Benjamin's eyes fluttered open.
He was still beneath the giant apple tree, its branches stretching out above like a protective canopy, the cool shade pressing gently against his skin. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the horizon—soft, golden, and slow—as if no time had passed at all. It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a heartbeat… yet his body felt oddly restored, as though he'd slept for hours.
For a brief, fragile moment, everything felt just as it should be.
Then he looked up.
Samuel—the boy—had been climbing in the tree just moments ago. But now… he was gone. Vanished, without a sound, without a trace. Benjamin scanned the surrounding orchard, but nothing had changed. Nothing at all, except the boy's absence.
His gaze drifted, unbidden, toward the looming silhouette of Centarious Castle in the distance. It still looked as it always had in his memories—dark, haunted, and heavy with ancient silence. Blue and golden mana crystals shimmered from its towers, casting long, dancing reflections over the cold stone. He tried to conjure the beauty of the castle in his mind, to relive the wonder of seeing it for the first time in ten years—
But the thought struck him like a blow.
Pain spiked through his skull. His vision blurred.
Benjamin clutched his forehead and forced himself upright. As he stood, the world tilted slightly, like something beneath him had shifted. Something unseen.
Sammy.
His first thought after waking.
Where had the boy gone? Had Samuel wandered off to the castle while he slept?
The thought unsettled him. Daylight sleep wasn't like him—too vulnerable, too careless. It felt wrong. He tried to shake the discomfort off and started to turn back.
Then he noticed it.
A stillness. Utter, absolute.
No birdsong. No wind. Not even the rustle of leaves.
It was as though the world itself had stopped breathing.
And when he stepped—just one step—beyond the apple tree's shade,
everything changed.
…
The world erupted into flame.
An inferno rose around him, fierce and alive, its heat scorching—but not burning—his skin. The fire should have devoured him, but it didn't. Still, fear wrapped around his chest like a fist, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The fields, the skies, the far hills—all burned. Twisting tendrils of flame licked the heavens, dancing like spirits, roaring like beasts. The landscape was swallowed by fire. All of it…
except the space beneath the apple tree.
That single patch of shade remained untouched, calm amidst the chaos.
Then realization struck like a knife.
This wasn't Centarious Castle.
This wasn't Celesto.
The fire didn't change the land—it revealed it.
The ground beneath his feet cracked and shimmered. Not earth. Not soil. But frozen rock and shattered ice. Through the smoke and heat, he saw the truth.
The land burned away like parchment in a fire, and what lay beneath was unmistakable:
The North.
The Ice Mountain Valley. The heart of the Ice Elves' territory—frozen, distant, and unreachable.
Yet still the apple tree remained. Standing in defiance of reality. Untouched. Impossible.
Benjamin slowly rose to his feet again, heart pounding, breath shallow. His thoughts spun, but one question anchored him:
This must be a dream… right?
But how could he know he was dreaming, and not wake up?
Is this an illusion? A trap? Some kind of spell?
No. Not even a Mind Walker could craft something this vivid. This perfect.
Something was wrong.
The dream was not his own.
And yet, he remained.
…
Then—suddenly—a scream.
Not just any scream.
A child's wail. Raw. Desperate.
A sound that pierced through flame and dream alike.
Benjamin's pulse surged. He turned instinctively toward it, even though some part of him knew this was only a dream. Still, it felt as real as breath—too real to ignore. His feet barely touched the scorched earth as he ran. The fire recoiled from him, shrinking away like it feared to touch him.
Then he saw her.
Kneeling among the blackened ruins was a young ice elf. Her silver hair clung to her tear-streaked face, her small body shaking with sobs. She clutched the lifeless bodies of three others—elves like her. Their skin had dulled to ash-blue. Their eyes, glassy. Frozen forever.
"Please," she whimpered, her voice cracked and broken. "Please… help them."
"I swear they didn't steal anything, they didn't—"
"So please…"
Her hands gripped their clothing as if she could drag them back from death by sheer will alone. As if grief could anchor the soul.
Benjamin's throat tightened. He couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
She reminded him of someone—young Michael, just before he went to war. The same trembling innocence. The same helpless plea. A pain bloomed in Benjamin's chest.
