "Does that mean… You know what a Pathstrider is?"
That made all three Trailblazers stop in their tracks.
Dan Heng blinked, visibly taken aback. "You don't know what an Aeon is… but you know what a Pathstrider is?"
March's expression scrunched in confusion. "Wait, isn't that backwards? I thought Pathstriders were only a thing because of the Aeons and THEIR Paths."
Welt turned his head, looking at March. "Not necessarily, March. You can understand a Path without knowing an Aeon exists. In other words, a person might live by the philosophy of a Path — embody its nature — without ever realising what that truly means."
March blinked, processing that. "So… someone could be following a Path without even knowing they're doing it?"
"In theory," Welt replied, nodding faintly. Then his gaze shifted back to Anthony, studying him more carefully now — as if trying to peel back layers that refused to be seen. "However," he continued, his tone steady but edged with curiosity, "the term Pathstrider is different. It's a formal title — one only used by those aware of the Aeons and THEIR domains. Hence why Dan Heng found your mention of it… unusual."
Anthony didn't respond. His expression was unreadable — distant, guarded.
Dan Heng's eyes flickered slightly, his voice even but wary. "It suggests you've had contact with knowledge or entities most people in your situation couldn't possibly encounter."
Anthony's gaze shifted to the cracked horizon. "You could say that…" he murmured.
Welt exhaled quietly, adjusting his glasses. "As much as we'd like to know how you came across that knowledge, I'm afraid we're short on time." He glanced briefly toward the scorched skyline. "The Stellaron remains our primary concern. Whatever answers lie behind your past, they'll have to wait."
Anthony's shoulders tensed slightly, but he said nothing — only turned toward the distant crimson haze, the faint hum of corrupted energy pulsing beneath the air like a heartbeat.
_____________________
Somewhere In The Cosmos — The Being
The void was endless. A horizon without shape, without color — a place where light itself had forgotten how to exist. The air, if it could even be called that, shimmered faintly with the residue of creation long since abandoned. Fractured stars drifted aimlessly in the dark, their light muted and distant, as though afraid to shine too brightly.
And within that stillness — It stirred.
The Being hovered in the midst of it all, its form neither solid nor fluid. It was a paradox given shape — darkness that glowed, silence that spoke, a presence that filled the emptiness with meaning. Reality bent subtly around it, the laws of space and thought blurring into irrelevance.
Before it floated a projection — a swirling sphere of red and gold mist, within which flickered the faint silhouettes of Anthony and the Nameless, moving through the scarred surface of Thelha Ra'tha. The Being watched them closely, its faceless visage tilting with quiet intrigue.
"How utterly fascinating…" its voice murmured, echoing through the void like the low hum of the cosmos itself. "This Chosen One may actually leave its testing grounds…"
It leaned closer, though distance meant nothing here — its essence rippling through the darkness like ink in water.
"Against all odds," it continued softly, "the little flame still burns."
There was a pause — thoughtful, amused, and ancient. The Being's attention seemed to drift outward, toward something unseen, far beyond even this void.
Its shape shifted, vague outlines of a humanoid silhouette flickering in and out of coherence. A hand — if it could be called that — came to rest beneath where a chin might have been, mimicking a gesture of contemplation it had once seen from mortal beings.
"Albeit…" The Being's tone softened into something almost mirthful, "the Astral Express was an unseen variable in this."
The projection before it rippled — the faint images of Welt, March, and Dan Heng moving beside Anthony through the fractured wasteland of Thelha Ra'tha, getting closer to the Stellaron.
"How on earth," it mused, the word rolling off its tongue with faint amusement, "did Akivili's children find that place, I wonder?"
The Being leaned closer, the vast dark folding in around its form. Its tone dipped lower, more curious than concerned — like a scholar watching an experiment take a new, unexpected turn.
"Fate has a peculiar sense of humor," the Being murmured, amused in a way only something without a heartbeat could be.
The holographic mist sighed and shivered; in its depths Anthony glanced back over his shoulder — small and fragile against the rift-streaked horizon — unaware of the thing watching him, uneasy only in the way a hunted animal can be uneasy about the hunter's shadow.
