The world wasn't just fading; was being destroyed. Eris, the Magician of Circle 12, whose name is a terrifying whisper throughout the cosmos, was on an alien planet, with its skies filled with colossal and grotesque beings. As a powerful leader among the few true legends, his magic, a torrent of pure power, swept away the invading horrors. She wasn't alone, not at first. Legends similar to her fought alongside her – a warrior whose sword cut mountains, a summoner who commanded legions of spirits. But they were annihilated, swallowed by the endless tide of extraterritorial demons, creatures that challenged the very fabric of known existence. Soon, Eris was practically alone, millions of monstrous forms swarmed, a tide of invasion threatened to envelop everything.
In the midst of the chaos, a chilling realization occurred. This wasn't just a battle; It was a trap. The universe, dominated by the pure power of women, had abandoned her. Not out of fear of the invaders, but out of fear of it. Fear of the Circle 30 Magician. This world and the vast cosmos it inhabited were built on the absolute supremacy of women. Men were, in general, an afterthought—a reproductive necessity for the lower levels of society, or movable property. The most powerful magicians, like Eris, could give birth to daughters without any male intervention, making them completely superfluous. They had no prominence, were often effeminate, used as slaves, or simply for low-level fertilization. Any male birth was considered a "runt", which existed without rightswhile female births were appreciated although only the most talented or those from large families actually prospered. The Empress of the central kingdom was a woman, like all the ministers and Masters of the magic academy.
A Circle 30 Mage was a top predator in this matriarchy, an entity so beyond mortal comprehension that even a Circle 12 Mage like Eris was nothing more than an ant. Level 10 was the absolute peak, the ceiling of deadly magic, recognized by all academies and empires. Level 11 was a myth, a path that led outside the known world, to the very edge of the void where these demonic entities resided – a path that one took only by sacrificing everything, a path to a power beyond understanding, but also towards inevitable annihilation or total madness. Eris had walked him, reaching the unthinkable Circle 12, turning into a legendary creature so terrifying that even her allies saw her as a threat.
Un dolor punzante le atravesó el costado. No de un demonio. Se giró, con la visión borrosa, y vio figuras envueltas en los símbolos de los Altos Círculos Arcanos – antiguas aliadas femeninas, poderosas hechiceras. La habían traicionado, impulsados por el puro terror de su poder ilimitado y por un miedo más profundo y profundo: la ira del Círculo 30 Maga. Eris, en su despiadada búsqueda de lo que deseaba, había buscado audazmente "complacer" a este ser insondable reclamando a uno de sus sirvientes favoritos – una mujer de bajo rango, sí, pero aún así suyo. Fue un simple gesto de la perversa obsesión de Eris y su desprecio por la jerarquía última, y resultó ser una sentencia de muerte.
El Circle 30 Maga ni siquiera se había dignado aparecer. Eris ni siquiera podía discernir su silueta. En algún lugar, a años luz de distancia, un poder inimaginable simplemente se había sentado, tal vez bebiendo té, y había dado una orden silenciosa. Y esa orden había llegado a través de una sola voz fría – una sirvienta de alto rango, un conducto de un poder que Eris alguna vez había pensado más allá de ella. Este sirviente, sin emoción alguna, había asestado el golpe final y tortuoso, asegurándose de que Eris sufriera antes de morir.
Estaba siendo aniquilada por su arrogancia, por atreverse a entrar en el dominio del Círculo 30 Maga y tocar lo que era suyo, todo para satisfacer su propio deseo perverso.
La sangre florecía sobre sus vestiduras oscuras, pero sus ojos, incluso en el abrazo de la muerte, ardían con una furia impía. No. Ella no caería aquí. No así. Se enfrentó a ambas facciones –la interminable horda demoníaca y sus traicioneras ex aliadas femeninas–, una leyenda solitaria contra dos mundos. Sus últimos y desesperados hechizos arrasaron el campo de batalla, un rugido final y desafiante antes de que el vacío la reclamara.
La oscuridad la consumió. Sin dolor. Sólo un vacío inmenso y frío.
Entonces, luz.
Ella abrió los ojos. Ni la luz cegadora de una estrella moribunda, ni la fría extensión del vacío. Estaba en una cama, bajo un dosel de seda barata, con un dolor sordo palpitando en su cabeza. Los muebles eran de madera normal y las cortinas polvorientas. Confusión. Éste no era su campo de batalla cósmico. Estos no fueron sus milenios.
A shrill voice shattered her thoughts. "Eris! Are you up yet, you good-for-nothing? Breakfast isn't going to serve itself!"
Eris blinked. Eris. That was her name. But not her body. Her hands were small, her arms slender. She rose and walked to a fogged mirror. What she saw wasn't the imposing, ethereal figure of a legendary conqueror. It was a young girl, thin, with very dark black hair falling straight over her shoulders. Her features were... average. A pale complexion, unremarkable, eyes that lacked the burning intensity of her past self, and none of the terrifying beauty she had once projected. She was, to put it mildly, an average girl, a shadow of her former glory. The Eris her family knew.
