Not crashing.

Not soaring.

He descended.

Sliding down through a depthless dark.

No light.

No wind.

Only a pressure that pressed against his senses, thick and absolute.

His eyes locked onto a tiny point beneath his feet.

A speck of light.

It grew.

Closer.

Brighter.

Blinding.

The moment he entered it, his eyes shut.

White.

—

He opened them.

The void remained, but now lines of colored light streamed across it, crossing in directions that defied gravity.

Red.

Blue.

Green.

And violet.

Layers of violet. Pale to radiant. Swirling as living particles.

Bright violet light brushed across Khai’s black hair. From his body, a slow seep of violet glow flowed outward, as if the space itself were breathing with him.

His feet touched something.

Cold.

Solid.

Invisible.

A surface that existed only by touch.

The darkness was too complete to tell up from down. No horizon. No shadow.

Khai stepped forward slowly.

His face was empty.

His heavy-lidded eyes carried no emotion. Only a quiet exhaustion.

His chest rose and fell, shoulders lifting like a runner who had just crossed an unseen finish line.

Soft violet light wrapped around him.

He stopped.

The space shifted.

Floating screens appeared.

Not dozens.

Not hundreds.

Millions.

Each one displaying a different scenario.

Battles.

Escapes.

Deaths.

Choices made… and choices never taken.

Khai’s breathing steadied. The violet glow around him cleared, sharpening.

He turned.

Above. Below. Left. Right. Forward. Behind.

Every direction filled with screens watching him back.

—

“Congratulations.”

Applause echoed.

Khai turned.

An old man stood before him.

Sun-browned skin. Long black hair streaked with white strands, illuminated by violet light.

He walked slowly with a cane. The wooden staff curved at the top in a spiral like a planetary orbit. At its center, a small violet flame burned steadily.

His face was wrinkled.

His smile was gentle.

Almost sweet.

Khai stepped forward and extended his hand.

The old man received it.

Khai bowed and kissed his hand.

Without warning, the old man ruffled Khai’s hair.

“You’re getting stronger,” he said softly.

“Just like Tok used to be.”

The touch was rough. Familiar.

Khai’s once empty eyes sharpened.

“That’s enough, Tok Is.”

Tok Is paused, then chuckled.

“Healed already?”

His gaze swept across Khai’s body.

Khai raised his fist, clenched, released.

“No wounds,” he said quietly.

“Just tired.”

There was no emotion on his face.

Tok Is smiled anyway, as if that was exactly the answer he expected.

“Askum held up well.”

Khai nodded.

A sudden rush of wind brushed his face.

Violet lines of light shot through the void, linking Tok Is to a forming screen in the air.

The battle of Kenz and Askum.

Kenz drove a punch wrapped in liquid violet smoke into Askum’s chest. A shockwave erupted, the force scattering Askum’s red mist violently.

Khai did not watch long.

He studied Tok Is instead.

“You’re handling your violet Zing better now,” Tok Is said gently.

“Zing Knuckle. Kids these days love naming things.”

He sighed and shook his head.

Khai smirked.

“You were young once too, right?”

Tok Is smiled.

“You were the one who named me Kenz.”

Tok Is burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. The sound echoed across the endless space.

Khai smiled at his teacher’s laughter.

But it did not last.

His gaze caught on a screen beside him.

Tok Is stopped laughing.

He saw the shift.

Khai looked at the tip of his finger, glowing faint violet before dimming out.

Tok Is stepped closer, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

Khai turned with a thin smile.

But the heaviness in his eyes remained.

Now thick violet smoke seeped from his fingertips.

“Why am I the only one who has this?” he asked quietly.

“Why am I the one carrying all of it?”

His eyes shifted to another screen.

Kenz grinning sharply, delivering a spinning back kick to Askum.

Then to the screen above it.

His own face.

Tired.

Sunken.

Curled inward like something trying to protect its core.

The gap was vast.

Tok Is said nothing.

His long hair moved in the wild current of drifting Zing energy.

Khai straightened his spine.

He smiled, but a faint crease formed on his brow.

“So I just destroy pelesit, is that it?”

His right fist struck his left palm.

His voice was low, holding something that threatened to break.

Tok Is smiled.

“Do not draw public attention.”

Khai nodded.

“Khai… or Kenz,” Tok Is said.

“Like a coin. Heads or tails. Still holds value.”

Tok Is reached to ruffle his hair again.

“Tok!”

Khai dodged.

Tok Is wiped his hand on his own shirt.

“Your hair’s too oily,” he grumbled.

Khai let out a small laugh.

But Tok Is’s expression tightened.

“The wind does not move in only one direction,” he said softly.

“Neither does fate.”

Khai stared at a screen.

He was crying.

Holding a blood-soaked old man in his arms.

The sky twisted like a cyclone. Red, blue and green smoke colliding violently.

His hand clenched. Nails dug into his palm. Pain flared.

He pressed harder.

“Khai.”

Tok Is’s voice pulled him back.

He blinked.

The screen was still there. Still turning. Still waiting.

“It’s been a long time,” Tok Is said quietly.

“Five years since Kiamat Awal(first apocalypse).”

Khai did not respond.

His eyes remained fixed on the bleeding old man.

“Thank you, Tok Is.”

Tok Is nodded.

Violet lines spun behind Khai, forming a dark vortex.

“Assalamualaikum.(Peace be upon you)”

Khai’s body dissolved into thick violet smoke and shot into the vortex.

“Waalaikumussalam.(Peace be upon you too)”

The vortex closed.

Light vanished.

Tok Is stood alone, vi

olet light pooling at his feet like spilled ink.

“We cannot change what has passed, Khai,” he said softly.

“Learn to forgive yourself.”

His voice faded into the void.

Tok Is lowered his head, watching the millions of screens.

The screens kept turning.

And the space returned to silence.