The Being's attention tightened, every quiet ripple of the void sharpening like a drawn blade.
"Interesting…" it whispered. "Very interesting indeed."
For a breath it was silent, then the void folded in on itself and a new mood slipped through — not patience, not cruelty exactly, but the cold calculation of a mind that treats entire worlds like chessboards.
"Perhaps I should place a wager," it said, and the words felt like ice dropped into a well. "I will terminate the other two billion I chose and stake the rest on this one experiment."
The Being's hand drifted through the holographic mist, and the image of the Astral Express wavered — stretched — until Welt's silhouette stood alone. The once-amused tone dimmed, replaced by something sharper.
"The only problematic variable in this equation is him," it murmured. "Joachim Nokianvirtanen…"
It studied the man's still face, fingers curling as though tempted to crush the image entirely. "He sees too much. Understands too quickly. If left unchecked, he might end things before they've even begun."
A thoughtful pause. Then, quietly — almost lazily: "Should I rewrite the system's parameters? Adjust the protocol so that Mister Joachim cannot ruin the final test?"
It tilted its head, faint amusement returning like the edge of a blade catching light. "Hmm. Tempting… but no. Interference dulls the outcome."
The Being leaned back, letting Welt's image flicker away into static. "If he truly poses a threat, then the system will adapt — or Anthony will fail. Either result entertains me."
Its many eyes — or what passed for them — turned once more to the void. "Still… I do hope the boy surprises me. Akivili's remnants were always fond of defying the odds."
The Being leaned back, letting Welt's image flicker into static. "If he truly poses a threat, then the system will adapt — or Anthony will fail. Either result entertains me."
Its many eyes — or what passed for them — shifted toward the endless dark. "Still… I do hope the boy surprises me. Especially with Akivili's remnants in the mix, there are always fond of defying the odds."
"Anthony Cloyne," it intoned, the name falling like a verdict in the hollow silence, "do not disappoint me."
The threat was casual, almost affectionate — the way a god might tell a favored pet not to make a mess. Around the Being, the void hummed with the faint sound of things waiting: possibilities, outcomes, the slow turning of countless threads it could cut at whim.
"Run," it said finally, voice low and amused. "It will be fun to see how far you get before I come and get you, the fruit of my labor."
Then, as if by thought alone, the projection dissolved into a constellation of scattered motes. The Being turned away from the sphere, eyes already sliding toward some other bright and brutal curiosity in the endless dark.
_____________________
Thelha Ra'tha — Anthony And The Nameless
The world grew quieter the further they walked. Wind still moved, but it carried no warmth — just the sterile breath of a dead land. The sky above burned a constant dull red, streaked by slow-moving clouds that never seemed to disperse.
Anthony came to a stop atop a rise of blackened rock. From here, the landscape fell away into a vast depression, a scar in the planet's surface that stretched for miles.
He lifted an arm, gesturing toward the valley below. "This is as far as I can take you."
March blinked. "What do you mean? There's nothing here."
Anthony took a step forward — and stopped mid-stride. The air in front of him rippled, like heat distortion, and a faint crackle of static hissed where his hand met empty space. His expression didn't change, but his tone did — quieter, resigned.
"There's a barrier," he said. "Invisible, but real enough. I can't cross it."
Welt stepped forward, scanning the space. "Strange… I'm not detecting any energy field that would prevent entry."
"That's because it's not meant for you," Anthony said, pulling his hand back. "It only reacts to me."
Dan Heng's brows furrowed. "Why would it target you specifically?"
Anthony looked down the slope, remembering the words of the system. ' To... protect me, I would say.
The others exchanged looks. March took a cautious step past him, half expecting to feel the same resistance — but the air stayed still. She blinked and glanced back. "...It doesn't do anything to me."
Anthony nodded once. "I figured as much. Whatever this thing is, it was made to keep me out. The rest of you can go through just fine."
A heavy silence settled between them. Welt's expression hardened as he pieced together what that meant. "You've tried before."
