Click.
The door closed behind William with a quiet finality. The golden morning light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the marble floor. Dust swirled lazily in the air, catching the warmth of the sun.
He exhaled. One hand swept through his silver hair, the gesture unhurried—elegant, almost theatrical. His white shirt lay crisp against his frame; boots polished, posture composed. To any outsider, he was serenity personified.
But his words told another story.
"Well," he murmured with a smirk, "that was easier than expected."
[SO YOU REALLY ARE DETERMINED.]
"I told you that already, dear," he said, his voice velvet-smooth as he walked toward the tall window, resting his arms against the sill.
Below, the estate stirred with quiet energy. Carriages waited, perfectly aligned. Their metallic frames shimmered with enchantments, reflecting the sun like mirrors.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then: "Do you remember the day I arrived in this world, Wiz?"
[OH MY—HOW COULD I FORGET? IT FEELS LIKE YESTERDAY.]
[WHY DO YOU ASK?]
The smile faded from William's lips, replaced by something colder. "That day… I heard a voice. Not yours. Whose was it?"
[OH… THAT DAY… IT WAS THE VOICE OF— ##%%$######$# ######## $%
ERROR…]
The sound warped into static—like a broken record skipping inside his skull.
William chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "Ah. So we're keeping secrets now."
His footsteps echoed down the marble corridor, each step measured, deliberate. Servants bowed as he passed. He didn't return the gesture.
[I AM NOT ALLOWED TO SPEAK OF THAT BEING.]
"Of course you're not."
He slowed again, as though the hallway itself were bending under the weight of his thoughts.
"So," he murmured, "am I being watched? Or are you the eye that watches for him?"
The silence that followed was louder than any answer.
Wiz didn't respond. Couldn't.
William's lips curved. Not into a smile—but something sharper.
He turned toward his chambers, ignoring the voice's attempt to nudge him off course.
[HEY, WILLIAM. WHY GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM? LET'S GO OUTSIDE—I'M ROTTING FROM BOREDOM.]
"I'm writing a letter," William replied, bored.
[TO WHO?]
"An old friend."
[UGH. YOU'RE SO BORING. I'M TAKING A NAP.]
He entered his room without another word.
Inside, the air was still. Sunlight spilled across the velvet drapes and polished floor. The room was pristine. On the corner desk lay silver wax, a Medici seal, and a platter of fresh fruit.
"Pen. Paper," he instructed a nearby maid. She bowed and obeyed.
William unbuttoned his collar and sat, levitating an apple and knife with the flick of two fingers. He carved, bit, chewed slowly.
Then he began to write.
Two letters—one with elegant, flowing strokes, the other with cold, clipped precision. Two tones, one envelope. Both sealed with the Medici crest.
He rang the bell. The maid returned. "Deliver this immediately," he said without looking.
When the door closed again, he leaned back in his chair.
"The show," he said softly, "is about to begin."
One Week Later
The estate was a frenzy of motion.
Dozens of servants darted across the grounds, their movements practiced, efficient. Banners fluttered in the morning wind. The air smelled faintly of oil, magic, and cherry blossoms.
Today marked the Medici family's departure to the Dwarven Continent.
William stood by the grand drive, his family flanking him. Ahead, thirty carriages shimmered like artifacts from another world. No horses. Just wheels powered by essence stones and dwarven engineering—etched with golden runes and humming with restrained energy.
[THEY LOOK LIKE SOMETHING FROM THE FUTURE.]
"A marriage of magic and machinery," William murmured. "The dwarves never disappoint."
[I WANT TO RIDE ONE.]
Before he could answer, a familiar voice reached him.
"You're really leaving?" Amanda's tone was soft, but worry glimmered behind her eyes.
She was beautiful, composed in a deep blue dress, her hand resting over her heart.
"Take care of yourself," she whispered. "And if something happens, promise me you'll write."
William stepped forward, wrapping her in a gentle embrace. "If you keep looking at me like that," he said, "I might not be able to leave at all."