A torrent of memories, alien yet intimately familiar, crashed over her. A family of white-eyed wolves – her mother, the dominant figure, and her father, an effeminate man who always obeyed her mother. This was the norm; to go against it was death. An arrogant, spoiled "older sister," parents who ignored her, an academy of magic she attended, but without any remarkable talent. She had reincarnated. And not as the heroine, nor even a prominent villain. She had reincarnated into the past, into the body of a secondary character, the forgotten sister. The only living thing in her immediate vision was her sister, Lyra, an insufferable creature of pride and arrogance.
An echo of her true power, the power of a Magician who had transcended Circle 12 and glimpsed the horrifying abyss of Circle 30, pulsed in her chest, weak, almost imperceptible, but present. A slow, optimistic smile spread across his lips. If she were here, she wouldn't be the Eris they knew. She would correct everything. And she would start with the closest one. He licked his lips, a predatory gesture. This time, she would own what was hers.
*****(*
The world wasn't merely fading; it was being torn asunder. Eris, the Circle 12 Maga, her name a terrifying whisper across the cosmos, stood on an alien planet, its skies choked with colossal, grotesque beings. As a powerful leader among the few true legends, her magic, a torrent of raw power, ripped through the invading horrors. She wasn't alone, not at first. Legends, akin to herself, fought beside her – a warrior whose blade cleaved mountains, a summoner who commanded legions of spirits. But they were annihilated, swallowed by the endless tide of extraterritorial demons, creatures that defied the very fabric of known existence. Soon, Eris was virtually alone, millions of monstrous forms swarming, a tide of invasion threatening to engulf everything.
Amidst the chaos, a chilling realization struck. This wasn't just a battle; it was a setup. The universe, dominated by the raw power of women, had abandoned her. Not out of fear of the invaders, but out of fear of her. Fear of the Circle 30 Maga. This world, and the vast cosmos it inhabited, was built upon the absolute supremacy of women. Men were, by and large, an afterthought—a reproductive necessity for the lowest echelons of society, or chattel. The most powerful magas, like Eris, could give birth to daughters without any male intervention, rendering them utterly superfluous. They held no prominence, were often effeminate, used as slaves, or simply for low-level fertilization. Any male birth was deemed a "runt," existing without rights, while female births were cherished, though only the most talented or those from great families truly thrived. The Empress of the central kingdom was a woman, as were all ministers and the Mistresses of the magic academy.
A Circle 30 Maga was an apex predator in this matriarchy, an entity so far beyond mortal comprehension that even a Circle 12 Maga like Eris was but an ant. Level 10 was the absolute peak, the ceiling of mortal magic, recognized by every academy and empire. Level 11 was a myth, a path that led outside the known world, to the very edge of the void where these demonic entities resided – a path one took only by sacrificing everything, a path to power beyond comprehension, but also to inevitable annihilation or utter madness. Eris had walked it, reaching the unthinkable Circle 12, becoming a creature of legend so terrifying, even her female allies saw her as a threat.
A searing pain ripped through her side. Not from a demon. She turned, her vision blurring, to see figures cloaked in the symbols of the High Arcane Circles – former female allies, powerful sorceresses. They had betrayed her, driven by the sheer terror of her unbound power, and by a deeper, more profound fear: the wrath of the Circle 30 Maga. Eris, in her ruthless pursuit of what she desired, had audaciously sought to "please" this unfathomable being by claiming one of her favored servants – a low-ranking male, yes, but still hers. It was a simple gesture of Eris's perverse obsession and disregard for the ultimate hierarchy, and it proved to be a death sentence.
The Circle 30 Maga hadn't even deigned to appear. Eris couldn't even discern her silhouette. Somewhere, light-years away, an unimaginable power had merely sat, perhaps sipping tea, and given a silent command. And that command had come through a single, cold voice – a high-ranking female servant, a conduit of a power Eris had once thought beyond her. This servant, with no emotion, had dealt the final, torturous blow, ensuring Eris suffered before dying.
She was being annihilated for her hubris, for daring to step into the Circle 30 Maga's domain and touch what was hers, all to satisfy her own perverse desire.
Blood bloomed across her dark robes, yet her eyes, even in death's embrace, blazed with an unholy fury. No. She wouldn't fall here. Not like this. She faced both factions – the unending demonic horde and her treacherous former female allies – a lone legend against two worlds. Her last, desperate spells tore through the battlefield, a final, defiant roar before the void claimed her.
The darkness consumed her. No pain. Only an immense, cold void.
Then, light.
She opened her eyes. Not the blinding light of a dying star, nor the cold expanse of the void. She was in a bed, beneath a canopy of cheap silk, a dull ache throbbing in her head. The furniture was ordinary wood, the curtains dusty. Confusion. This wasn't her cosmic battleground. This wasn't her millennia.
A shrill voice shattered her thoughts. "Eris! Are you up yet, you good-for-nothing? Breakfast isn't going to serve itself!"
Eris blinked. Eris. That was her name. But not her body. Her hands were small, her arms slender. She rose and walked to a fogged mirror. What she saw wasn't the imposing, ethereal figure of a legendary conqueror. It was a young girl, thin, with very dark black hair falling straight over her shoulders. Her features were... average. A pale complexion, unremarkable, eyes that lacked the burning intensity of her past self, and none of the terrifying beauty she had once projected. She was, to put it mildly, an average girl, a shadow of her former