"So… how did you escape?" Aurelion asked sharply, cutting through the haze of Aleric’s mind.

Aleric drew in a shaky breath, his memories a tangle of fear and uncertainty. The trauma of that event had clouded everything, erasing his recollection of the door until now. Only when recounting his creation of the artificial life to Ichor had the memories resurfaced, like a nightmare clawing its way back into his consciousness.

"I… I froze when I saw that door," Aleric admitted, his voice thin, haunted. "Every fiber of my being felt threatened. I can’t explain it, but all I could think of was running. The fear was so overwhelming… I didn’t even think. I just fled without looking back using my backup plan to i jad prepared for hundreds of years."

The words tumbled from Aleric’s lips, a mixture of desperation and disbelief. He knew how absurd it sounded, how unnatural. He was an Archangel, just one step below the gods themselves, and yet, he had been brought to his knees by something he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Aurelion’s face darkened further, his worst fears beginning to crystallize. The door… Aleric had seen the door. And there was only one thing it could be.

The sun god’s silence was heavy, and Aleric, sensing the gravity of what he had said, dared not continue. He knew—knew without needing to ask—that what he had encountered was something beyond his power, beyond even the gods. But he did not speak its name, for fear of what it might summon.

"It’s enough," Aurelion commanded, raising his hand to stop Aleric from speaking any further. He needed no more confirmation. His earlier suspicions had now been grimly validated. The Void had touched their world once more, and it was far too close for comfort.

However, Aurelion had his reservations about going there.

The Void was beyond any concept or comprehension, especially the corruption it represented—a force too abstract, too alien for even gods to fully grasp. There were countless unknowns lurking within that could place him in grave danger.

Yet, a wry smile formed on Aurelion’s lips as he contemplated his future. A tragic fate awaited him if he did nothing. If he truly sought to survive, to ascend and become the ruler of all, he would have to embrace the risks, dive headfirst into the madness. 

And if he wanted to win in the end, he would need allies—ones who would not betray him at every turn.

He turned, his eyes settling on Thiara standing quietly behind him. "Goddess of Knowledge", he thought. A plan began to form. Aurelion decided on his first bold move—one he had never imagined he would take.

He would help Thiara ascend to become the true Goddess of Knowledge.

"Take this, Thiara," Aurelion said, conjuring a letter seemingly out of thin air and handing it to her. "Deliver it to Giaria, Mother Earth, in the kingdom that bears her name."

Thiara, lost in her thoughts, snapped back to attention at her lord's words. Her hands trembled slightly as she took the letter, her hesitation clear.

"But, Milord…" she began, uncertainty lining her voice.

"There are no buts, Thiara," Aurelion interrupted, his tone firm yet not unkind. "Yes, I’m sending you away. What comes next is not for an angel to witness. The letter is crucial—deliver it to Giaria herself."

Thiara hesitated a moment longer, then nodded, suppressing the reluctance in her heart. "Yes, Milord."

With a tap of his index finger on her forehead, Thiara’s form dissolved into countless golden particles of light, scattering into the ground and vanishing as swiftly as they had appeared.

Aurelion exhaled, his gaze shifting to Aleric, who stood silently before him, clearly uneasy. 

"So, shall we depart?" Aurelion asked, turning his attention fully to the artisan, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk.

"Your Excellency… where are we going?" Aleric asked, his voice laced with trepidation. He had a bad feeling about this, but knew he couldn’t refuse the sun god’s invitation.

"Obviously, to the main headquarters of the seeker of origin." Aurelion replied with a glint in his eyes. "How can I leave you out of this, Aleric? It’s your mess, after all."

Before Aleric could react, Aurelion seized his hand. Their forms dissolved into shimmering particles of golden light, vanishing from the room in an instant. 

As their light faded from the floating continent, the sun visible through the window dimmed, returning to its natural state in their wake.

---

Meanwhile, far away at the shores of the Golden sea, 

A man with long silver hair knelt in prayer before giant mummy, sleeping inside tge standi g confine, the silver pendant of blazing sun around his neck catching the faint light of the dusk, Clad in a gray robe and serene expression, he appeared humble, but the space around him was anything but ordinary. The multiple skulls of different size and shapes feel his surroundings, forming a grotesque yet majestic monument to forgotten ages.

"Ichor!"

Suddenly, a deafening roar echoed through the shores, filled with raw hatred and madness. The very surrounding trembled as if reality itself could barely withstand the rage behind the voice.