"They're already gone," he whispered.
The girl slowly lifted her head.
Grief shifted.
Her sorrow twisted into something sharper—something ancient. The fire around her flared brighter, crackling like laughter. Her eyes, once filled with tears, now burned with molten gold.
"They are not the only ones," she said, her voice no longer her own. A thousand voices echoed through her words. "You must save them all."
She collapsed forward, hugging his feet, her tears falling like rain onto the scorched ground.
"You're the only one who can… so please…"
Benjamin bent down, about to speak—
The world lurched.
The sky darkened. The earth groaned beneath them. A deep rumble echoed across the land, and the ground split open at his feet.
Then—
"Ben..."
The voice struck him like a spear.
He turned slowly.
A line of figures stood just beyond the wall of fire—ghostly, pale. Their eyes were hollow, their armor cracked and bloodied. Soldiers. Fallen comrades. Shades from battles long buried in his memory.
At the front of them stood one man.
William.
His breath caught in his throat.
His brother. His older brother.
William's face was half-burned, the other half frozen in agony. His armor was shattered, his hands trembled at his sides, blood leaking from wounds that never closed.
"Please…" William's voice wavered. "Save us, Ben."
Benjamin staggered forward.
The girl was gone.
But his thoughts were unraveling. His mind split between horror and disbelief.
"William…"
The ground beneath his brother gave way. Darkness coiled around William's legs like serpents, pulling him downward.
"No—!" Benjamin lunged. "Tell me what to do! Tell me how to stop this!"
William's lips parted. He tried to speak—but before he could—
The sky cracked open.
A shadow descended from the stars above—vast and monstrous. Wings blotted out the heavens. Two golden eyes burned through the smoke and ruin.
A dragon.
It roared—deafening, divine.
A torrent of fire consumed the land.
Benjamin watched in helpless horror as the blaze swallowed the ghostly figures one by one. The ground beneath him became an ocean of fire—but it did not touch him. Could not.
William's form flickered—then crumbled to ash.
But before he vanished, his voice cut through the inferno:
"Even gods can die, Ben…"
Benjamin fell to his knees. Flames roared around him. His hands trembled as grief, fear, and memory collided in his chest.
…
Then—through the blaze—
A light.
A soft, golden glow.
The ancient apple tree shimmered back into existence, untouched by the chaos.
And beneath it, stood Samuel.
But not the boy he remembered.
This was a young man, eyes heavy with sorrow, standing in the tree's glow like a statue of regret. His red eyes shimmered with unshed tears as his hand rested gently on the tree's bark.
"Uncle…" His voice trembled, barely more than a breath. "I'm so sorry… and thank you… for everything."
The words struck Benjamin like an echo from the future—like a farewell spoken before it was ever needed.
Samuel's gaze met his, deep and ancient, filled with pain no child should know. He whispered one final word:
"Goodbye."
He withdrew his hand.
The tree's glow dimmed.
Its leaves shimmered like glass, then dissolved into drifting sparks.
In an instant, both the tree and the boy were gone—leaving Benjamin alone in the ash and silence.
…
Then—from above—light.
A shaft of gold descended from the heavens, and in that divine glow, Benjamin saw another vision: himself.
Kneeling atop a mountain of corpses—his own army, fallen at his feet. His red-and-black armor bore the sigil of his bloodline. In his hand, he held Astral Edge, the sacred blade of the Light Cathedral atop Calvary Mountain. It glowed faintly, a star dying in his grasp.
Behind him, shadows stirred.
A dream, he thought. That's what this has to be…
But it didn't matter. The ache in his chest was real. The weight of his brother's and his nephew's words still clung to him like chains.
Then—the shadow of wings.
A voice thundered inside his mind, old and immense:
"Will you accept what sleeps within you, Keeper?"
Benjamin tightened his grip on his cloak.
Slowly, he turned to face the dragon.
…
"Uncle! Uncle, wake up!"
A voice—small and urgent—dragged him from the depths.
Benjamin's eyes blinked open. His mind floated between two worlds. Dream and orchard. Fire and memory.
Was it all just a dream?
His fingers brushed his cheeks. They were wet.
He had been crying.