The world had turned red.
I wish it were a metaphor—but it wasn't.
The air reeked of iron. Each breath burned, cutting my throat like fire.
In the distance, buildings shimmered as if aflame, though no flames could be seen—only that crimson glow devouring everything it touched.
My eyes were fixed on something falling from the sky.
It looked like a bird, but its wings were far too wide, far too red.
It didn't flap. It didn't fall—it collapsed, as though the heavens themselves had spat it out.
Then I heard it.
A whisper.
A prayer.
An echo twisting through time:
> "Time heard the plea of the guilty king…
Bring me back to when I was happy…
Restore what has been broken…
Return to me the joy that lies years behind…"
The ground trembled. The figure struck the earth.
From the impact burst a flash of scarlet light, and when it faded, only a shattered crown remained—its fragments humming softly, like glass breaking underwater.
The echo of that crown lingered long after the world went still.
And just before silence swallowed everything…
I had never seen an angel descend to earth.
Something must be wrong—
either in heaven,
or in this world.
[REWIND — SYSTEM RESET DETECTED]
24 Hours Before the Rewind
Almost ten years had passed since then.
Or maybe more. Time lost meaning when you lived alone on a private island, a hundred meters above sea level.
Zephir sat at the cliff's edge, staring at the endless blue.
The sunlight caught his unruly crimson hair, the faint red aura wrapping around him like a quiet flame. His eyes glowed—not with power, but with the dull sadness of someone who had stopped expecting anything new.
Above him, a few old drones drifted lazily through the air—remnants of his brother's work.
They still purified water. Still hunted nearby animals. Their programming hadn't changed… even if everything else had.
"They said they'd come back," he muttered.
"They promised… family doesn't forget, right?"
It had been a year since their last visit. Maybe two.
He stood, brushing dust from his worn clothes. The red glow pulsed faintly, reacting to his frustration.
"I almost look like a king," he said bitterly. "A king without a throne, without a queen… without a palace."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Maybe I should redecorate."
The island trembled.
Old rags turned into crimson banners fluttering in the wind. Sand and stone hardened, shaping walls and towers. His magic flowed through the earth like a memory refusing to die.
> "Stone heard the request of the guilty king…
Reorganize. Bring me the security I lost.
A place to belong."
The drones hovered silently. Zephir tilted his head toward them.
"Can he see me through you?" he asked softly.
Then his expression hardened.
"They've forgotten me… a long time ago."
No alarms. No signals.
Not even a whisper from the family that once called him a miracle.
He turned toward the mainland—where flashes of battle lit up the skyline.
There they were.
His family.
Heroes of the age. Fighting another villain in his absence.
For a long moment, he simply watched.
Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"They took my crown ten years ago," he whispered. "The day I first awakened this curse."
The wind howled, carrying crimson sparks across the sea.
"Maybe," Zephir said, eyes blazing, "if I steal it back… they'll finally remember who I am."
The drones stirred. Metal twisted, merging midair until they formed a single massive blade—absurdly large, humming with restrained power.
Beneath his feet, the ground reshaped itself.
With every step toward the horizon, stone formed beneath him, glowing red as it solidified. His pace quickened—steps becoming leaps, leaps becoming streaks of light—until the world itself bent around his will.
Every step grew lighter, almost eager—
like a child running back home.
The sword shifted restlessly in his hand,
unable to decide what shape it should take.
Zephir smiled faintly and whispered,
"Father… brothers… I'm coming back.
Save some energy for me."