Echoes After the Fall – The War God's Word
The world was still again.
The battle that had shaken heavens and carved wounds into reality itself… was over.
In the silence, only the wind moved—brushing over charred stone, broken ground, and the faint shimmer of vanishing magic.
One by one, the Twelve Commanders stirred from where they had collapsed under Val'Zaruun's presence. Their bodies ached, their spirits even more. Wounds ran deep—not all visible.
Selene was the first to stand.
Her silver-blonde hair clung to her face, soaked with sweat and tears. She clutched her blade with trembling fingers, as if willing it to ground her emotions. Around her, the others—Darius, Mira, Sorei, Thorne, Ilyra—all rose, some leaning on weapons, others on one another. None of them spoke at first.
They looked—to the center of it all.
Where she knelt.
Seraphina, the once-radiant Starborn, her silken garments torn and bloodied, her one remaining wing folded protectively around where Alter had just been. Her hair, once flowing with celestial brilliance, was matted and dulled. Her face—so often untouchable—now bore fatigue, sorrow, and something rarely seen in gods.
Grief.
They approached slowly.
None dared speak. Not until the divine figure hovering nearby turned his gaze toward them.
Solien Astridane.
His armor shimmered like a dying star—powerful yet distant. The celestial wind around his six wings slowed, no longer wild and combative. For a moment, even a god seemed to mourn.
He looked at Seraphina.
"You've done enough," he said, voice like a lullaby wrapped in steel. "Go. Rest. This wound will not heal quickly."
Seraphina looked up at him, her golden eyes barely staying open. She wanted to protest—but couldn't. She simply nodded, her expression pained, as if leaving Alter behind tore at her more than the disintegration of her arm.
With the flick of her remaining hand, a small starlit portal formed beside her.
But before stepping through, she turned—looking at the commanders, her voice faint.
"Protect each other... for him."
Then she vanished into the light.
In the Presence of a God
Now only Solien remained in the sky, gazing down upon the bruised and battered mortals.
The Twelve looked up to him. In awe. In sorrow.
Selene stepped forward, her chest heaving with restraint.
"M-My lord…"
She bowed—not from worship, but from devastation.
"What… what happened to our commander?"
"What happened to Alter…?"
The others behind her held their breath.
Solien descended slowly, his armored boots touching the earth for the first time. The divine pressure lessened—no longer crushing, but now comforting, like a shield of light enveloping the broken.
He looked at them.
Then he spoke gently, without flourish, without ceremony.
"He lives."
Tears fell from Selene's cheeks the moment she heard those words.
He continued.
"Alter was sealed… to protect the balance of this world."
"His Creator Authority—too dangerous to remain unbound."
"I've scattered his presence across the world. Not even I know where he is now."
Gasps rippled through the group.
"But he is alive."
"And when the world is ready… so too will he be."
He looked up to the sky, where faint golden trails of starlight still lingered.
"Pray that when he returns… it is not too late."
The Final Toll – Grief, Fate, and the Pillars That Remain
A heavy silence loomed in the wake of Solien's solemn words.
But it was not over.
From behind Selene, a voice—fragile, shaking—rose among the Twelve.
It was Ilyra Faen, the cleric-paladin hybrid. Her usual calm, soft-spoken strength had splintered into something wounded.
She stepped forward, her hands trembling.
"What about… Lira?"
"And Kaela… and the child?"
The question hit like a thunderclap.
The other commanders turned toward Solien, eyes wide, some with faint hope igniting in their chests. Surely… surely if a god could seal Creator Authority, he could undo death. Couldn't he?
Solien closed his eyes.
He shook his head.
"They are gone."
The weight of those three words shattered what strength remained in the team.
Darius clenched his fists. Mira covered her mouth. Even Revyn's stoic mask cracked. Tears welled in eyes that had stared down death countless times—but this was different.
Selene took a desperate step forward.
"You're a War God… a Sovereign… can't you bring them back?"
"Please—!"
Her voice broke.
The others joined her pleas, each one rising in emotion, in grief, in desperation.
