Outside the guild, Arthur took a deep breath as the two walked toward the inn.
"Young Master."
"Hm?"
"Actually... I need to leave for a moment."
William looked restless. He was clearly debating something important. But his duty was to ensure Arthur's safety, and walking away went against every instinct he had.
"If it's important, then go handle it," Arthur said casually, trying to ease his concern. "I'm not a child. I promise I won't go 'adventuring' without you. You'd probably cry if I left you out."
William smiled faintly.
'But you are a child,' he thought to himself.
"I'm sorry, but I'll be back in a couple of days. I also want to make sure the pursuers are no longer tracking us."
"Alright. Take care."
"You too, Young Master. Don't do anything reckless," William added, pointing at him.
"I won't."
'God, what are you? My dad?' Arthur thought as he watched William's figure slowly disappear into the distance.
Back in his room, Arthur sat on the bed after setting all his gear aside.
'Why did I even put them on in the first place...'
He spent the rest of the day walking around the market, getting to know the people of Whitecave while quietly confirming what information he could gather.
It was definitely the same lives he had already lived through. But there were still many small details he might miss from his past lives
He closed his eyes for a second.
Then suddenly
Everything changed.
The room vanished. In its place stretched a white void, vast, silent, and endless. There were no walls, no ceiling. Just light, soft and shadowless, as if the concept of darkness had never existed.
In the center stood a massive round table of crystal-blue glass, polished until it glowed. Thin golden lines curled along its surface in spirals like celestial veins. Around it stood thirteen stone chairs, ancient, worn, and powerful.
Arthur found himself already seated in one of them.
His chair was cracked but steady. A perfect hollow circle was carved into the tall stone back behind him, his mark still empty.
Twelve blurry figures stood in a wide circle around the table. Watching. All of them.
Arthur slowly looked up, meeting their eyes.
'Hello, Dear Arthur' One of the figures spoke. Her voice was serene, gentle, unwavering, nostalgic.
As she spoke, the void pulsed softly.
The air shimmered. The chairs grew heavier, more solid. The crystal table flickered with magic. The space around them gained weight, like something ancient was remembering itself.
'You don't have to be so on guard,' Said the figure again
'My name is Seraphiel. The First Seat of the Councils.'
His confusion deepened. "Seraphiel...? The Council? But aren't you all..." He paused, taking a breath. "Aren't you all dead?"
Silence followed. For a moment, the room was still. Then
'Dead?!' another figures speak out. Higher-pitched. Childlike.
'I knew it,' a third voice chimed in. Male, raspy.
Arthur's eyes widened.
'Dear Arthur... I know this must be confusing. But we are confused as well. In truth, you might understand more about why we're here than we do.'
Arthur leaned back, trying to make sense of it all.
The Councils? He remembered them saying the transfer cost them their lives. So how were they here? And more strangely... why did they seem different?
'Arthur?' Seraphiel called again, full of concern.
Arthur took a long breath and began explaining everything. His past life. The Celestial War. The outcome. The Council's final sacrifice. Their gift to him.
The room stayed quiet. Then, after a while, a voice muttered,
'Damn... this is way more interesting than I thought. So we're gods, right? I knew it!' A male voices, smaller in statue then the other, except some.
'I don't think it's that simple,' another figure interrupted. This one was harder to identify. Blurred between male and female. Changing ever so slightly
'Elurion is right,' said Seraphiel. 'But I think I understand why we're here.'
'Arthur explained that we sacrificed ourselves to send him into this final timeline. That we gave him our core. And when he was reborn... we were reborn with him.'
Arthur looked up slowly. "So you're saying... the original Council is really gone?"
'Yes. It's not just our memories that were lost. Our entire existence ended. This is something else.'
'Aaahhhh,' the same childlike voice joined in again. 'That kinda makes sense... but also kinda doesn't? I mean, if we were reborn, why do we know each other's names? And how do we know Arthur? The moment I woke up, it was just... there. But the story Arthur told us?' Again, silence.
Arthur could feel them thinking. Feel their emotions. Some were confused. Some sad. Some curious. One or two were... excited.
'That... I do not know,' Seraphiel said quietly. Then the voices began flooding in. Muttering. Whispering. Arguing. Rising and falling over each other like crashing waves.
"Enough!" Arthur snapped, His forehead twitching in frustration. "I don't know who's talking anymore."
Then came a clap. 'Arthur is right. Maybe it's time we introduce ourselves,' Seraphiel said calmly. One by one, they began to sit.
Seraphiel was the first to move.
Her figures start to become clear, she was a tall woman glowing like polished marble. Her six translucent wings folded behind her back like silk veils. Her hair flowed like liquid starlight, and beneath her shimmering veil, eyes gleamed with quiet hope.
