The ground split apart like paper tearing under a knife.
The colossal Veilborn's shattered mask screamed in Yurin's voice—his exact voice—before crumbling into shards that rained down into the glowing abyss.
And then the city square collapsed.
Stone, wood, fire, and screams tumbled into the rift. Damien tried to grab Clara's arm as they fell, but rubble struck him in the side, spinning him out of reach. Evelyn's chains lashed out, catching on a crumbling ledge, but it snapped under the strain, dragging her into the void.
Yurin fell without struggle, coat flaring, red eyes reflecting the crimson light below. He didn't flail. He didn't scream. He just… watched.
It wasn't like falling into darkness.
It was like falling through layers of glass.
Each layer reflected a different version of the world—Veybridge burning, Veybridge peaceful, Veybridge a ruined wasteland where no humans remained. Countless realities stacked together like pages in a book, shattering as they plunged through them.
Damien roared against the wind. "WHAT IS THIS?!"
Clara's voice broke, but her words were chilling. "It's… the Mask. The surface of reality breaking apart…"
Evelyn's eyes darted to Yurin as they all plummeted. He wasn't panicking—he was calm, his lips curled slightly like he had been expecting this.
"You know where we're going, don't you?" she shouted over the roar of collapsing worlds.
Yurin tilted his head. "Of course."
Damien's rage nearly drowned out his fear. "Of course?! What do you mean 'of course'—"
And then they slammed through the final layer.
The air here was heavy, thick with whispers. The ground was a mosaic of broken porcelain masks, each fragment glowing faintly as if alive. Black towers rose crookedly into a sky that pulsed crimson like a beating heart.
The others staggered to their feet, coughing, bleeding, wide-eyed. But Yurin stood smoothly, brushing dust from his coat as though nothing unusual had happened.
Damien rounded on him immediately, fist blazing. "Start talking, Crimson! What the hell is going on?! Why did that thing have your face?!"
Evelyn's chains coiled around Yurin's arm again before he could answer. Her tone was sharp, deadly. "And don't you dare tell us it was a joke."
Clara, pale and trembling, whispered the truth none of them wanted to hear.
"…We're in the Truth Layer of Eclipsa. The place where masks break. The place no mortal is supposed to survive."
The whispers grew louder, echoing from the porcelain fragments beneath their feet. Thousands of faint voices, begging, accusing, laughing. Each fragment showed distorted reflections of people's faces—some familiar, some strangers, some their own.
Damien froze, his fire flickering weakly. "Gods…"
Evelyn's grip tightened on her chains. "So this is what lies beneath the world's mask."
Clara's voice shook. "No one comes back from here. No one."
And yet Yurin smiled. Calm. Amused.
"Then we'll be the first."
A tremor rippled through the mask-shards beneath them. The fragments rose, swirling together, forming a shape—a towering humanoid knight clad in jagged porcelain armor, its face a broken mirror reflecting all four of them at once.
The whispers fused into one chilling phrase:
"None may strip the mask and live."
The Guardian raised its sword—a blade of fractured glass taller than a house. The air screamed as it swung downward.
Damien shoved Clara out of the way, his flames bursting to life, clashing against the blade with explosive force. Evelyn's chains lashed onto the Guardian's arm, pulling it just enough for the strike to miss. Clara staggered up, blood on her lips, scrawling furiously across her paper.
The script glowed: "Freeze."
Ice crawled up the Guardian's legs, anchoring it for a moment.
But it wasn't enough.
The Guardian shattered the ice instantly, its mask-face cracking further. Each crack reflected Yurin, and only Yurin.
Evelyn hissed. "It's focusing on him."
Damien's eyes widened. "Why?!"
Clara's whisper was soft, almost broken. "…Because it thinks he doesn't belong here."
All eyes turned to Yurin.
And he… was laughing. Quietly, but unmistakably.
The Guardian roared, raising its blade again.
Yurin stepped forward, placing a hand on its mask. His red eyes glowed like embers in the crimson sky.
"Strip."
The porcelain shattered.
For one horrifying instant, the Guardian's "truth" was revealed: it wasn't a monster. It was a person—an ordinary man from the city above, eyes wide in terror, mouth opening as if to scream.
And then, before anyone could stop it, he dissolved into ash.
Damien froze. Clara covered her mouth. Evelyn's chains slackened.
Yurin turned back to them, his expression calm, almost bored.
"You see? Masks are fragile."
But his smile… his smile was wrong.
The whispers grew louder. The ground quaked again. And from the horizon, dozens more Guardians began to rise from the mask-shards, each one turning its cracked, mirrored face toward Yurin.
Each one whispering, in one voice:
"Architect."
Yurin Crimson… smiled wider.
[Chapter Four — End]