Quinn finds himself in a bizarre world. The sky reminds him of the tunnel in Aquiam, where sunlight once filtered through the water above, casting ocean blues laced with golden hues. Now, the sky stretches above him like a vast canvas of deep blue, streaked and textured with shimmering gold, as if color and light are constantly shifting in a silent, fluid dance. In the distance, the ground seems seamlessly stitched to the sky, with no clear border to divide them.

He arrived in this surreal realm after his body had rematerialized. Spirits clad in glowing golden armor guided him to the line where he now stands. The queue stretches endlessly, a procession of countless souls waiting for their turn at final judgment.

Yet Quinn feels at peace. There is no hunger, no thirst, no discomfort of any kind, only the warmth of the light that envelops him and the perfect stillness of the air he breathes. He is in equilibrium.

Time loses meaning. He knows only that he has moved forward a few times. Then, a sudden feeling grips him—not danger for himself, but for someone else. Someone precious. A quiet, devastating certainty settles over him: that person is nearing death. He feels it like a thread pulling taut, fragile, and close to snapping.

The smothering feeling grows immense in his chest, though air was never essential to his existence, something deeper is unraveling inside him. He can’t stand still, can’t keep waiting for whatever fate has in store.

Spiritual guardians, sensing the storm of energy erupting from Quinn, appear swiftly to steady him, to soothe the rising chaos. This isn’t unheard of, even among peaceful souls who’ve accepted their death; there are rare moments of unrest.

But just before their hands can reach him, Quinn suddenly erupts into a beam of light, shooting upward, leaving radiant trails behind.

It is the first time such a thing has ever happened in the entire existence of the Palace of Origin.

— — — 

“Lord Castor! We’ve detected Red Smoke approaching the Forgiven Forest with a horde of corrupted spirits!” The messenger bursts into the room and drops to one knee before the Master of the Castle.

Castor rises from his seat, eyes narrowing. “That’s not good. What is he planning now?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “We leave for the Forgiven Forest immediately. Gather thirty knights, no less!”

A weight settles in his chest. His instincts scream that this has something to do with the human boy who crossed the Rift.

— — — 

“Arr…”
Kevin struggles to breathe, his body bound tight by monstrous branches coiled like iron cords. Seraphina fights to keep them at bay, pushing with all her strength to stop the limbs from crushing his fragile body.

But the branches constrict tighter with every passing second. Even Seraphina is beginning to falter.

Just as they both sense the end is near, a fire erupts in the forest. It charges into the clearing like a ravenous panther—blindingly fast and ferocious, ripping through the monstrous trees without mercy.

Seraphina feels the branches loosen, their grip faltering. Without hesitation, she seizes Kevin and pulls him free, escaping their reach.

The trees wail in agony. Some flee into the shadows, others collapse into piles of smoldering charcoal.

 A voice cuts through the chaos.

“Well, guess you’re not dead yet. Then hand over the boy, Seraphina.”

Shadows descend around them, shrieking and howling as they circle their prey.