(Modern dimension)
The night air around the hotel felt heavier than usual. Neon lights flickered against the glass walls, and the distant sound of traffic hummed like a restless heartbeat beneath the city. Five figures walked together toward the entrance—silent, focused. These weren't ordinary visitors. These were the ones who had survived the underground.
Scott broke the silence first.
"So… this is the place?" he asked, glancing up at the tall building. "We used to fight every day underground, bleed, win, lose. Why bring us here? Is he hiding below?"
One of Skullstriker's friends smirked faintly and shook his head.
"No. He's done with the underground."
Another added, calmly, "We're going to the top floor."
Scott frowned. "Top floor?"
Erika said nothing, but her eyes narrowed. Something about this already felt different.
The elevator ride was silent. Each passing floor felt like another step away from the world they knew. When the doors finally opened, cool wind rushed in.
The rooftop was vast—and quiet.
At the edge of the building stood a lone figure, his back turned to them, gazing over the city as if it belonged to him. The lights below reflected in his eyes like scattered stars. His long hair was tied back neatly, moving slightly with the wind. He wore a heavy jacket that rested on his shoulders like armor and fitted pants that hinted at a fighter's discipline rather than show.
He didn't turn immediately.
One of his friends stepped forward and spoke, breaking the silence.
"Forget every assumption you had," he said. "She's here. We brought her."
The figure slowly turned.
The moment his eyes met Erika's, the air shifted.
He didn't smile. He didn't threaten. Instead, he placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head slightly—not in submission, but in respect.
"Welcome," he said calmly, his voice steady and deep.
"General Erika."
The word hit her like a shockwave.
Erika froze.
Scott's breath caught. scott stiffened. Scott's eyes and Erika's exchanged quick glances. Only a handful of people knew that title—knew her past, her origin, her real identity.
Erika's mind raced.
How does he know?
Is this just a guess? A bluff? Or does he actually know who I am?
She stepped forward, her expression hardening, eyes locked onto his.
"Who are you?" she asked sharply. "I don't care about rumors or nicknames. I need the truth."
She circled him slowly, observing every movement, every breath.
"Your fighting style… your control… the way you stand. It's too familiar. It's like looking at a reflection I didn't know existed."
She stopped in front of him.
"You're not just another underground fighter. Who are you?"
For the first time, Skullstriker smiled—not with arrogance, but with understanding.
"I knew you'd ask that," he said. "Because you sensed it."
He turned his gaze back to the city for a moment before looking at her again.
"Yes. We are similar."
Erika's eyes widened slightly.
"But not in the way you think," he continued. "Not because we fought in this underground together. Not because we share the same fighting tactics."
He took a slow step closer.
"We are similar because of where we come from."
Erika's heartbeat spiked.
Where are you come from…?
Her mind screamed one question louder than the rest:
What does he know about me?
(Historic dimension)
The banners of Hale Nation fluttered high as Victor's procession entered the capital. The city was alive, but beneath the noise lay tension—an unease that only kings and spies could sense. Word had already reached William. He was prepared.
William himself stepped forward to greet Victor.
"King Victor of Firestone," William said with a practiced smile. "Your presence honors Hale Nation. A surprise visit indeed."
Victor nodded calmly. "Let us speak privately."
They walked together into the inner courtyard, guarded by towering stone walls and silent soldiers. Cushioned seats were prepared beneath a marble canopy. Servants arrived swiftly, placing ornate cups filled with Hale Nation's special royal drink before both kings.
Victor lifted the cup—then gently placed it aside, untouched.
"I did not come here for hospitality," Victor said. "I came to speak of something important."
William chuckled lightly and raised his own cup.
"You fear poison?" he asked casually, taking a sip. "We are not so cruel as to poison a guest king."
Victor's eyes did not waver.
"That is not my concern. What I wish to discuss weighs far heavier than death by poison."
William leaned back, already knowing the reason but playing his role perfectly.
"Then tell me," he said. "Why does the King of Firestone arrive unannounced at my court?"
Victor took a breath.
"The five men you plan to execute within the week," he said firmly, "they are soldiers of my nation."
William's expression shifted instantly—eyes widening, posture stiffening.
"Oh?" he said, feigning shock. "From your nation? This is new information to me."
He set his cup down slowly.
"My council informed me those men entered Hale Nation as spies," William continued. "They gathered intelligence. They moved in secrecy. If they truly served you, then I must say… I am disappointed."
Victor remained composed.
"You misunderstand. I did not send them to spy on your nation."
William raised an eyebrow. "Then why were they here?"
Victor hesitated—for just a moment.
"I sent them to search for someone," he said. "A close companion of mine. A man who disappeared from Firestone. They were to find him—nothing more."
It was a lie.
Victor knew it. But the truth—that Erika was missing—could never be spoken here.
William watched Victor closely. Inside, his suspicion hardened into certainty.
Jaccob was right, William thought. He will never speak the truth.
"My spies," William said coldly, "have already confirmed their purpose. They were here to spy. Your explanation carries no proof, and therefore… no worth."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"I came here to prevent bloodshed," he said. "If you execute those men, it will lead to war between Hale Nation and Firestone. We have both lost too many lives already. I will not allow more of my people to die for pride."
William leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"Do not pretend this is about mercy," he snapped. "You have lost soldiers. I have lost soldiers. Do you think grief belongs only to Firestone?"
He stood up.
"My decision is firm," William declared. "Those men will not leave this nation."
A heavy silence fell.
Then William's voice cut through it.
"If you truly care for them," he said, "then declare war."
Victor looked up.
"If you win," William continued, "I will reconsider. You may take your soldiers back. Until then—execution stands."
Behind Victor, Alexander's eyes widened in shock.
This was madness. A trap.
Victor rose slowly.
"You misunderstand me," he said quietly. "I do care for my people. That is why I will not drag them into another war so soon."
William scoffed. "Then accept your loss."
Victor turned slightly, his voice steady—but heavy.
"This war," he said, "would be between you and me. Not our nations. Not our people."
Alexander froze.
"What?" William asked.
Victor met William's gaze without fear.
"Yes. Wars define kings," Victor continued. "But this time, I refuse to sacrifice my soldiers. They have fought enough."
He paused, then delivered the twist.
"We will settle this with a single battle."
Alexander's breath caught.
The courtyard fell silent.
William stared at Victor, eyes narrowing.
"A single battle?" he repeated. "You against whom?"
Victor's voice did not shake.
"You decide," he said. "Champion or king. But no armies. No innocent blood."
Alexander stood behind him, stunned beyond words.
My king… what are you doing?