A crimson flash surged before Eli Walker's eyes.
He had successfully infiltrated the Gray Mist space, yet he remained disoriented. He hadn't truly believed he could enter—and now that he had, what use was it?
"Excuse me…"
He was about to speak out of sheer habit, when suddenly—a vast, oppressive black curtain descended from above, silently enveloping him.
"…What is this?"
"The Celestial Venerable's Curtain? How is that even possible?!"
Eli Walker's eyes widened in disbelief. A primal, ancient fear surged through him. The velvet-like material writhed, flesh buds squirming to pierce into his blood and bone. A savage aura, wild and ancient, began to fester.
"It's… over…"
He clenched his teeth, preparing for death.
But nothing happened.
He blinked. He was still aware. Still thinking. Still untouched.
Lowering his gaze, he realized that though the Celestial Venerable's Curtain had engulfed him, it couldn't merge with him. It hung loosely, like a shroud unable to find purchase. It felt as though it could slide off at any moment.
"Ha~ Hahaha~"
"Hahahahaha!"
Eli Walker burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. He had braced for assimilation, domination, loss of self… yet the artifact couldn't even make a connection?
What a clown.
He had forgotten—he possessed neither physical form nor spirit body. He was but a pseudo-virtual projection, manifested through the Magic Mirror's power. A man in the mirror. How could the Curtain, meant to envelop true beings, hope to integrate with a mere echo?
For the Celestial Venerable to use him as a vessel of rebirth—it would be more reliable to seize a complete spirit from the upper layer of the Gray Mist.
"…Did the Gray Mist not abandon me, the second version, because of the Curtain?"
"Yes… regardless of the Pathway, once the Curtain falls, it becomes part of the Fool Pathway."
He sighed with irony, brushing his fingers against the Curtain. Its velvet surface was smooth and luxurious. And yet, this incomparably mighty Grade 0 Sealed Artifact was now just... slipping off like a failed cloak.
Just as he was pondering how to exploit the situation, an overwhelming repulsive force surged from the Gray Mist.
"So realistic?!"
This time, Eli reacted instinctively. His elven temperament flared—faintly irritated and impulsive.
He bit down on the Curtain. The divine tune of "Knowing Me" began to echo, weaving spiritual threads between him and the Sealed Artifact. Burning away his stored spirituality, he began to graft himself forcibly onto the Gray Mist.
"Throw me out with the Curtain if you dare!"
"The second-generation Creator has already perished!"
"Let's see if you can be resurrected in this Epoch!"
He clung tightly to the artifact, his teeth gritted. The demigod-tier Elven Song poured into him, reinforcing the bond with the Curtain and briefly unlocking a sliver of its terrible power. His eyes were stormy—chaotic tides sweeping through their depths.
Yet the Gray Mist was unmoved.
It neither rejected the Curtain nor preserved him. It simply followed the current, intending to eject both man and artifact.
Meanwhile, in the real world, Arrodes's mirror flickered, reflecting a vast and shadowy Sea of Chaos.
Back in reality, Eli's physical body—deep in meditation—remained unaware of what was transpiring above the Mist.
As his mirror body was being pulled out, one limb at a time, dragged with the Curtain, Eli's consciousness blurred.
In a trance, he felt himself hoisted on a stretcher, crossing desolate lands and ruined peaks. The Celestial Venerable's Curtain, the core of this battle, was nearly torn in two.
His essence scattered, dissolved by two opposing forces, and was swept into the Mist like dust blown through time.
Time surged on—ceaseless, vast.
When Eli Walker regained awareness, it was as though he had merely fallen asleep.
His memories were a fragmented fog—endless, chaotic, slipping away like dream foam. The more he tried to recall, the faster they disintegrated.
"…How long was I asleep?"
"…Wasn't I trying to sneak into the Gray Mist?"
He remembered attempting to use Arrodes's power to project himself—trying to ascend as a virtual consciousness.
"Did it succeed?"
"…Where's the Celestial Venerable's Curtain?"
He scanned the endless Gray Mist. There was no trace of the Sealed Artifact.
"…Is it on the second layer?"
He walked instinctively toward the Stairway of Light, where it should have been. But as he approached, nothing appeared.
Like walking up to an automatic door that refused to recognize him.
"…Does the Gray Mist only respond to true Beyonders? Have I been locked out due to profession?"
He exhaled softly—disappointed, but unsurprised. Since he couldn't act for now, he'd wait. Wait for his real self to pray to the Gray Mist. To send the signal. Then he could return—along with the memory fragment he had planted.
Among the crimson stars, one blinked ceaselessly.
"So impatient?"
Eli smiled faintly and reached for it.
No reaction.
"Tch. I knew you'd pull something like this."
He had planned for this.
"Vast and majestic again, the guest laughs at me again, all that is spoken of will be granted to the coming one…"
With a silent chant, he triggered the Elven Song again. "Knowing Me" echoed like a haunting memory.
This was no ordinary performance. Elven Singers—especially at demigod level—could mold their songs into spiritual instruments. This particular melody was designed for spiritual bonding.
As it played, Eli's mirror body—his artificial vessel—transformed into a luck-transferring rune, infused with fragments of his spirituality, mental power, and divinity.
He shot into the flickering crimson star like a curse wrapped in melody.
That had been his plan all along.
To merge a portion of his essence with the star that represented him—so that even if he was expelled, he could leave behind a small backdoor into the Gray Mist.
In the real world, the true Eli Walker would one day awaken. And the luck-transferring rune nestled within his star would serve as a bridge—his only key to contact the higher realm.
The moment the rune fused into the star, the Gray Mist finally responded.
Though it had rejected him entirely before, this strange rune resonated faintly with the fabric of the space—allowing a minimal connection to remain.
The backdoor had been planted.
A thousand-year-old obsession fulfilled at last, the remnant returned in silence.
And once he left, the Gray Mist fell into utter stillness once again.
Until, after an unknown amount of time…
…a new visitor arrived.