(Modern dimension)
In the modern dimension, the evening had quietly settled in.
Erika was sitting alone in her room, close to the window, her legs folded beside her. The soft orange light of the sunset poured into the room, painting the walls with shades of gold and fading crimson. Outside, the sky looked peaceful—too peaceful, as if nothing in the world was wrong. The sun slowly dipped behind the distant buildings, and for a moment, everything felt still.
Erika rested her chin on her hand, watching the horizon.
It's beautiful, she thought.
But her mind wasn't calm like the sky.
Her thoughts slowly drifted back to the underground… back to the ring… back to him.
"Skull Striker…" she whispered under her breath.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she replayed the fight in her mind. His movements. His timing. The way he anticipated her strikes—not perfectly, but enough to unsettle her. Those weren't random moves. They weren't copied blindly.
Those were trained, she thought.
"How did he know my style?" she asked herself quietly. "Why were his moves… similar to mine?"
She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes.
"He said he wanted to talk," she murmured. "He said we had a lot to speak about."
Her heart beat just a little faster than usual, and that annoyed her.
"Why am I even thinking about him?" she asked herself, almost angrily.
"Why do I want to know who he is? Where he came from?"
A pause.
"…Is there something I'm missing?" she thought.
"Or is there something between us that I don't remember?"
She opened her eyes again, staring at the last glow of sunlight disappearing beyond the window. The calm sunset felt ironic—outside, the world was quiet, but inside her mind, questions kept piling up.
At the same time, in a small, modest house in another part of the city, Skull Striker was sitting on the floor with a few people around him. The room was simple—bare walls, low lighting, and the smell of freshly cooked food filling the air. Everyone sat close, sharing dinner, laughing lightly, talking about small things.
For a moment, Skull Striker stayed silent, his head lowered, lost in thought.
Then he spoke.
"…I saw her."
The room went quiet.
His friends looked up at him immediately.
"You saw her?" one of them asked, leaning forward.
"Wait—do you mean the fighter from today?" another said.
Skull Striker nodded slowly.
"Yes," he said. "I saw her. And… I fought with her."
The reactions were instant.
"What?!"
"When did that happen?"
"How did we not hear about this?"
One of them laughed confidently. "Come on, man. If you fought her, then you must've won."
Skull Striker shook his head.
"No," he said calmly. "She won."
Silence fell over the group.
They stared at him, shocked. They knew his strength. They had seen his fights. For him to admit defeat so openly—it didn't make sense to them.
"She beat you?" one of them asked, disbelief clear in his voice.
Skull Striker didn't respond immediately. He picked at his food, his expression unreadable.
After a moment, he said, "She's different."
His friends exchanged glances but stayed quiet.
"I didn't come here to fight," he continued. "I came here for something personal. Something I need to finish."
"From where?" one of them asked carefully.
Skull Striker paused.
"I belong to another place," he said finally. "Not here."
They waited for more, but he didn't explain further.
"I'll finish what I came for," he added, his voice low but firm. "And when that's done… I won't stay long."
No one questioned him after that.
The room slowly returned to quiet conversation, but Skull Striker remained distant—his thoughts no longer in the room, but somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere near a sunset-lit window.
(Historic dimension)
Alexander received the message quietly.
A royal guard approached him while he was still seated on the high stone wall of the kingdom, where he often sat alone, watching the city stretch beneath him. From there, the rooftops looked peaceful, the streets calm, as if no storm was gathering at all. But Alexander knew better. Peace, he believed, was often only the surface.
"The King wishes to see you," the guard said, bowing slightly.
Alexander nodded.
He stood up, brushing the dust from his armor, and took one last look at the city before climbing down from the wall. His expression was composed, but his thoughts were heavy. So it begins, he thought.
Inside the royal court, the atmosphere was different.
The large stone pillars echoed faintly with every step Alexander took. Servants and guards stood in silence, their eyes lowered. At the far end of the court, King Victor sat on his throne, his posture straight but his face troubled. This was not a court session—this was personal.
When Alexander approached, the guards stepped back, leaving the two of them alone.
Victor spoke first.
"Jaccob came to me," the King said slowly. "He spoke about negotiating with King William. About stopping the execution… and possibly delaying the war."
Victor leaned forward slightly.
"A minister's words cannot be ignored so easily," he continued. "Tell me, Alexander—what do you think?"
Alexander did not answer immediately.
He bowed his head, not out of fear, but respect.
"My lord," he said calmly, "my duty is to follow your command. Whatever decision you make, I will carry it out without hesitation."
He paused, then lifted his gaze.
"But since you asked for my opinion," he continued, "I must speak honestly."
Victor nodded.
"I do not believe King William will postpone the execution," Alexander said. "Not even if he learns that those five men belong to our nation."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"In fact," Alexander added, "he may see this as an opportunity. A chance to provoke us… to force a war on his terms."
The court remained silent.
Victor exhaled slowly. "Yes," he said. "That thought has crossed my mind as well."
He stood up from his throne and began pacing.
"But tell me this, Alexander," he said, his voice firm but conflicted. "Should a king remain silent while his people are led to death for doing nothing?"
Alexander watched him carefully.
"No, my lord," he replied. "A king who abandons his people loses more than soldiers. He loses his crown in their hearts."
Victor stopped walking.
"That is exactly my fear," he said quietly. "If I do nothing… history will remember me as a king who chose peace over justice."
He turned back toward Alexander, his eyes resolute now.
"I will not allow that."
Alexander straightened instinctively, sensing the decision forming.
"I have made my choice," Victor declared. "We will try to stop the execution."
Alexander's expression remained steady, but inside, he understood the weight of those words.
"And if it leads to war?" Alexander asked.
Victor did not hesitate.
"If it leads to war, then so be it," the King said. "I do not fear war. I fear standing idle while innocent lives are taken."
He paused, his tone softening slightly.
"But understand this—I will try everything within my power to stop the execution without starting a war."
He looked directly at Alexander.
"I will speak to William. I will send my words, my seal, and my warning. If he refuses… then the blood he spills will not be on our hands."
Alexander bowed deeply.
"Then I will prepare our forces," he said. "Not for aggression—but for protection."
Victor nodded once.
"Do so," he commanded. "Quietly. Quickly."
As Alexander turned to leave the court, the tension in the air remained heavy. The kingdom still looked peaceful from the walls—but beneath that calm surface, destiny was already shifting.