"More times than I can count," Anthony admitted, his voice low. "Every few months I'd test it — try to force my way through. To no avail, I could never enter. After a while, I just… stopped trying."
He looked toward the faint shimmer of the barrier, the way it bent the light like water around glass. "At first, I thought it was fear holding me back. That maybe I just didn't want to face what was down there. But after years of the same result, I realized it wasn't about willpower. It's the place itself — it rejects me."
March frowned, brow knitting as she glanced between him and the faintly shimmering air ahead. "Rejects you? Like you're some kind of intruder?"
Anthony shook his head slowly. "No… not that. If anything, I think it's trying to protect me." He looked out toward the slope, his expression unreadable, voice distant. "And before you ask — no, it's not the Stellaron. I can confirm that much."
Dan Heng's gaze sharpened. "Then what is it?"
Anthony hesitated, his lips parting as though to answer — but nothing came. His throat tightened, the words catching before they could form. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say… it was that he couldn't.
After all, this wasn't the first time he'd tried. On their way here, he'd attempted to explain it to them — the barrier, what he believed was behind it, why it existed — yet each time, their eyes would glaze over, their focus would slip, and before long, the memory of the conversation itself would fade. They would forget he had ever spoken of it, as if something — the system, or perhaps that Being — simply refused to let the thoughts of them or anything related to them remain.
Finally, he exhaled, turning his gaze toward the horizon where the scarlet haze pulsed faintly against the edge of the world. "I've got my theories," he said quietly, voice rough, resigned. "But… I doubt any of them will make sense to you."
Before anyone could say something, the ground trembled beneath their feet — a deep, resonant rumble that rolled through the air like distant thunder. Then came the roar.
It wasn't human. It wasn't animal. It was something vast, guttural, and wrong — echoing from deep within the Closure Zone, where the haze burned darkest. The sound carried weight, pressure, a kind of distorted resonance that made the very air seem to vibrate.
Anthony's head snapped toward the direction of the noise. His expression, usually calm even in chaos, tightened with something close to unease. "Never heard anything like that before…" he muttered, his voice low. "And I've heard a lot out here."
March instinctively took a step back, eyes wide. "That… came from in there, right?"
The sound still lingered faintly in the air — a warped echo bouncing through the jagged terrain, fading only to be replaced by the low, constant hum of Fragmentum energy. Welt's expression sharpened as he turned toward Anthony.
"Anthony," he said, voice measured. "What can you tell us about the lifeforms on this planet?"
Anthony blinked once, rubbing at his chin as if sorting through a mental ledger of horrors. "Lifeforms, huh… not much left that counts as alive," he muttered. "But there's one thing you'll see more than anything else out here — Pyre Dogs."
"Pyre Dogs?" Dan Heng echoed, brow furrowing.
Anthony nodded slowly. "Yeah. Besides me, they're the only real form of life left out here." He glanced toward the distant haze, the red light reflecting faintly in his eyes. "They've got this line of flame running down their backs — along the spine. That's how you spot them before they lunge. The glow gives them away, even through the dust."
He shifted his weight, crossing his arms loosely. "Then you've got the superior Pyre Dogs. Rarer, but stronger. Bigger. Meaner. Their flames burn darker — crimson instead of orange — and they're not just wild beasts. They think. Hunt with tactics. Sometimes you can feel them watching you long before they strike."
March frowned, a faint shiver running down her shoulders. "Like… they plan?"
Anthony nodded once. "Yeah. Sometimes they lead the smaller ones. Act like pack alphas. And when one shows up, something bad usually follows."
The air around them hummed again — faint, rhythmic, like the planet itself exhaling.
March shifted uneasily, looking toward the direction of the roar. "And the last kind?"
Anthony's tone dropped lower, rougher. "The corrupted ones. The kind you saw when we first met."
He glanced toward the crimson horizon, where the dust still swirled from the earlier tremor. "That roar we heard…" Anthony's voice trailed off for a moment, his expression tightening as he searched the distance. "It was probably a superior Pyre Dog — one that got corrupted by the Stellaron."
