Behind them wasn't the jagged slope of the crater—it was… a mountain, capped in snow.
The sky—no longer bright plasma flaring in a boundless void—was a simple blue, dotted with sparse clouds that obscured a burning sun. A massive floating island hovered in the distance, partially veiling the light. Rings of ivory stone orbited it in mesmerizing loops.
It looked deceptively close, but this place was clearly many, many kilometers away—if it even existed at all.
Elion turned toward where the crater's center should have been, only to find a quiet valley meadow. Trees with brown bark and vibrant green leaves were scattered around; they looked so… harmless. Beautiful even.
Ah… fuck.
They climbed the mountain, stopping only when the sun dipped low on the horizon. Elion deceived Eshrod by claiming a premonition ability, which split the group once again. He, Lumos, and Farha continued their ascent without the others.
The sorcerer pulled out the amulet.
"What's that for?" Elion asked, finally finding the right time to ask.
But Lumos didn't answer right away. He squinted at the intricate design of runes, a confused expression spreading across his face.
"Lumos?" Elion pressed, noting the shift in his features.
"It's… nothing," he said with a shrug.
He explained once more what the amulet was supposed to do, like it was the first time he'd ever said it. Because it was.
At least, it was supposed to be.
Elion went to sleep.
This time, he didn't dream…
In the morning, the three Unlocked resumed their climb, nearly dying from the cold—only to be teleported back down.
Farha managed to convince the young cook to head toward the camp despite the risk.
A black blade pierced his abdomen. Pain bloomed, only to be replaced by terror at the sight of his teammates—his friends—lying lifeless.
Elion had died. Again.
Behind them wasn't the jagged slope of the crater—it was… a mountain, capped in snow.
Back up the mountain, conflict with Eshrod, setting up camp at a higher altitude with Farha and Lumos.
The sorcerer stared dubiously at the amulet.
"What is this?" he muttered—just as Elion asked the same.
This time, he didn't dream…
They were ambushed once more by the same mysterious attacker.
Elion had died.
Back at the beginning. Again.
Lumos frowned at the amulet once more, his expression even more perplexed than before.
He looked at Elion, raising an eyebrow before dismissing whatever outlandish suspicion had started forming.
After the usual conversation, the young cook went to sleep.
This time, he didn't dream…
Teleported back down. Meadow.
Elion had died.
This time, he didn't dream…
Elion had died.
This time, he didn't dream…
Elion had died.
This time, he didn't dream…
Elion had died.
This time, he didn't dream…
Elion had died.
. . .
This time, he did dream.
Elion dreamed of himself dying over and over. The same black blade. The same spot. The same terror at seeing his friends die before him.
Each time he died, though… a feeling gripped his heart.
Like it had all happened before.
He watched himself being cut open from a third-person view, as though he were watching a memory. With each death, he was pulled further toward the sky, until the blue, clouded horizon gave way to plasma flaring in a boundless void.
"You can control memories, huh…" a man's voice echoed in the darkness.
"I can, though I'm mostly revered for my toying with time," another voice replied.
"Pfff, time is overrated. Memories, though… you can literally create and manipulate reality."
"You're a funny one, aren't you?" the second voice said. "I guess you're right—on some fronts."
"I know I'm right. I'm always right."
The second voice chuckled.
"I think the dumbass commanding the sky should take notes. Blood's not the only way to win a war," the first voice continued.
"Sure—and water isn't wet," the second voice scoffed. "I like your optimism, young man, but even with all my power, blood is bound to be shed."
The echoes faded, until they vanished completely.
Elion jolted awake on the same cold stone he'd laid on before. Sweat trickled down his spine.
What… was that?!
He'd died—multiple times. Or was going to die? The vision felt like the past. Just like the voices he'd heard at the end.
It was like… echoes of two pasts merging.
They spoke of controlling memories and time. Just like the god of the same name.
Elion looked around. The mountain hadn't changed. The meadow below still waited, peaceful and green.
The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, casting golden light on the cliffs they were ascending. Lumos and Farha woke not long after.
"You alright?" Lumos asked, noticing Elion's blank stare.
"I… I am," he replied.
Lumos didn't look convinced.
"Let's go," the young cook added, beginning the climb once more.
Just like before, they were teleported back down. Farha convinced him to try heading to the camp again.
They walked in silence. Elion, somehow, felt even more on edge. The feeling of being watched gripped his heart.
When he heard the clang of steel—he froze.
"Elion?" Lumos asked, worried.
"We—we need to run. Fast!" he shouted, panicked.
His two teammates didn't question him. They turned and bolted.
No sound followed them—but Elion knew… he knew if he stopped, he would die.
Lumos screamed in pain; his voice sounded gurgled.
A throwing knife had pierced his throat. He collapsed, bleeding profusely.
Elion spun, drawing his sword. A dark silhouette darted through the trees at inhuman speed.
It was heading for Farha.
With his ability, he could feel the timing—he lunged, barely blocking the onyx blade aimed at her back.
The force of the sword's clash sent him sprawling to the ground. Farha turned, raising her rifle—but the figure had vanished.
"Above!" Elion shouted.
She barely had time to react.
The black blade fell like divine judgment, piercing her skull.
The sight of her body going limp, collapsing like a broken doll, shook the young cook to his core.
Standing above her body was a figure cloaked in black. She held the curved sword, its edge dripping with Farha's blood.
A dark mask veiled her face—similar to Kellta's scorched one, but this one, it looked like the original, or at least the image the fire-wielding imp had used to craft hers.
A single horn jutted from her skull, slipping between her hood and mask. The other was broken.
A Dweller of the Depths?!
But now wasn't the time for questions.
Elion snarled and got to his feet, amber eyes burning with unbridled fury.
He lunged. Rage clouded his thoughts.
The figure sidestepped and drove her blade down into his back. Then she vanished, leaving him to bleed out.
Elion was dying.
But the feeling—the familiarity. Was it because of the dream?
His thoughts blurred. Heat drained from his limbs.
Dying always hurts.
Elion had died.
Behind them wasn't the jagged slope of the crater—it was… a mountain, capped in snow.
And he had seen it before.
The young cook stared at the mountain, shivering at the thought of climbing it again.
Wait, again?
Right. I already did… and I died.
His eyes darted around. Farha and Lumos were there.
The Mute Demon raised an eyebrow at his expression. Lumos stared out at the landscape.
They were… alive.
"What the hell just happened?!" Eshrod asked, looking around frantically.
And she's here too, saying the exact same line as before.
Elion looked at his hands.
Did I… did I go back in time?