The corridors of the Obsidian Dreamers thrummed with vitality.
What was once a shattered resistance had now transformed into a beating heart pounding strong and frantic. Torches illuminated all the halls. Walls that were previously silent now rang out with the ring of swords, the hiss of mana blows, and the whispers of prayers.
Even laughter.
Even terror.
Talli instructed trainees by blinding them with illusions and labeling it "reflex honing." Drogan berated a man for picking up his sword "as if it were a spoon." Virella fought duels with flames threaded between her fingers. Serik chanted soothing mantras while lightning danced on his fists. Kaine crept quietly through the rafters, striking behind shocked fighters and tapping them on the shoulder — training in paranoia.
And Kael?
Kael stood by and observed it all, arms behind back, a commander restored to his role.
And me?
I ascended.
The broken mountain range east of the rebel stronghold was jagged and dead — black boulders and shattered ridges to which the field of magic never extended. It was said the land had been ravaged in ancient wars.
Properly so.
There was silence at the top.
Silence adequate for me.
My boots stamped loose stones as I walked to the top. I did not carry a weapon. Had no need of it. The wind here yammered like a ghost too exhausted to rage.
At the top, I perched on a shattered piece of rock. It protruded over a cliff, and below it, the world rested in uneasy tranquility.
Faraway cities glimmered with light that seemed much too serene.
I hated how peaceful it was.
I took a long breath.
And finally… let myself think.
Why me?
Why did I wake up, again and again, in broken worlds I never asked to fix?
Why do I remember war, loss, fire… but not the sound of home?
I closed my eyes.
And saw them.
My mother, stirring a pot in a kitchen lit with orange sunlight. She hummed quietly — a song I knew once.
My father, coat dusty from work, lugging groceries with tired hands. He'd offer a nod rather than a hug, but the warmth was there.
My sister, laughing so hard she tripped while chasing me down the hill, grass stains on her jeans.
And her.
She hovered in my memory like the moon — distant, glowing, always present in the background.
I never could recall her voice.
But I recalled her smile.
It was the sort of smile that led you to think storms could cease.
"I don't even know what her laugh sounded like," I breathed.
A shiver slipped out.
"Are they… waiting for me?" My voice broke. "Or did they move on?"
A tear dropped. Then another.
No one noticed them. Not even the wind.
And yet, I sat.
Not a hero.
Not a savior.
Just a weary man who didn't know if he was even meant to still be alive.
Deep below, the ring of steel echoed out — a ferocious skirmish between the Five Swords. They fought to hone their blade before the mission.
Drogan stomped ahead, deflecting Serik's radiating fists while Talli darted around the periphery of the field with mirror-sharp blades.
Kaine wove shadows, striking illusions at Virella, who twirled her scarlet sword with dance-like beauty — flames erupting halfway through twist.
They weren't playing.
They were getting ready for war.
And I?
I was just gazing at the sky.
The wind changed.
And something materialized in front of me.
Not a whisper.
Not a warning.
Just a familiar, icy flash — like a thought taking shape mid-air.
A blue interface floated in front of me, silent and expectant.
⟨FILE: Truth of the 1000th Savior⟩
Access Level: Unlocked.
Do you want to see it?
I gazed.
I remembered dying.
I remembered living.
But I didn't remember… why.
Did I want this to be the last world?
Yes.
More than anything.
One more world.
One final save.
And then I want to go home.
To hug my sister.
To hold my mother.
To walk beside my father.
To kiss her cheek… just one more time.
I extended my hand.
"…Yes," I whispered.
The file started to open.