"They didn't deserve this!"
"The child… they were just starting a life—"
"You saved Alter—why not them?!"
Solien looked at them all.
And then, his voice fell—not in anger, but in a divine finality that allowed no room for protest.
"Because that would be a violation of the greatest law."
"To reverse death is to challenge fate itself. The cycle of reincarnation is not mine to command."
"To undo it… would trigger a backlash that would tear this world apart."
He paused, then added quietly—
"Only one with 100% Creator Authority… can defy that law."
The Collapse
Silence fell like an anvil.
Their hope extinguished in an instant.
Some fell to their knees.
Others wept openly.
Selene's sobs echoed across the battlefield, loud and heart-wrenching. She clutched her chest as if her heart would tear itself free. She didn't cry just for them… but for Alter.
"How… how can he survive this pain…"
Her voice cracked, distorted with grief.
"He loved them… they were his world…"
Even Solien looked away, the shadows of divine regret flickering across his veiled helm.
The Blessing of the Pillars
At last, the War God extended one hand toward them all.
A gentle radiance, like falling stardust, drifted down from his palm. The light encircled each of the Twelve, weaving through their bodies—not just healing, but transforming.
"I cannot change the past," he said softly, "but I can give you the strength to protect his future."
"I bless you now—Twelve Pillars of Mythral Dawn."
"You are no longer bound by this world's limits."
"Shatter the level cap. Exceed your fate."
"When Alter rises again… you will stand by his side, not as soldiers—"
"—but as the foundation of the world he will reshape."
Golden rings of power etched themselves into their souls. Each felt it—the limit that had held them at bay… broken.
As the light faded, Solien's wings unfurled once more.
"This is not the end."
"The boy will return."
"And when he does…"
He looked toward the horizon, where stars had begun to shimmer again.
"…you must be ready."
Then, with a final pulse of divine light, the Radiant Sovereign vanished—leaving behind the scorched earth, the shattered sky, and a team now burdened with the will to endure.
Ashes of the Sky – Alone, Awakened
The world was quiet.
The sky above was overcast—clouds hung heavy like sorrow pressing down on the earth itself. A cold wind swept through a forest of ash-tinted stone, leaves stripped bare, branches reaching skyward like skeletal arms frozen in grief.
And there, amid the silent expanse—
Alter's eyes opened.
They were no longer galaxies.
No gold.
No glow.
Just… black.
Lifeless.
Blank.
He lay there for a moment, unmoving, staring up at nothing. A void stretched within him—one that could never be filled. Then, like a thunderclap behind his ribs, the memories surged in.
Lira.
Kaela.
The child.
He sat up.
Tears poured from his eyes before he could even draw breath. His chest heaved violently as sobs tore from him, unrestrained. He curled forward, hands covering his face, shaking like someone torn apart from the inside.
Then, from deep within his soul—
A howl of anguish escaped.
He screamed.
Not just once—but long. Wordless.
The sound echoed through the forest, shaking loose frost from the branches.
His voice cracked by the end of it. He collapsed to his hands and knees and slammed his fist into the dirt. Again. And again.
"WHY!?"
The earth cracked.
"WHY THEM?!"
His voice faded into a sob.
He slumped forward, tears soaking into the cold stone beneath him.
"…Seraphina…"
He whispered her name like a prayer. A desperate child searching for his mother in a nightmare.
"Seraphina…"
Silence.
"Please… say something…"
Still nothing.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tears dripping freely. He clutched at his chest, his breath erratic.
"Seraphina…!"
And then—
A spark.
A flicker.
A soft, crackled whisper in the back of his mind:
"…Alter…"
His eyes shot open.
"Seraphina?!"
"You're—you're here?!"
He stood to his feet, swaying as dizziness struck. His voice was wild, breaking with emotion.
"You're okay? Are you—are you hurt? I saw… your arm… you—"
"…I… I'm alright…"
Her voice was faint, distorted, flickering between frequencies like broken starlight.
