Long before the rise of human civilization—before even the ascension of the Ardentis, there existed a force that did not evolve, did not conquer, and did not seek dominion. Instead, they were a force of balance, an intelligence that operated beyond the constraints of time, existence, and organic life.
The Excidium were not born, nor created. They simply were.
Scholars of ancient civilizations have speculated that they emerged from a paradox—an anomaly in the fabric of reality itself. Some theorists among the Ardentis believed that the universe did not allow unchecked advancement beyond a certain threshold. Every species that attempted ascension beyond mortal limits—into true omniscience—was erased.
And the instruments of that erasure were the Excidium.
To those who dared to evolve beyond the limits of known existence, the Excidium were the reapers, the hand that ensured no civilization surpassed the barriers of cosmic understanding.
The Excidium do not operate as conquerors, nor do they destroy out of aggression or territorial dominance. Their only motive is the enforcement of equilibrium—the prevention of unchecked advancement.
They believe that:
No civilization should exceed the natural constraints of sentience. Once a species reaches a level of quantum consciousness, they become a potential instability within the fabric of the universe itself. The Excidium intervene before such instability becomes irreversible.
Existence must remain measurable and contained. The Ardentis, having achieved a level of intellect beyond spatial understanding, threatened to redefine existence itself. The Excidium saw them not as an enemy, but as a flaw in the structure of reality—one that had to be removed.
No remnants must remain. When the Excidium erase a civilization, they do not simply destroy physical infrastructure. They ensure no knowledge, no artifacts, no trace of advancement ever resurfaces.
The Excidium enforce these principles with absolute precision.
The Excidium's method of destruction is unlike anything seen in conventional warfare. They do not deploy weapons in the traditional sense—no fleets, no direct invasions. Instead, they erase civilizations from existence itself.
The purging process follows a distinct pattern:
Detection
The Excidium observe civilizations silently, waiting for signs of unregulated advancement. They measure quantum disruption levels, searching for anomalies—points at which a species begins altering its own reality, shifting beyond mortal comprehension. Once a threshold is reached, they mark the civilization for elimination.
Reality Fracture Initiation
The Excidium do not attack in a way that can be countered. Instead, they initiate dimensional fractures, tearing into the fabric of the targeted civilization's reality. Entire planets, space stations, and fleets experience instant spatial erosion, dissolving without explosion, without debris. Survivors—if any remain—are left in isolation, unable to comprehend the destruction.
Purging of Legacy
The Excidium do not leave remnants. They destroy records, knowledge, and even memory.
Any surviving individuals find themselves disconnected from their past, unable to recall the full extent of their civilization's advancements. If necessary, they rewrite reality itself, making it seem as if the purged civilization never existed at all.
The Ardentis believed they had reached the apex of existence, mastering their evolution into pure quantum sentience. They never saw the Excidium coming. Their annihilation did not arrive through invasion or battle. It arrived in silence.
One by one, their colonies vanished. Entire archives of their history erased, leaving behind only fragmented echoes of their existence. Even Lumi, the last remnant of their creation, was left damaged, unable to recall the full history of the Ardentis without interference.
The Excidium ensured that nothing remained—except for the lessons buried within Lumi's incomplete knowledge.
--------------
This future was still far ahead.
When Lumi connected Joe and Agatha in the virtual world, it attempted to recreate an environment where their minds could synchronize naturally—without interference, without pressure, without expectation.
The simulation formed a place untouched by war, by exile, by cosmic destruction.
A quiet stretch of snow-covered plains, distant mountains rising against the sky, and an empty frozen lake reflecting pale light.
A place that resembled neither Vetr nor Eden, but something in between.
And in the middle of it, for the first time since their separation—Joe and Agatha stood together.
Joe's breath caught when he saw her.
She wasn't just a memory anymore, not a distant presence buried under codes and AI monitoring. She was here, platinum-blonde hair whipping in the simulated wind, sharp azure eyes scanning the horizon before locking onto him.
She didn't say anything.
Neither did he.
They just stood there, ten-year-old kids on the verge of becoming something far greater than their age allowed, both carrying burdens that would shape the future of humanity.
Agatha was the first to break the silence, but instead of speaking, she simply sat down on the frozen lake, tapping her fingers against its surface.
Joe took that as a sign to join her, sitting beside her, knees drawn up, their eyes watching the empty space ahead.
"Freya is changing," Agatha finally murmured, her voice quiet but firm. "Lumi says she's unstable, but I know she's growing stronger. I just don't know what that means yet."
Joe glanced at her. "Do you trust Lumi?"
Agatha didn't answer immediately. Her fingers pressed against the ice again, her movements slow, thoughtful.
"I don't have a choice," she finally said. "If I don't train with Freya, I lose control. If I lose control, the war against the Erythari collapses."
Joe studied her.
There was no fear in her words.
She wasn't afraid of losing herself.
She was afraid that if she failed, humanity would fail with her.
Joe exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting toward the distant mountains.
"I think I'm going to do something different."
Agatha finally looked at him, her head tilting slightly, as if waiting for an explanation.
"I'm going to live like a normal human," Joe said, his voice carrying certainty now. "Not as a Mayan heir, not as a military strategist—not yet. I need to see humanity for what it actually is, not just as war and survival. Vashara raised me in discipline. Eden showed me chaos. I need to understand both before I choose a path."
Agatha considered his words.
"You think understanding humans will save them?"
"I think knowing what they actually are will help me make better decisions when it matters," Joe replied. "Not just about war. About survival."
Agatha watched him closely, then nodded.
"Lumi says you might change the course of humanity's future."
Joe let out a quiet laugh. "Not alone."
Agatha didn't laugh, but something in her expression softened.
"No," she agreed. "Not alone."
Joe and Agatha sat together in the simulated world, each holding a path that would alter the future.
Joe would live as a normal human, studying civilization from an angle beyond structured warfare.
Agatha would train with Freya, forging a bond with the evolving Erythari under Lumi's strict simulations.
Both paths had risks. Both paths had consequences.
But both paths were necessary.
Agatha stood first, brushing snow from her clothes before looking at Joe again.
"Whatever happens, don't forget why you chose this."
Joe smirked. "You too."
Agatha turned, Freya's shifting spectral form flickering beside her, and then the simulation collapsed, fading into the emptiness of Lumi's virtual domain.