The group went still. The very mention of the Stellaron seemed to draw the air taut between them, the faint hum of energy in the wasteland growing heavier and more oppressive.
"I see…" Welt murmured at last, his tone low and thoughtful. His gaze followed Anthony's toward the haze, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "A corrupted alpha of that kind could destabilize the entire area. The Stellaron's influence might've twisted its nature far beyond what you've seen before."
"Yeah," Anthony said, jaw tightening. "And if it's still alive after all this time… then it's been feeding on the corruption. Growing stronger."
March crossed her arms, unease flickering in her voice. "So what you're saying is… that thing's basically the worst version of something that's already awful?"
Anthony gave a humorless huff. "That's one way to put it."
Dan Heng's eyes lingered on the horizon for a beat longer. "If it's guarding the Closure Zone, then getting to the Stellaron won't be simple."
"Not to mention," Welt added, his gaze fixed on the wavering crimson light in the distance, "the Stellaron's energy could be amplifying them. We'll need to account for the environmental instability as well."
Anthony's eyes drifted toward the horizon — that ominous red scar pulsing faintly through the dust. Almost without thinking, he murmured, "Environmental instability, huh? Well… it did say it was the Cancer of All Worlds, after all."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
Every head turned toward him.
March blinked, confused. "The… what?"
Dan Heng's eyes sharpened immediately, that measured calm of his breaking for a heartbeat. Welt's brow furrowed ever so slightly, though his tone remained even. "You know that term?" he asked. "That's not something most would just… guess."
Anthony froze. His mind went blank — the kind of blank that came from panic disguised as calm. Slowly, he rubbed the back of his neck, forcing out a quiet, awkward laugh.
"I've had twenty years with nothing but rocks and monsters to keep me company. My memory's not exactly the best." He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Half the time I can't tell if something's real or just something my brain made up to keep me from going crazy."
March blinked, visibly relaxing. "Oh. Well… I guess that kinda makes sense. I'd go crazy too if I had to live out here alone."
Anthony stayed quiet after March spoke, his thoughts churned beneath the calm. He shouldn't have said that. He knew he shouldn't have. And the worst part was, he couldn't even explain why he knew it. Not to them, or maybe not to anyone else, if it worked with the same way with other people as well as it did with the three before him, erasing or supressing their memories.
Welt studied Anthony in silence for a long moment before finally speaking, his tone measured but edged with quiet curiosity. "Anthony," he said, "could you touch the barrier again? There's something I wish to confirm before the rest of us proceed."
Anthony blinked, taken off guard by the request. "Uh… sure, I guess."
He stepped forward, boots crunching softly over the brittle earth until he stood before the invisible threshold. The air shimmered faintly, like heat rising off metal, and as his hand reached out, the resistance met him immediately. A faint hum — deep, resonant, and unnatural — reverberated through the air. The moment his fingertips brushed against it, the light rippled across its surface, flaring briefly with a dim blue sheen before rejecting him entirely.
Anthony flinched, his hand instinctively pulling back. "Same as before," he muttered. "Can't even push through an inch."
Welt adjusted his glasses, eyes narrowing slightly as he stepped closer — but he stopped well before the barrier's edge. He raised his hand and slowly extended it forward.And… nothing. His fingers slipped through the faint distortion with ease, as though nothing were there at all.
"Fascinating," Welt murmured under his breath, watching the energy swirl faintly around his wrist. "It reacts only to you."
He withdrew his hand, turning his gaze back to Anthony with a look that was part scientific intrigue, part quiet concern. "From what I can judge so far, this barrier selectively excludes you while allowing others passage. It's a ward — one with an intentional filter."
March frowned, her voice tinged with unease. "So… what, it's like the Stellaron itself doesn't want him going in?"
"Not the Stellaron," Welt replied. "Something far more deliberate. Barriers of this sort are rarely natural. They're designed — and whoever or whatever designed this one specifically accounted for him."
Dan Heng's brow furrowed slightly, his tone calm but serious. "Which implies intelligence. Intent."