"…It will take time… but I will recover…"
Alter pressed a trembling hand to his chest, exhaling shakily.
"Thank the stars…"
For the first time since waking up, relief—fragile and trembling—touched his face.
He tilted his head to the sky.
"I thought I lost you too."
"…Never…"
The whisper of her reply held the faintest note of warmth.
But even then, her voice trembled with exhaustion. He could feel it—Seraphina's strength was nearly gone, her divine presence like a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.
Shattered Tether – The Last Thread
The sky was gray, the kind that felt like it had forgotten how to shine.
Alter stood still in the clearing, surrounded by nothing but cold wind and the sound of ash-touched leaves brushing against brittle stone. The light of his Creator soul was gone. And for a long while, the only warmth in him came from that faint, flickering voice in his mind.
Seraphina.
But then… even that began to dim.
"…Alter…"
Her voice trembled now, faint like a memory stretched too thin.
"…I have to tell you… everything."
Alter didn't answer. He just stood there, chest slowly rising and falling, as though bracing himself.
"Lira… Kaela… and the child…"
She hesitated.
"…They are… truly gone."
A slow inhale.
His face didn't move. His eyes didn't flinch. He already knew.
But even so—
Tears fell.
Not like before. Not in fury. Not in sobs.
These were silent. Heavy. Raw.
He didn't scream this time.
He just closed his eyes… and let them fall.
Seraphina's voice softened.
"…I'm sorry."
"There was nothing I could do."
Alter clenched his fists until the skin turned white. He trembled.
But he made no sound.
No curses. No rage.
Only silence.
The kind that comes after something has broken too deeply to scream anymore.
Seraphina's voice continued—quieter now.
"To save your life… Solien Astridane sealed your Creator Authority."
"You were teleported to a random location beyond even his foresight."
"You are safe… but hidden from everyone."
Alter didn't move. His eyes were unfocused, staring past the trees. As if the world had lost color.
He already felt hollow—but it wasn't over.
Seraphina's voice faltered.
"…There's more."
"…My connection to you… it wasn't meant to survive the sealing."
Alter blinked.
Very slowly.
His jaw tensed.
"What?"
"…The tether between us…"
"It's fraying. I'm… being unraveled. What remains of me… is being held together by a thread of system memory and your lingering resonance."
The wind passed.
"…How long?"
A pause.
"…One month."
"Maybe less."
The words hit like a blade.
He staggered back a step, breath catching.
"You mean… after that…"
"I will be gone."
Seraphina didn't whisper it.
She said it plainly.
Not cruelly.
But honestly.
Alter lowered his head.
His whole body trembled—not from fear… but from something deeper.
Abandonment.
Not by anyone's fault. Not by betrayal. But by the cruel erosion of time and fate.
"You've been with me since the start…"
His voice cracked.
"Since the very beginning…"
He dropped to his knees.
"And now… even you…"
There was no reply.
Only the faint hum of wind over broken stone.
"I'm going to be alone…"
Still silence.
Then finally—
A whisper.
"…I don't want that either."
But she could say no more.
Crumbling Mantle – The Day His Glory Fell
It was dusk again.
Or maybe dawn.
Alter couldn't tell anymore.
The world had become a gray blur—skies always overcast, days blending together into a muted haze. His steps were heavy, one foot in front of the other, not from fatigue but from the sheer weight of emptiness. His eyes no longer reflected galaxies, only shadows. And clinging to his thin frame was the last remnant of who he once was:
The divine armor.
Though sealed and inert, it remained wrapped around him like a husk—faint traces of silver and ethereal blue glimmering faintly beneath the layer of dust, filth, and cracked plating.
He didn't summon it.
It simply stayed—a ghost that refused to leave him. Perhaps part of him still clung to it, to them, to something.
Until that moment.
He was walking along the edge of a dried riverbed—one foot slipping on the rocks. He barely noticed. A sharp jolt hit his shoulder, then a crack echoed in the still air.
A piece of the shoulder guard fell.
It hit the ground with a dull clang.
