Cragar carefully folded the letter just delivered by the Tenebrae, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary on the paper. Shirei's handwriting was sharp, without hesitation—each word written with the same precision he applied to combat.
A sudden gust of wind stirred the god's black robes, lifting the sheet from his hand. The letter spun upward until the wind carried it high, dissolving like ash into the shadows.
"You may go," said the deity.
Reno, chosen as messenger by the Forbidden Heir with the amethyst eyes, merely nodded. Moments later, he was gone. The skeletons scattered throughout the chamber encircled the origin point of the wind, waiting for new orders.
Cragar's gaze returned to the blood-red circle at the center of the cavern. Its surface trembled, pulsing faintly beneath a translucent layer. Around it, the uneven stone floor reflected the somber red hue—like a pile of bones soaked in blood. The pool at the heart of the hall appeared liquid, but its surface remained clear and still, despite the image of a swirling vortex within its depths.
When the circle vibrated again, the dark god clasped his hands behind his back and waited. The next gust was stronger, like a breath held far too long being released.
Two figures emerged from the center of the pool, their forms sharp, filling the room's darkness with color. The one on the left was clad in armor of silvery tones. He was Salix, son of Tefine, newly revealed as a god. One of the first of the fifth generation, already awaiting his mask. The other, taller and slimmer, held a rigid posture and olive-toned skin. His platinum-blonde, nearly white hair was slicked back, and the eyes Cragar remembered all too well met his own.
"Rakion."
The god of time wore no mask, displaying openly the cold, wicked smile etched onto his face.
"Cragar."
The skeletons raised their weapons in unison, aiming at the newcomers, who paid them no mind. The god of the dead sighed and snapped his fingers.
Like a castle of skulls collapsing under its own weight, the figures crumbled, falling to the ground in lifeless heaps. No sound remained but the dry clatter of bones rolling across the stone. The last to remain was a specter—a loyal servant seemingly awaiting further orders. The dark god turned his head in an almost mechanical motion and dismissed him with a single glance.
"As you wish, Lord Cragar," the subordinate concluded before vanishing.
They were alone.
Rakion spoke first, the arrogant smile painted on his dry lips. "You surprise me," his voice echoed off the walls, like a sound that didn't belong to that place. "You didn't even try to strike me. Three thousand years, and still the same icy calm. You've always been the reasonable one, Cragar. Some things never change."
The deity did not answer immediately. His violet eyes rested for a moment on the pool, watching as the surface began to settle, then turned back to the Ancient.
"There is no need to waste energy on a projection."
A flicker of amusement crossed Rakion's gaze. "So you figured it out."
"I can clearly feel your mana tied to the Overworld. What I see here is a temporal residue. Your true form lies elsewhere, bound by the time you've sewn around yourself."
The enemy spread his arms, as if to applaud. "Ever the vigilant strategist. Yes, your eyes see the hidden truth. This is a manifestation of my power—a trick that spares much of my energy while I prepare for the war," his smile sharpened. "But fear not. When the time comes, I'll no longer need such games. The proper flow of time is restoring me. Soon we'll meet again in the flesh."
The Underworld king observed the figure without changing expression, but there was a subtle tension—barely perceptible—in the lines of his shoulders. The malevolent deity stepped closer, tilting his head.
"You know," he resumed, his tone almost confiding, "I never would've thought it would be your fault."
Silence.
"You, of all people—the one who calculated everything with precision, who governed every aspect of your domain without leaving a margin," Rakion's eyes gleamed, "and yet, here we are. A mistake. A spark that was never meant to exist."
Cragar did not respond.
Rakion leaned in slightly. "You conceived an heir, and inevitably… you set in motion something you can no longer stop."
Behind him, Salix spoke for the first time. "I saw her. There's no point in lying."
"Cragar has no intention of lying," replied the Ancient, before turning back toward the god. "In truth, there was never any doubt, as I've watched her for years within one of my Temporal Rifts," he nodded, his smile now stripped of any joy.
A slight tremor rippled across the surface of the pool at the center of the room, as if the name just uttered had disturbed something deeper.
Cragar remained still. No visible reaction, no flinch to betray a thought. Yet, in the silence that followed, it seemed even the air had stopped moving.
Rakion did not wait for a reply. He continued, his voice lower now—sinister, like a blade brushing the skin. "A strange fate, don't you think? After all you endured to maintain balance… you are the one to break it. An heir with the potential to shift the very foundations of the Worlds," he narrowed his eyes. "A key to my revenge. Someone I can use."
Cragar drew a breath and cut him off, the words pronounced like sharpened stones. "You're not here to make me reflect on the past, and you're failing if you're trying to instill fear. What do you want?"
Rakion lifted one corner of his mouth.
"Oh, nothing you can give me right now. Time runs its course—you know that well," he turned slightly,
"I simply wished to pay you a visit… to show you that I'm alive and to warn you. The margins you and Emion believed you controlled… are breaking."
A step toward the pool. The red reflections danced along the edges of his figure.
"When I advance, it will no longer be your masks that uphold this world, Cragar. It will be those of your children. Tell it to my son."
Salix remained silent behind him, ready to act, though useless in that moment. It was clear the Severe one feared no offense—not against a projection.
The god of monsters lowered his gaze to the pool, his voice still flat and uninflected.
"You speak as if you've already won."
"I don't need to win today. It's enough that you understand."
He turned fully toward him, golden eyes burning from within.
"You must understand that the issue isn't when I will act. The real question is: what will you do when your children must choose which side to stand on?"
A heavy silence fell over the cavern. The pool seemed to pulse in rhythm with the beat of an invisible heart, while the central circle quivered softly, still soaked in the mana sustaining Rakion's projection.
Then, with the same ease with which he had appeared, the god made an almost dismissive gesture toward Salix.
"There's nothing more to say. Let's go."
The son of Tefine turned without a word. The surface of the pool rippled one last time as their figures vanished into nothing.
Cragar was left alone. Silence closed around him—cold and dense as stone.
For long moments, he did not move. Only the distant sound of dripping liquid, the muffled beat of the Overworld beneath his feet.
He lowered his head, reflecting on the words of his enemy. His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet the sound echoed off the walls.
"Dahlia… you are not a mistake."