'I'll reintroduce myself. My name is Seraphiel. You can call me Sera. I am the First Seat. My domain is Hope.'
She took her seat beside Arthur. The tall stone backrest behind her shimmered, revealing a glowing white flame cradling an eye.
Then came another one.
A tall man draped in silver and gold ceremonial robes, his face hidden behind a flawless white mask. His posture was noble, precise—his every movement calculated like a judge.
His voice was firm, low, and composed.
'I am Vahariel. Second Seat. Domain of Order. I apologize on behalf of these children, Arthur.'
As he sat, the stone back of his throne glowed faintly, revealing a sword fused with balanced scales.
'Children? We're probably the same age, you old fart.'
The voice that cut in was playful, high-pitched, and just a little too smug.
A figure twirled into view, veiled in layered ribbons, drifting like streamers caught in a breeze. She looked young, delicate even, but the glint in her eyes said otherwise. There was something off about her smile. It was too wide. Too knowing.
'I'm Maivira. Third Seat. You can call me Mai. My domain… hmm… let's just say it's Trickery for now.'
She spun once, theatrically, then dropped into her seat like she was flopping onto a stage.
The backrest behind her lit up, a glowing symbol of a grinning mask split down the middle, one side laughing, the other weeping.
'Nice to meet you, Arthur. Or maybe we've already met. Who knows? That's the fun part.'
Another figure stepped forward next.
Their body was fluid, shifting between masculine and feminine, adult and child. Like a living mirror, reflecting Arthur's gaze back at him in shifting form. Their presence was... unplaceable.
Their voice was layered. one moment a whispering soprano, the next a calm baritone.
'Hello Arthur. I'm Elurion. Fourth Seat. Domain of Time.'
As they sat, the tall stone back of the throne shimmered, forming a mirrored spiral eye.
Then came Another one.
He was massive, broad and armored, though his armor was cracked, scorched, and held together more by will than metal. A massive greatsword rested on his shoulder. His helmet was fractured, but beneath it, a single burning eye glared ahead.
His voice was deep, gruff, worn like an old soldier's.
'Kael'Thar. Fifth Seat. Domain of War.'
He sat heavily. The backrest behind him pulsed, igniting with the symbol of a cracked sword nailed to a shield.
'Hi Arthur! It's nice to see you! Haha, though I guess I can't actually see you, I'm blindfolded!'
This figure floated in with a grin, her body wrapped in layered silver robes. A blindfold covered her eyes, but she moved with confidence, a giant crystal harp drifting beside her.
Her voice was soft and cheerful, almost like a young mother trying to make a joke.
'My name is Saphirael. Sixth Seat. Domain of Dreams. If you ever have nightmares, just tell me, okay?'
She sat beside Kael'Thar. The back of her chair lit up gently, forming a crescent moon cradled in two hands.
Another figure followed in silence.
He was tall, clean, almost eerie. Dressed in a flawless black butler uniform, and completely faceless, but Arthur could feel his polite smile.
His voice was calm, mid-toned, reserved like someone who never needed to raise it.
'Greetings, Sir Arthur. My name is Thalorien. Seventh Seat. Domain of Loyalty. You have my utmost respect.'
The backrest behind him glowed, revealing a gauntlet clutching a blooming rose.
A sudden wave of heat filled the air.
Another strode forward, clad in burnished bronze armor that caught the white light like fire. Her fiery red hair trailed behind her like a banner, and her face was carved with sharp lines, determined and proud.
Her voice was cool, firm, and commanding.
'I'm Amira. Eighth Seat. Domain of Passion.'
As she sat, the stone behind her blazed, a burning heart wrapped in thorns.
Then came a quiet figure.
A young girl with bright green hair, stood with her hands pressed together over her chest. Her robes were patterned with frost and leaves, and she looked like winter and spring had embraced.
Her voice was soft, nervous, stuttering.
'U-umm… h-hi. M-my name is Sylmenor. Ninth Seat. My domain is Nature. I-it's really nice to meet you, Arthur.'
She sat quickly. Icy light crept up the backrest of her chair, forming a frost-covered lily.
'HI ARTHUR!'
A figure rushed in with a grin, his ragged robe flapping, a flute hanging from his belt. His brown hair was wind-swept, and he looked like he'd been caught mid-laugh from a story nobody else heard.
His voice was loud, fast, teenage and chaotic.
'It is I, Caelum! Tenth Seat! Domain of FREEDOM! If you ever wanna escape from these old folks, just call me! I don't know how to help, but I'll be there anyway!'