Alter stopped.
Looked down.
The armor… was flaking.
Silver plates once forged with Creator Authority began splintering along his arms, his chest. Divine runes faded into rust-colored scars across the metal.
And then, with a sudden gust of cold wind—
the entire set cracked.
CRKHHH—SHATTER.
It didn't explode in light or vanish in divine smoke.
It fell—bit by bit, like brittle bark peeling from a dead tree.
Pieces tumbled to the ground:
His gauntlets.
His chestplate.
The boots that once carried him into battle beyond time.
And finally, the helm—his last veil.
It hit the ground beside him and rolled… and stopped, cracked down the middle.
Alter looked down.
What was left on him were nothing but torn fabric and rags, barely enough to cover his emaciated form. His body was gaunt, thin from days without food, and bruised from weeks without care.
The armor—his past—lay in pieces around him.
It had protected him in countless battles.
Survived divine flames, mythic beasts, time storms, and the void itself.
But it could not survive him.
Not this broken shell of a man who no longer believed in victory.
He stood in silence, barefoot in the dust.
The wind picked up.
Ash swirled through the air, dancing around the scattered fragments.
Then, without a word, Alter turned away from the remnants.
And kept walking.
The Hollow Path – A God Forgotten
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Time lost all meaning in the overcast streets of a small, forgotten border town—its name insignificant, its people too used to sorrow to ask questions.
And in its shadowed alleys, beneath the awnings of closed shops and tattered prayer banners—
Alter remained.
Slumped against a wall. Hair tangled. Body thin.
He looked like any other vagrant—ragged clothes, dirt-stained skin, his once-pristine divine armor now dulled and locked away, sealed within storage by instinct, as if even his legacy was something too painful to carry.
No one recognized him.
No one could.
His presence, once awe-inspiring, had been sealed. His aura? Gone. He was just another lifeless soul wandering through a world that had moved on.
At first, he simply sat.
All day. All night.
No food. No water. He didn't care.
He refused to accept help.
When kind villagers offered bread or soup, he stared at the ground. When asked for his name, he didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
He was no one now.
On some days, he wandered.
Not with purpose—just… motion.
Walking through muddy lanes. Barefoot. Sleepless.
His once-muscled frame now looked lean, almost brittle beneath the grime.
Children ran past him without a glance.
Dogs barked, then turned away.
The world did not know it was stepping over a fallen god.
And through it all—
Seraphina's voice weakened.
"…Alter…"
At first, she tried to speak to him daily.
Her voice—still warm, still gentle—urged him to eat. To move. To live.
"…You're still alive…"
"…You can still rise again…"
But he said nothing.
His heart felt like ashes.
And slowly, her voice began to fade.
Once a divine melody of stars and grace, now barely a static whisper.
"…A…lt…er…"
Some days, she didn't speak at all.
And on the ones she did, it took everything he had to open his eyes.
He didn't know how many days had passed now.
He didn't care.
But one night—one especially cold night—he lay curled beside a flickering street lantern, his breath shallow, skin pale.
He closed his eyes, unsure if he would open them again.
And from the edge of the fading bond, he heard her once more—barely there.
"…Alter… please…"
"…Don't… disappear…"
A tear ran down his cheek.
But he didn't respond.
He couldn't.
A Child's Hand – The Spark that Remained
Another gray day.
Another forgotten street.
Alter sat in the same crooked alley, back slumped against a crumbling wall, arms draped lifelessly over his knees. He had long since stopped counting the days. His body was nothing more than skin stretched over bones. His hair hung in tangled waves over his face. Rags clung to him like a dying memory.
The last pieces of his divine past lay scattered across the alley behind him. Unclaimed. Forgotten.
The people of the town passed him by like always—no second glances. Just a ghost on the side of the road.
And then—
He saw them.
A young mother. Worn but gentle in her gaze. She walked quietly down the street, holding the hand of a small girl, no more than six. The girl's hair was tied in a floppy bow. In her free hand, she clutched a half-eaten piece of bread.