Anthony crossed his arms, staring at the faint shimmer in front of him. The light rippled once more as if mocking him, the air cold against his skin. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It's been like that since I found it. No matter what I tried — weapons, tools, even just brute force — it won't budge."
Welt nodded thoughtfully, his mind clearly running through possibilities. "If this barrier recognizes only you as a non-entry candidate, it means you're either being protected or contained."
Welt exhaled softly, stepping back from the distortion. "Regardless, the barrier isn't reacting to us. That means we can proceed inside. But…" He glanced back at Anthony. "Whatever its purpose, it recognizes you. I'd advise against trying to force your way through again. It could have consequences we can't predict."
Anthony nodded faintly, his expression unreadable. "Yeah. I figured as much."
March gave him a worried look, but he didn't meet her eyes. His gaze stayed fixed on the barrier, watching how the light pulsed faintly at its center — almost alive, almost aware.
"Stay close once we're inside," Welt said, turning back to the group. "We'll investigate the source of the roar and locate the Stellaron as quickly as possible.
_____________________
Thelha Ra'tha, Inside the Clousure Zone — The Nameless
The red mist deepened the further they descended, curling around the group like smoke from unseen fires. Every step inside the Closure Zone felt heavier—thicker. The air itself seemed to hum with suppressed energy, the taste of iron and static clinging to their tongues. The ground pulsed faintly beneath their boots, as if the land itself still breathed in shallow, uneven gasps.
Welt stopped just long enough to adjust his glasses, scanning the area with calm precision. "It's worse than I expected," he murmured, his tone thoughtful but grim. "The Stellaron's corruption has seeped deep into the environment. The gravitational and magnetic distortions are fluctuating every few seconds... I wonder, was Stellaron the cause of our failed jump? Or the planet... or a mixture of both?"
Dan Heng's gaze swept across the scorched terrain before finally speaking, his voice steady but edged with quiet curiosity. "Mr. Welt," he began, "what's your opinion on Anthony?"
Welt didn't respond immediately. The question hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. Even March, who'd been fidgeting nervously behind them, stopped walking to listen.
"My opinion?" Welt said at last, his eyes narrowing as he considered. "He's an enigma. His knowledge and no knowledge of certain terms — Aeons, Pathstriders, and even the Stellaron itself — should be impossible for someone who's been isolated here for over two decades."
March tilted her head, frowning. "So… you think he's lying?"
Welt stopped to study the uneven terrain ahead — cracked, scorched earth riddled with fissures that still pulsed faintly yellow beneath the dust. His voice carried the same calm precision it always did, though beneath it lingered something weightier.
"No," he said finally. "I don't think he's lying. Anthony's honest — in his own way. But there are… inconsistencies. Things that don't quite add up between what he says and what he should realistically know."
March tilted her head, curiosity breaking through her unease. "Inconsistencies? Like what?"
Welt adjusted his glasses, the dying glow of the Closure Zone catching faintly across the lenses. "He's been stranded here for over two decades. No communication, no data relays, no transmissions from the outside universe. By all accounts, this planet should have been cut off completely in every way imaginable."
He paused, scanning the barren horizon as if the silence itself were proof. "And yet, despite that isolation, he used terminology that doesn't belong here — Pathstrider. That's not a local concept, or even one used in common galactic discourse. Only those deeply involved with the Aeons or scholars within the IPC would ever come across it. But Anthony doesn't even recognize the Astral Express, or interstellar travel at all. When he first saw our train, he looked at it as though it were magic."
March frowned, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah… now that you mention it, he stared at it for a long time when we landed. I thought he was just shocked to see people."
Dan Heng crossed his arms, thoughtful. "So he knows things that are impossible for him to know — but doesn't understand the most basic aspects of the universe."
"Precisely," Welt replied. "Everything else about him aligns perfectly with his situation. His survival instincts, his awareness of terrain, the way he assesses threats — all of it fits someone who's lived through years of isolation and danger."
Dan Heng nodded slightly, his voice even but measured. "Understandable. After twenty years alone, returning to civilization — let alone traveling the stars — would be… disorienting. He may not even be able to process what he's seeing."