A crackling bolt of blue lightning ripped through the void above, splitting the air with unnatural force. It descended upon the shores of crimson sea, tearing through space itself, heading straight for the praying figure.

But Ichor did not stir. His eyes remained closed, his posture unwavering. He continued his solemn prayer, his devotion unshaken, as if no force in the universe could pull him away from his communion with the divine.

And just as the deadly lightning bolt reached him, it halted mid-air, caught by an unseen force. Without warning, it vanished, leaving the cathedral intact and Ichor undisturbed.

A sigh echoed through the cathedral, contrasting sharply with the previous fury. "You truly are a zealot," the voice mused, filled with amusement. "Even those angels who sing the praises of their gods day and night would pale in comparison to your devotion."

A figure emerged from a shimmering doorway of starlight. A young man with obsidian hair and sharp black eyes stepped forward, his thin face framed by soft glow of dusk. Most striking of all was the long vertical scar, that crossed his right eye, not going well with his wicked smile.

It was Daimen, the Archangel of souls. Through they have mere minutes of difference in birth, he was called tge younger one of the twins. 

Ichor turned to face Daimen, his gray eyes gleaming as he rose from his prayer. His calm, unwavering gaze met Daimen's piercing one, his expression unchanging.

"What brings you here, Daimen?" Ichor asked, ignoring his brother's previous words and actions, his voice steady as if nothing had disturbed his solemn stance.

Daimen adjusted his monocle with a smile, the light glinting off the crystal. "Must you always be so dull, brother?" he teased. "I remember a time when you smiled, when Mortar's influence brought you such joy." His tone shifted to one of nostalgia, a distant look crossing his face. "Look at you now, Ichor. You've changed more than you realize."

The smile slowly faded from Daimen’s face, his monocle gleaming as his sharp gaze bore into Ichor, as though trying to uncover the mysteries that lay beneath his brother's calm exterior.

"Change is inevitable," Ichor remarked, his voice devoid of emotion. "In this world, nothing remains permanent, Daimen. You, of all people, should understand that."  

Ichor’s eyes narrowed slightly. "After all, you disappeared when our father died, only to resurface near the end of the warring era. You may look unchanged, but I see the mask you wear—hiding what lies beneath."  

"That’s enough." Daimen’s voice sliced through Ichor’s words, as if irritated by what he was about to speak. But his expression again turned calm, as if unaffected by the attempt to expose him.  

“As expected, my zealous brother,” Daimen said, his tone casual yet cutting. “Even in conversation, your manipulation remains flawless. Every word leads the discussion precisely where you want it to go.”  

He began to pace around the cathedral, his footsteps echoing against the ancient stone walls. The atmosphere was thick with history and secrets. Eventually, he paused before one of the skull.

“Keep your secrets, then,” Daimen remarked, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m not here to delve deeper into your soul. It would likely reveal nothing but mundane trivialities.”  

Ichor remained silent, his golden eyes locked onto Daimen with unwavering intensity.  

Finally, Daimen broke the silence. “What happened with the floating continent? Why did Aurelion invade it?”  

To Daimen’s surprise, Ichor answered without hesitation. “There was a disruption with the authority of knowledge.”  

Daimen’s curiosity piqued. “What kind of disruption?” he pressed, sensing that the answer concealed something of great significance.  

Without a word, Ichor approached a nearby skull resting atop an altar. He gestured to the intricate carvings etched into its surface—ancient symbols that transcended language, embodying the origins of all tongues. Among these were names of sequences, potion formulas, and esoteric rites.  

His finger came to rest on one particular name, a mark resonating with unsettling truth—something forbidden, something beyond mortal comprehension.  

Daimen’s gaze followed Ichor’s gesture, a quiet tension settling between them. He understood that whatever the name represented was linked to the unraveling of knowledge’s authority—and the true reason behind Aurelion’s actions.  

“What are you suggesting?” Daimen asked, his voice low, filled with caution.  

Ichor turned his gaze back to Daimen, a grave seriousness overtaking his previously composed demeanor. “Knowledge is power, brother, and power can corrupt. Aurelion’s invasion was not just an act of aggression; it was a desperate attempt to regain control over what was lost.”  

Daimen absorbed this revelation, the implications swirling in his mind like a storm. Aurelion’s motives were not merely territorial; they were rooted in a profound threat that could reshape their world.