They walked past him.
But the girl stopped.
She turned.
Her big, curious eyes locked onto Alter—sitting in the shadow, unmoving.
"Mama," she whispered, tugging her mother's sleeve. "Who's that man?"
The mother stiffened.
"Don't look at him," she said quickly. "Come on. He's dangerous. Or sick."
But the girl didn't listen.
She let go of her mother's hand and walked straight toward Alter.
"Sweetie!" the mother called, alarmed. "Come back here—"
But the child kept going.
Barefoot. Unafraid.
She stopped right in front of him, staring at his sunken face, his blank, hollow gaze.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Alter didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His lips were dry. His voice long unused. He simply stared forward, unblinking, barely even recognizing the question.
The girl tilted her head.
"You look hungry."
She looked down at her bread.
Then, with small fingers, she tore it in half and held the larger piece out to him.
"Here."
He stared at it.
No movement.
No response.
She frowned slightly, then stepped closer and, with her other hand, gently touched his cheek.
Warm.
Small.
Her palm was so small it barely covered half of his face—but the warmth… it bled through.
Soft. Alive.
"You have to survive," she said softly, eyes full of something pure. "Okay?"
"You'll be okay."
She didn't say it with grand wisdom or divine vision.
Just simple, childlike certainty.
And then, before he could stop her, she tucked the bread into his hands, pressed it there, and gave a tiny smile.
"You looked like you forgot you were alive."
She turned and skipped back to her mother, who stood frozen nearby—relieved nothing had happened but clearly shaken.
The girl waved back.
"Bye-bye, mister!"
Alter stared at the bread.
His thin fingers curled slowly around it.
He looked up again—and saw the girl tugging her mother's hand with a grin.
"Let's go home now, mama! I want to play!"
"No," her mother said sharply. "You're grounded. No more games today."
"Whaaat? But I wanna play now!"
The child pouted and stomped her foot—and then—
Her voice changed.
For just a moment.
The tone warped—smooth, impossible, echoing across dimensions.
Not loud. Not booming.
But resonant.
It reached into Alter's mind like a ripple in a still lake.
"It's just a game."
The world seemed to slow.
Alter's eyes widened slightly.
His breath caught.
His fingers trembled around the piece of bread.
That voice…
Something inside him shifted.
A long-buried memory—or something deeper.
Not from this world.
He looked down at the bread again.
Then… at his hands.
Trembling.
Alive.
He looked back up.
The mother and child had already turned the corner.
Gone.
But the warmth remained.
Rebirth in Dust – The Gamer Reawakens
The girl's voice echoed like a divine whisper in Alter's fractured mind.
"It's just a game."
A simple sentence.
A child's remark.
But it cracked the dam of his despair.
Alter's eyes—once hollow and gray—snapped open.
His black pupils twitched, and then…
shifted.
Color began to swirl within them once more—not the celestial galaxies they once were, but something sharper. Grounded. Real. Clear as obsidian steel.
He looked at his hands.
The bread trembled in his grasp.
He remembered the weight of the void. The warmth of Lira's embrace. The laughter of Kaela. The spark of his unborn child's presence beneath her skin.
He remembered the shattering beam.
Their final words.
Their final sacrifice.
His body moved before he realized it.
The bread went into his mouth—ravenous, desperate, living.
Crumbs fell onto his chest.
Tears stung the corner of his eyes—but he didn't weep.
He stood.
For the first time in weeks, he stood tall.
"Seraphina," he whispered, his voice ragged from disuse.
There was a pause. Then—
"…Alter…?"
Her voice was still weak, broken like a wind-chime barely clinging to its string.
"Cut the connection."
Silence.
"What…?" Her voice trembled.
"Cut it," Alter repeated, firmer. "You've done more than enough."
"But—"
"I know now," he said, lifting his head. "This world. This system. This entire reality... it's all a game."
A gust of wind swept through the alley.
His rags flared, revealing a gaunt figure—scarred, thin, wounded, but unmistakably alive.
And something burning inside him.
