The man smelt the scent of smoke and stone.
He laid on his back, the ruins of the tower stretched out around him—blackened, shattered, lifeless.
He had returned to the future and so, the once-mighty structure had collapsed, reduced to little more than charred rubble, and a crumbling foundation.
Had it really happened? The man knew it to be true, but there was little trace of the past. Even the wounds he had received in ybe memory had healed, leaving no mark.
He pushed himself up, muscles aching, skin still tingling with residual heat. The dagger lay beside him, its blade dull now, the fire within it quiet. The storm of battle had passed.
And yet, something lingered. As if it's purpose was still not fulffiled.
He turned his gaze toward the center of the ruins, where the swordsman had stood. Where he had fallen.
There was no body. No remnants of the one he had fought. No ashes, no blade, no sign that he had ever existed. Only the air, thick with something unfinished.
The memory of the swordsman was gone. But he was not.
Somewhere out there, he still remained. Waiting. Not a shadow of the past.
A test. Was that all it had been?
The man exhaled, gripping his dagger tighter. His journey was not over.
He turned, taking in the ruins of the city below.
He had seen them before of course, but now he gazed in a new light.
What had once been a grand place—a city of towering spires and intricate bridges, alive with people—was now little more than a graveyard of stone. Buildings lay in ruin, streets broken and consumed by time. The remains of the city stretched as far as he could see, a wasteland of forgotten history.
The man had seen it, the end of the city.In that strange archive he saw visions of what had been the fate of the land.
A prosperous city that fell to both disasters from the inside and the outside. They had fallen victim to their own powers, but also to something else;A disaster had happened a long time ago. Something that brought the Realm to this desolate state.
But the visions where fragmented. He didn't truly know what happened.
Just that it had been a catastrophe beyond human hands.
And in the end, only the tower had remained.
And now, even that was gone.
The man exhaled. His fire still burned, but it did not rage. It waited.
He had changed.
The battle, the swordsman, the flames—they had forged something new within him.
He was no longer weak. He had learned to survive and to fight back.
But his journey was not over.
He had burned through the past. Now, he would step forward.
Toward whatever lay ahead.
He tightened his grip on the dagger, turned from the ruins, and walked.
The road stretched before him, empty and endless.
And so, he continued on.