She laughed quietly, kissing his forehead. "Then go quickly."
Next came Jack—quiet, stoic, his fingers wrapped tight around a dagger at his belt.
"Jealous?" William teased. "I get to go on an adventure, and you're stuck babysitting."
Jack didn't respond immediately. His voice, when it came, was low and steady. "Send word if anything happens. I'll handle it."
[HE'S REALLY GROWN IN FIVE YEARS.]
William smiled.
Then came the Baroness.
"Please stay safe, young master," she said kindly.
"Of course, my lady."
From behind them, Edgar's voice rang out. "Time to depart!"
William stepped into the leading carriage—its doors gilded with the Medici insignia. The moment it moved, cheers erupted in the streets. Fireworks cracked in the sky. Petals rained down from balconies.
[WOW… THAT WAS KIND OF EMOTIONAL.]
"It's just the beginning," William said softly, gazing at the receding estate.
Inside the carriage, Edgar poured himself a glass of wine.
"Impressed by the dwarven design?"
"It's efficient," William replied. "Functional."
Edgar nodded. "They've built wonders without a drop of magic in their veins. Essence stones fuel it all. Their origin? Unknown. But their results… undeniable."
William absorbed every word, comparing it with what he already knew. No contradictions. Not yet.
"The deal with the dwarves," Edgar added, "is more than politics. It's knowledge. They'll shape the future—if we let them."
The city faded. Trees thickened. Darkness gathered.
Ahead lay the Forest of Eternal Night—a place where the sun never touched the ground.
As they entered, magical barriers flared to life around the carriages, domes of pale light pushing back the gloom.
[WHAT ARE THOSE EYES?]
"Spirit beasts," William whispered. "Predators that thrive where light dies."
Suddenly—a roar.
Shapes lunged from the darkness, slamming into the barriers.
"And this," William murmured, "is why no army can sneak up on the capital."
Beams of light exploded from hidden runes, repelling the beasts. Then a door opened.
David stepped out.
"Flight," he whispered.
Wings of flame erupted from his back. With a single leap, he soared into the sky.
"Phoenix Flare."
A magic circle flared open—then a blazing bird of fire descended, wiping out everything in its path.
[OKAY, THAT WAS COOL.]
"It's earned," William said. "Flight only unlocks at level 70."
David hovered, eyes scanning the forest.
Something was wrong.
The beasts weren't retreating.
They were... organizing.
Then it came.
From the trees emerged a colossal figure—part tiger, part demon. Horns. Wings. Eyes that gleamed with hunger and intelligence. It was flanked by dozens of others—wolves with bone masks, panthers made of smoke.
This wasn't an ambush.
This was war.
David's body ignited with golden fire. He dropped into the herd like a falling star.
Fists of fire. Roars of pain.
He broke skulls, ripped flesh, burned everything he touched.
On a nearby hill, William activated his Third Eye.
The world shifted.
Lines of energy danced across his vision. He saw everything.
"That one's different," he said, pointing at the horned beast. "Level 40. The rest are barely half that."
The creature roared—then fired.
A beam of energy cut through the trees.
David twisted midair, dodging just in time.
Then the beast charged.
David caught its horns, boots scraping fire into the earth. He held on. Then—shoved.
The monster crashed into trees.
And then it screamed.
More came.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Edgar nodded once.
Snap.
A golden shield snapped into place around the convoy.
David closed his eyes.
"Seventh Skill," he whispered.
His irises turned red.
"Domain of Burning Hell."
The world burned.
Flames engulfed the forest. Beasts. Trees. Shadows. Even the sky turned crimson.
And still—David had used only twenty percent of its power.
William watched, silent.
Everything was gone.
Ashes.
He stared at David—wings of fire spread behind him like a fallen god.
Then William saw it.
Burned into the hide of the beast:
A snake coiled around a skull.
His breath caught.
His gaze turned cold.
He knew that symbol.
And now... he knew who had sent it.