Welt hummed in agreement, though his eyes never left the faint shimmer of the barrier behind them. "True. But leaving him here isn't an option. If the Stellaron has truly rooted itself this deep, this planet won't remain stable for much longer once we begin containment. And from what I can tell, he's the only sentient life left on this world."
March's expression softened. "I just… can't imagine being alone that long. With nothing but monsters, ruins, and that sky…"
"Yet he adapted," Welt said quietly. "His reflexes, his posture, even the way he scans the terrain — it's all trained behavior. Efficient. Disciplined. That's not mere instinct; that's conditioning." He paused, tone lowering. "That's military experience."
Dan Heng turned slightly. "You think he was a soldier?"
"I'm certain of it," Welt replied. "He moves like one. Every step is measured, every sound processed before he reacts. It's second nature. That kind of awareness only comes from structured training." His expression hardened, though not without a trace of admiration. "But that only deepens the puzzle. His tactical sense is sharp, his survival flawless — yet his understanding of the cosmos is nonexistent. Then suddenly, he speaks of Pathstriders as if it were a truth he's always known."
March frowned, twisting her camera strap nervously. "Maybe he's just… guessing? Like, piecing things together from what he's heard?"
"No," Welt said simply. "There's precision in the way he speaks. He hesitates before certain words — as if something stops him. It's not improvisation; it's restraint. He's hiding something, whether intentionally or not."
Dan Heng's gaze darkened slightly, his tone analytical but subdued. "Or perhaps something — or someone — is preventing him from revealing it."
"Perhaps," Welt murmured. "Either way, we'll learn more once the Stellaron is sealed. Afterward, we'll bring him aboard the Astral Express. Once we're back at Herta Space Station, we can have him examined properly. If he agrees to come, of course."
March tilted her head, her voice soft. "And if he doesn't?"
"Then," Welt said, his tone quieting as his gaze turned once more toward the barrier, "we'll convince him otherwise. A man who's endured twenty years of solitude, surviving only on the hope of seeing his family again — he's been surviving, not living. If we can offer him even the faintest path home…" He adjusted his glasses, the crimson shimmer reflected in the lenses. "…then I doubt he'll refuse."
The three of them fell silent. The wind carried the faint hum of distortion — low, and steady. Welt lingered a moment longer, his expression tightening as the faint pulse beneath the ground flickered erratically. Then his voice cut sharply through the air, calm giving way to sudden alarm.
"Everyone. Stop." Welt's voice cut through the hum of distortion — calm, but edged with urgency. His gaze swept across the cracked horizon, the faint red glow of the fissures flickering in rhythm with something deeper, something alive.
He adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity as the air around them thickened. "We've been surrounded."
He stepped forward, observing how the creatures moved — not like animals, but like soldiers. Every step was deliberate, coordinated. When one shifted, the others adjusted in perfect rhythm. It was mechanical. Calculated. Like the Anti-Matter Legion — stripped of individuality, bound by a single, consuming will.
"Their coordination…" Dan Heng muttered, eyes narrowing. "It's almost identical to Legion behavior."
The heat in the air grew oppressive, and the crimson fissures beneath their feet began to pulse brighter — like veins channeling power toward a single point.
Then the ground split open behind them.
A blast of molten air swept across the field as something vast clawed its way from below — a towering Pyre Dog, twice the size of the others. Its entire frame was fused with searing, crystalline growths, molten energy dripping from the cracks in its armor-like hide.
a small hole burned with a pulsating, crystalline light — half-embedded in charred bone and molten sinew, pulsed a fragment of pure, blinding brilliance.
March staggered back, eyes wide. "That's—"
"The Stellaron," Welt finished, his tone tight. "It's merged with wildlife…"
The corrupted Pyre Dog threw back its head and screamed — the sound metallic and warped, echoing like tearing metal through a tunnel. The air shuddered from the pressure, heat rolling outward in a molten wave that sent dust spiraling across the barren plain.
Then, silence — for half a breath.
And the pack moved.