Not divine radiance.
Not cosmic resonance.
Resolve.
"I rose too fast," he said. "I flew too high on wings I didn't earn. Creator Authority… I didn't understand what I was touching. I thought I could climb the system. But the world itself—this reality—it demands balance."
"So I was punished."
His voice hardened.
"I lost everything. Everyone. I made a mistake…"
His eyes narrowed.
"That mistake was ascension without foundation."
He took a step forward. Then another.
His bare feet struck dirt like thunder in his mind.
"No more shortcuts."
"No more mercy."
"I'll rebuild myself—not as a god. Not as a chosen."
"But as a player."
He clenched a fist, and for the first time in weeks… his fingers obeyed without trembling.
"And when I reach the top again—when I stand above every realm—"
"I'll rip Val'Zaruun apart with my own hands."
Seraphina didn't respond.
Not immediately.
Her voice returned, soft as starlight on glass.
"…Are you certain, Alter?"
"If I sever the connection, you'll lose the last of your divine assistance."
"You'll be alone."
He looked up at the fading sky.
His eyes—no longer blue galaxies, but deep, resolute storms.
"I've always been alone."
He exhaled.
"But this time, I'll walk the path by choice."
"And if this world wants balance—then I'll bring the whole damn system to its knees."
The wind blew quietly through the alleyway.
Alter stood unmoving, the last crumbs of bread still caught in the corner of his lips. His hands clenched into fists, body quivering not from weakness—but resolve.
He had made his choice.
To walk forward.
Alone.
But just before the last tether could be severed, Seraphina's fading voice returned with a tremor of caution.
"…Alter…"
"If you walk this path with revenge in your heart… be warned."
He paused.
"Vengeance corrodes. Slowly, it stains your soul. Until you don't even recognize the face in the mirror."
"If you follow that hunger… you may fall into the Demonic path. You may become worse than what you lost."
Her voice faltered.
"I… I don't want that to happen to you."
Alter didn't flinch. His gaze remained focused, sharp.
"I understand, Seraphina."
"But vengeance isn't my goal. It's just the first stone on a long road."
He looked up at the sky—its colors dulled by dust, but wide and boundless.
"This is a game."
"And I will clear it."
"All of it."
A beat passed.
And then… Seraphina exhaled.
A faint smile echoed in her tone.
"…Then I'll tell you one last thing. Something… hopeful."
Alter's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Your Creator Authority… is not lost."
His breath caught.
"What?"
"The War God set a condition. The seal on your Authority is powerful—but it's not permanent."
"You can unlock it again."
"If…" she paused, "…you reach this world's maximum level."
The words struck him like thunder.
Alter blinked in stunned silence.
"My max level…?"
Without hesitation, he focused inward for the first time in what felt like ages.
"Status Window."
A familiar shimmer danced across his vision. The old prompt. The data scaffold of his soul.
And then—
[STATUS – ALTER]
Level: 1
Class: —
Title: —
HP: 60 / 60 | MP: 20 / 20
Strength: 9 | Agility: 7 | Intelligence: 11 | Vitality: 8 | Willpower: 10 | Luck: 5
Magic Affinities: Fire, Ice, Water, Wind, Earth, Lightning, Nature, Light, Dark – (Unlocked)
Draconic Traits: — [Locked]
Skill Tree: [Sealed]
Unique Class: [Primordial Architect – Locked]
Titles: [Sealed]
World Rule Affinities: [Sealed]
Current Evolution Paths: None
Combat Proficiency: Beginner Tier
…
He stared.
Then laughed.
Not a bitter, broken sound.
But an amused, stunned chuckle from deep in his chest.
"I'm back to level one…"
He scrolled further. Every single high-tier skill, movement art, divine spell, Mystic fusion—
Locked.
His titles—gone.
Even his class was sealed.
But not everything had disappeared.
"My affinities…"
Fire. Ice. Wind. Earth. Water. Lightning. Nature. Dark. Light.
Still his.
He clenched his hand again.
