The air was dense. Heavy.
As if something unseen pressed against Leonhart's skin, testing his will.
He stood amidst ruins that shouldn't exist—structures twisted in impossible shapes, remnants of memories that never belonged to him. Flames flickered across the walls, but they cast no heat. Only illusions.
"You think you know what's real?"
A voice, faint as wind, whispered from behind him.
Leonhart turned sharply—nothing. Just more smoke.
He gritted his teeth. "You're not real… None of this is."
But the laughter that followed was all too real. Familiar.
"Reality is just what survives your doubt."
He stumbled back, not from fear, but confusion.
The path ahead shifted under his gaze, as if deciding whether to exist or not. The more he tried to focus, the more the ground fractured—until it gave way entirely.
He fell.
Not downwards.
Inwards.
---
When he opened his eyes, the world was quiet. Too quiet.
No ruins. No whispers. Just a barren plain stretching beyond sight.
Leonhart clenched his fists. Something wasn't right. Again.
"Enough games," he muttered.
And then he saw him.
Far ahead—a figure in a long gray coat. Still. Silent. Waiting.
Leonhart didn't move, but his mind screamed with questions.
Was this another illusion? Another of Satan's tricks?
Or was this... the start of something different?
The figure raised its hand slowly, pointing—not at Leonhart, but at the space behind him.
Leonhart turned.
But there was nothing.
When he turned back—the figure was gone.
---
He stood alone, but changed.
Not in strength. Not in power.
But in awareness.
Someth
ing had broken.
Or maybe… something had just begun.