The smaller Pyre Dogs broke formation in unison, streaks of flame trailing behind them as they bounded over the scorched ground. Their movements were so fluid it was almost mechanical — like the Anti-Matter Legion, each one acting not as an individual but as a limb of something larger.
"Dan Heng!" Welt barked, swinging his cane upward. The air before him folded, space itself bending as a translucent barrier shimmered into existence just as the first Pyre Dog slammed into it. The impact exploded into molten sparks, the creature's claws scraping across the distortion before being hurled backward by a pulse of gravity.
Dan Heng was already in motion. His spear thrummed with light as he vaulted past Welt's flank, twisting in the air to bring the weapon down in a sharp arc. The strike carved through one of the creatures cleanly, scattering burning fragments across the dust. The ground hissed as their molten blood ate through the surface.
"March! Support!"
"Got it!"
March's bow shimmered into her hands as she skidded backward, drawing a glowing arrow. She loosed it in one smooth motion — the shot splitting into three midair, each one slamming into a Pyre Dog's flank and freezing its movement in an instant. Frost spread along their bodies, locking their joints with crystalline snaps before they shattered from internal heat.
But there were more. Always more.
The superior Pyre Dog — the one with the Stellaron fused into its chest — moved at last. The ground trembled under its weight, molten veins glowing brighter as the creature's chest pulsed with that sickly light.
"Mr. Yang—!"
"I see it!" Welt thrusted his cane forward and attacked. A small black hole formed.
Space folded around the creature, dragging the smaller Pyre Dogs inward — claws scraping against the dirt as the force bent the air itself. Yet the superior one barely slowed. Its core pulsed violently, emitting a burst of energy that shattered the distortion like glass.
The explosion threw them all back. Welt hit the ground with a grunt, rolling to his feet. March stumbled, shielding her face from the heat.
"It's absorbing the force—!" Welt hissed.
Before anyone could respond, the Pyre Dog lunged — a blur of molten red and ash. Welt barely had time to raise his barrier again before its jaws clamped down, fracturing the field with a deafening crack. The barrier shattered; the force of the blow sent Welt skidding backward, boots carving trenches in the dust.
"Mr. Welt!" March cried out.
Dan Heng darted in, driving his spear into the creature's exposed flank. The weapon pierced deep, sending a shockwave of light through the beast — but the wound sealed almost instantly, molten veins knitting themselves together.
"It's regenerating too quickly," Dan Heng muttered, withdrawing the spear. "Any damage we inflict won't last."
March fired another volley, frost exploding against its hide — but the ice melted away before it could spread. "It's like the Stellaron's keeping it alive!"
The superior Pyre Dog reared up, the core in its chest flashing violently. The pulse that followed was blinding — a wave of heat and force that ripped through the ground like a shock bomb, scattering ash and stone alike.
The three Trailblazers hit the dirt, sliding across the cracked terrain as the shockwave rippled outward, dust and embers scattering into the air. Welt pushed himself upright, bracing his cane into the ground. His breaths came even, though a faint strain edged each one. The enemy wasn't just powerful — it was intelligent. Controlled.
He could end this. He knew that. His full power could erase the corruption in an instant.But at what cost?
Welt's hand hovered over his weapon, hesitation tightening his jaw. If I unleash it here… what happens to the Stellaron? Theories spiraled — explosion, planetary rupture, gravitational collapse. Each one was worse than the last. He couldn't risk it. Not yet.
But before he could act—
A gust tore past them, sharp and heavy, carrying the scent of dust and heat. A blur surged through the battlefield, closing the distance between the creature and the Trailblazers faster than the eye could follow.
Anthony.
He moved with a kind of brutal grace — a motion born not of training halls or simulations, but of two decades of survival. His blade traced a faint arc of light as he struck once, twice, thrice — each swing flowing into the next like the tide.
The three-form technique came together in a single heartbeat. The final strike roared like thunder as it connected, sending the corrupted Superior Pyre Dog flying backward. The ground split where it landed, crashing through one jagged outcrop and into another with a sickening crack of molten stone and shattering earth.
For a moment, silence.