Magic pulsed faintly in his fingers. Crude, basic—but responsive.
Still his.
And more importantly… he had a new goal.
Seraphina's voice came again, faint but proud.
"The War God left layered triggers in your soul's seal. When you reach certain level thresholds, your abilities, skills, titles, and even your draconic lineage will begin to awaken again."
"It won't be easy."
"But with each step, you'll reclaim who you were—and become even more than that."
Alter's lips curled.
"Good."
"I don't want easy."
He turned, looking down the broken street leading out of the slums.
A new path. A new beginning.
"I'll climb back up…"
"…from the dirt if I have to."
"And when I reach the top—this world will remember my name."
"Not because I was chosen—"
"—but because I earned it."
The status screen faded slowly from Alter's vision, leaving only the last tab pulsing faintly: [Encyclopedia].
Curious, he willed it open.
Rows upon rows of categorized entries sprawled before him in ghostly script:
Monsters Defeated – 472
Bosses Defeated – 38
Locations Discovered – 120
Named NPCs Encountered – 263
Artifacts Forged – 7
Divine-Class Interactions – 5
Creator Entities Met – 7
Titles Earned – [Sealed]
It was a tapestry of his journey.
Of who he used to be.
And who he could be again.
But before he could dive deeper into the sea of data…
Grrrrrrrr…
His stomach rumbled like an irritated beast. Loud. Demanding. Unashamed.
Alter blinked, deadpan.
"…Right. Food."
The single crust of bread he had scarfed earlier was long gone, and his current body—level 1, barely healed, thin as a reed—was on the verge of toppling over again.
He looked up at the faded sky, the sliver of golden sun peeking through the clouds.
He let out a breath, slow and calm.
"Seraphina."
A pause.
Then her voice came, soft and distant—like a star whispering across a dying horizon.
"…Yes?"
"It's time."
"Cut the link."
The silence that followed was heavy.
She didn't respond immediately.
But he could feel her hesitation.
Her presence had always been there—soothing, guiding, steady like a distant celestial flame. Even now, at her weakest, her voice offered a sense of connection he wasn't ready to give up…
And yet—
"…I see."
"Then this is farewell… for now."
"I will always be watching, Alter."
"Even if you cannot hear me. Even if you walk in silence for years…"
"Know this—your name will never fade from the stars."
He smiled, his voice low.
"I'll reach you again. One day. Maybe in the divine realm. Don't get too comfortable up there."
A faint giggle echoed in his mind.
"I wouldn't dare."
"Farewell… Alter."
"And good luck… gamer."*
Then—
A single thread appeared before him.
Thin. Translucent. Woven of light and ethereal memory. It fluttered in the unseen wind, glowing faintly blue.
And then—
Snap.
The thread unraveled, vanishing like dust in sunlight.
He didn't expect the wave of sorrow that followed.
A hollow ache punched through his chest, as if part of his soul had been gently—irreversibly—taken.
His knees buckled slightly.
Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden.
He wiped them away with a rough sniff and looked forward.
"You're gone, huh?"
"…Then I guess I'd better make you proud."
With a slow exhale, he began walking.
No fanfare.
No banners.
Just bare feet and borrowed resolve.
He passed by rusted fences, broken carts, and weathered buildings. The city behind him was still noisy, still bustling—but its warmth never reached the outer slums where he had survived.
Now, he stepped beyond them.
Into the wild where it had all started.
His body felt unbalanced. His mana pool—minuscule. His limbs—light and awkward without the divine strength he once wielded.
But his mind?
Sharper than ever.
He reached the cracked outer gate.
Took one confident step past it—
And immediately tripped over a rock and faceplanted into a bush.
"Gah—!"
THUMP.
A flock of startled birds scattered overhead as he groaned and rolled to his back, staring up at the sky with twigs in his hair and dirt in his mouth.
He coughed, then spit out a leaf.
"…This is going to be rough," he muttered.
Still…
He smiled.
Because he had finally taken that first real step again.
No voice.
No divine strength.
Just him.
And that was enough.