The rain followed us for three days.
Cold, relentless, almost sentient — as if the sky itself was trying to drown the memory of Eryndor from the earth.
Each drop hissed against the pale stones, carrying the smell of iron and ash.
We didn't speak much. The silence between us wasn't comfort — it was gravity, pressing down like a second heartbeat neither of us could ignore.
By the fourth dawn, the horizon changed.
The silver plains curved upward, their color shifting to bruised purple where they met the storm.
A wall of churning clouds loomed ahead, swallowing the sky whole — twisting and folding like a living thing.
The Border Veil.
Lirya stopped beside me. Her breath left white trails in the cold.
"Beyond this point," she said softly, "there are no laws. No prayers. Even the Arcanum falters."
Her eyes lifted to the distant lightning that tore the clouds open in silence. "The wildlands remember what the gods buried."
I said nothing. The wind carried the taste of salt and copper. Beneath it, I could feel the hum of mana — vast, untamed, beautiful in its chaos.
[Environmental Field Detected.]
Density: 623% above standard mana concentration.]
Warning: Reality Tension Unstable.]
The Limit System's voice threaded through my thoughts like a whisper through glass.
It wasn't warning me. It was hungry.
Crossing the Veil felt like walking into a dream that didn't want to be remembered.
The air thickened, soft at first, then heavy — each breath tasting faintly of ozone and ash. The world blurred at the edges, like a painting bleeding through its own canvas.
The grass beneath our feet glowed faintly, veins of blue light running through its roots.
Every step left ripples in the ground that shimmered before fading.
Lirya's hand brushed against her dagger's hilt as she scanned the storm-wrapped horizon. "The Arcanum maps said there were cities here once," she murmured. "Before the gods fell asleep."
"Then where are they now?" I asked.
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
The silence was the answer — and the silence was alive.
By dusk, the storm had dimmed to a low, breathing pulse.
We found shelter under the ruins of what might have been a watchtower. Half of it still stood — black stone veined with faint blue cracks, humming softly.
Inside, the air was warmer, but the walls whispered. Not voices. Echoes.
I ran my hand along the stone. It trembled under my touch, releasing flashes of light — memories caught in matter.
I saw shapes.
A procession of mages in golden robes, their faces hidden behind veils of light.
A city suspended in clouds, burning from the inside out.
And something beneath it — vast, coiled, patient.
The vision broke when I exhaled. The air felt heavier, the taste of ozone sharper now.
Lirya had drawn closer, her silver eyes dimly glowing. "You saw something, didn't you?"
"A god," I said. My voice sounded foreign in the echoing dark. "Not the kind they pray to. The kind they bury."
When night fell, the storm finally came.
It didn't roar — it whispered.
Rain fell sideways, each droplet glowing faintly with mana. Lightning crawled across the ground instead of the sky, webbing across the landscape like veins.
In the distance, mountains rose and fell with the rhythm of breath, as if something vast was sleeping beneath them.
We built no fire. Fire wouldn't survive this kind of wind.
Instead, we sat close under the broken arch of the tower, the world outside painted in cold blue and white.
Lirya's voice barely reached above the storm. "The Arcanum warlords rule these lands now. They built their cities around what's left of the fallen gods. They call it worship."
"And what do you call it?"
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Desperation."
A tremor ran through the ground — deep and steady. Not thunder.
Something was moving.
The Limit System flared in my vision.
[Warning: Divine Residue Detected.]
Class: Dormant Deity.]
Designation: God of Dust.]
The floor beneath us cracked, a slow, shuddering sound like stone grinding against bone.
Through the fractures, faint red light began to seep upward.
Lirya rose instantly, her dagger already shimmering with runes. "It's waking—"
The ground gave way.
We fell into light.
There was no sensation of falling, only descent — as if the air had turned liquid and gravity was an idea, not a rule.
When we landed, the noise vanished.
The chamber we stood in was enormous — a cavern carved from glass and bones. Columns rose like spines, ribs of titans long dead.
At its center lay a statue half-buried in ash.
Not carved — grown.
A human shape, eyes closed, its skin cracked and pulsing faintly with red light.
Lirya's voice trembled. "That's not a statue…"
I stepped closer. The air thickened, vibrating with something ancient, wrong, divine.
The Limit System whispered in my mind.
[Identification: Fallen Deity. Fragment of the Third Creation Cycle.]
[Status: Dormant.]
[Warning: Host Resonance — 37%.]
My pulse matched the light in its chest.
Each beat echoed through the chamber like a drum.
And for a moment, I swore it breathed.
I reached out. My reflection rippled across its cracked surface — white hair, blue eyes burning like frozen stars.
The Six Eyes flickered, translating something hidden inside the stone.
"The gods do not die. They sink."
The world tilted.
Flashes—images—voices.
Armies kneeling before burning skies.
Cities built atop sleeping titans.
A mirror reflecting seven versions of myself, each holding a blade made of light.
Then—darkness.
When I opened my eyes, the god's face was gone.
The cracks across its chest had closed.
But something had changed in me — a low, constant hum beneath my skin.
Lirya stood nearby, staring at me like she'd seen a ghost. "Rin… what did you touch?"
I looked down at my hand — faint red sigils pulsing beneath the skin.
"I didn't touch it," I said quietly.
"It touched back."
The wind returned, echoing through the hollow bones of the chamber.
Somewhere deep below us, the storm growled like a waking beast.
The wildlands were not empty.
They were waiting.
And something beneath the dust — something older than gods or systems — had just opened its eyes.