Then, the creature let out a distorted howl, struggling to rise from the rubble. Flames leaked from the cracks in its armor as the Stellaron embedded in its chest pulsed violently — the corruption reacting to the damage.
March gawked, eyes wide as she stared at the shattered remains of the cliffside. "He just—! That thing weighs tons!"
Anthony exhaled hard, lowering his blade as faint heat shimmered off its edge. "The barrier finally dropped," he said between breaths, glancing over his shoulder at them. "Sorry for being late…"
The Trailblazers rose to their feet, brushing off dust and ash. Welt's eyes flicked between Anthony and the writhing Superior Pyre Dog, now pinned beneath the rubble, its chest glowing violently as the Stellaron within it pulsed out of control.
He gripped his cane with both hands, drawing a steady breath. "No more time to waste."
The air thickened — gravity itself seemed to groan under the pressure of his will. Fractured light spiraled around him as he raised his weapon, the black sphere at its head flaring with power. A ripple of energy surged outward, drawing the debris and corrupted matter into a swirling vortex.
The creature howled, its voice warped by distortion, until the sound was swallowed completely. The Stellaron's unstable light fought back for only a moment before collapsing inward, compressed under Welt's force until — crack! — it shattered, dissolving into a storm of fading embers.
The valley fell silent. The corruption's glow faded from the ground, leaving only smoke, scorched earth, and the faint hum of residual energy.
Welt lowered his cane, breathing out slowly. "It's done… the Stellaron's sealed."
March let out a shaky laugh of relief. "Finally. I thought that thing was going to tear us apart!"
Anthony stood off to the side, eyes fixed on the lingering light that drifted where the Stellaron had been. For the first time in a long while, his shoulders eased — yet there was no triumph in his expression. Only the calm, hollow quiet of someone who'd seen too much.
Welt adjusted his glasses, his tone even but edged with fatigue. "You did well, Mr. Cloyne. We'll discuss the rest once we're back on the Astral Express."
Anthony blinked, turning toward him with a faint frown. "...'Back on the Astral Express'? What do you mean by that?"
March tilted her head, still catching her breath. "Oh! You don't know? The Astral Express — it's our train! It travels between worlds."
Anthony's eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to process her words. "A train that… travels between worlds?"
Welt nodded. "Indeed. We're interstellar explorers — Trailblazers. Our purpose is to investigate and contain anomalies like the Stellaron that corrupted your planet."
Anthony's gaze drifted toward the bleak horizon — to the dying skies of Thelha Ra'tha, now quiet for the first time in years. "You mean… there are other worlds out there? Beyond this one?"
March smiled gently, her tone soft. "There are countless worlds, Anthony. And once we finish here, we're taking you with us — back to safety. Back to civilization."
"Does that mean you... take me back to my world? back to my family?"
Anthony's gaze drifted toward the bleak horizon — to the dying skies of Thelha Ra'tha, now quiet for the first time in years. "You mean… there are other worlds out there? Beyond this one?"
March smiled gently, her tone soft. "There are countless worlds, Mr. Cloyne. And once we finish here, we're taking you with us — back to safety. Back to civilization."
Anthony turned to her slowly, a faint tremor in his voice. "Does that mean you... can take me back to my world? Back to my family?"
March's smile faltered. She glanced uncertainly toward Welt and Dan Heng. The question hung heavy in the air — simple, hopeful, and utterly human.
Welt met Anthony's eyes, his own expression somber. "We'll do everything we can," he said carefully. "The galaxy is vast — and the records of lost worlds are incomplete. But if your home still exists, if there's even a trace of it in the data archives… we'll find it."
Anthony's jaw tightened, his eyes reflecting both hope and disbelief. "…If it still exists," he repeated quietly, the words tasting foreign in his mouth.
March stepped forward, her voice softer now. "Hey, don't think like that. We've found lost places before — whole planets thought gone forever. Maybe yours is one of them."
He didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on the sky — on the faint light breaking through the clouds, uncertain but real. For the first time in twenty years, the thought of going home didn't feel like a dream. It felt like a promise he desperately wanted to believe in.