He sat down on his seat. Soft, green light turns on like a soft wind on summer at his backrest. Forms a flute wrapped up in a translucent wind
'There's no way he'd bring a loudmouth like you,' Maivira grumbled, arms crossed.
'Shut it, Maivira! The adults are talking here!'
'What? You look as young as me, dumbass!'
'Dumbass?! How dare you—'
'Enough. Behave yourselves.'
Kael'Thar's voice boomed like a command on the battlefield, shutting down the chaos instantly.
'I agree,' Vahariel added, cool and sharp. 'Two have yet to speak. Show respect.'
Then came the second to last figure.
She glided forward, her translucent blue hair veiling half her face like mist. Her robe shimmered like the night sky, decorated with constellations only half-formed. She hovered above the floor, her feet never touching ground.
Her voice was steady, high but elegant.
'I am Veluria. Eleventh Seat. Domain of Fate. I'm very interested in what your future holds.'
She seated herself in silence. The back of her throne shimmered, revealing a footstep within a field of stars
And finally… the last.
A figure stepped forward with a softness that defied the void around her.
Her pale veil fell gently across her face, her white hair trailing to her waist. There was something ancient in her presence, like the end of a long lullaby.
Her voice was fragile, and full of peace.
'You may call me Nirael. Or Nira. I am the Twelfth and final Seat. My domain is Creation. I look forward to knowing you.'
She sat quietly beside Arthur. The backrest behind her glowed, forming the image of a Flying Raven clutching a blooming lotus in its beak
Arthur looked around the circle. The Councils he remembered weren't like this. Maybe it was because they were new beings now. Or maybe they had always been like this from the beginning.
In his first life, the Councils revealed themselves not just to him, but to the world, though much later, when he was already in his late teens. It happened just after the end of the Empire's five-year civil war.
The Empire was at its weakest. And that was when the Celestials appeared.
They struck hard, unleashing chaos before the Empire could recover.
Arthur had once believed the Celestials were simply waiting for the perfect moment to attack. But in the final war, the truth unraveled. They weren't just opportunists. They were orchestrators. The civil war, the betrayals that followed, it was all their doing. Every fracture had been planted. Every chaos, planned.
Seraphiel noticed Arthur's absent-minded gaze.
'Dear Arthur, what are you thinking?'
Arthur blinked and snapped back to the moment. He looked at her, then glanced around at the rest of the Council. His thoughts stirred again.
'Maybe with them showing up this early... we might actually have a chance to be ready.'
'Ready for what?' Maivira chimed in, her voice curious.
Arthur frowned slightly. "You can hear my thoughts?"
All twelve of them nodded in unison.
Now that he thought about it, their mouths moved, but their voices didn't reach his ears. They resonated in his mind. Clear. Direct. Unmistakable.
Before he could say anything else, the Councils began to glow faintly.
'I suppose that's the limit,' Seraphiel said gently. 'As you may have noticed, our power is greatly diminished. This is the boundary of your current strength, Arthur.'
Each of them seemed reluctant to leave. Their expressions reflected it, quiet frustration, fading smiles, glances that lingered. Arthur felt the same. There was still so much he wanted to ask. So much he needed to understand.
'Don't worry, Arthur,' Seraphiel continued. 'We are weak now because you, too, have yet to awaken your full potential. We grow with you. And when you are ready, you'll hear us again.'
'Don't forget about me, Arthur! Grow stronger fast so we can talk more!' Maivira added, her voice playful even as her form flickered.
'It's alright, Sir Arthur. Take your time,' Thalorien said calmly. 'Speaking with us is just a side mission for now. We'll wait for you, patiently.'
'Agreed,' Kael'Thar muttered, arms crossed. 'But do get stronger quickly. The way you look right now is pathetic.'
One by one, they faded.
Nirael and Seraphiel holds each of Arthur's hands as they fades.
The thrones vanished with them. Then the table. Then the light. And finally, Arthur.
Arthur opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was familiar. The quiet hum of the world returned, the faint breeze through the shutters, the stillness of the inn's room.
He sat up slowly.
He looked around. Nothing out of place. No thrones. No strange light. No voices in his head.
Just him.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, his body still feeling oddly light—like part of him hadn't fully returned.
As he walked toward the closed window, something caught his eye.
A mark.
Etched faintly on the back of both his hands, glowing for only a breath before vanishing, a sigil.
He stared at it, unmoving.
Both Seraphiel and Nirael had held his hands before fading. Was this… their doing?
"…Is this their doing?" he asked aloud, more to himself than anything.
A voice answered.
'You're correct, Dear Arthur.'
His breath caught.
He turned slightly, but there was no one there. Only the whisper echoing gently in his mind.
"…Nirael?"