AKIHIRO ATLAS
A week… Just seven days. But it feels as if years have passed. Time itself has grown strange; the hours tick by, but nothing moves forward. Every moment I speak with Magnus feels like hitting a wall and bouncing back. My questions were clear—they could even be called quite simple. The abducted children. The lost lives. That suffocating silence left behind. But he… he never really answered. He only pretended to. He had words, yes, but they had no meaning. Or maybe they did… but they were somewhere I couldn't reach.
At first, I tried to understand. I really tried. Because Magnus is the kind of person who makes you want to believe that deciphering what he says is some kind of test. As if, if you dug a little deeper, if you were a little more patient, at some point everything would fall into place. But it didn't. Every answer brought a new fog. "Truth depends on perspective," he said once. "Some sins are only sins when seen through the right eyes." Things like that… Those aren't answers. They're an escape. And the moment I realized that… something snapped inside me.
Because this isn't a philosophical debate. These people are real. Those children were real. Their fears, their screams, their disappearances… all of it was real. And when I looked into Magnus's eyes, I saw that he knew it too. But despite that… he still ran away. Or worse—he didn't run away. Maybe he really was answering, I just didn't want to understand. That thought… is the most unsettling one. Because if it's true, then the problem isn't Magnus. The problem… is me.
Still… no. No, I can't accept that. Because what remained inside me after every conversation was clear: distrust. A cold, heavy, and sticky feeling. That strange pull I used to feel around him… that curiosity… has given way to a cautious distance. I don't even try to decipher what he says anymore. I just… watch. I weigh things. And with every new sentence, I try to figure out what he's hiding.
Maybe the worst part is this: I want to trust him. I really do. Because part of me still thinks he's different. Not just someone lost in this dirty world… but someone standing above it. But the other part of me… that part won't shut up anymore. It keeps whispering to me:
"What if he's not what you think he is?"
"What if he's really… in on it?"
And I can't answer that question.
That's why the distance between us is growing. We're still talking, yes. But words aren't a bridge anymore. They're obstacles. Every sentence puts another step between us. And I… every day, I'm moving one step further away from him.
But I still can't let go completely.
Because Magnus… is either the biggest lie, or the only truth I can't reach.
The thing I've been carrying inside me for a week… a weight I can't name. It's infuriating how much clearer this becomes when I'm sitting in Magnus's house. This place used to give me a strange sense of peace; now everything is too orderly, too quiet, too… fake. It's as if even these walls are hiding something. I'm hiding things too, actually—my questions, my doubts, and worst of all… that foolish part of me that still wants to believe in him.
I'm not even sure Magnus is a real person. It didn't take me long to realize he isn't human, but if I'll never know what he is… How can I fully trust him? I learned he's a king, but he hates kings, just like me. So what is his race? A god? He isn't human, so how could he be… A demon? His brother is a demon, but he said he isn't. Then what are you… Magnus?
I have to have a serious talk with him. I've tried a few times; I'll have to try again.
Magnus is right in front of me. Just like always. He seems to be the only thing that hasn't changed, but that might be an illusion too. Because I don't see him the same way anymore. I'm not just listening anymore… I'm measuring. Weighing. And in every silence, every glance, I'm trying to figure out what he's hiding.
"Magnus… don't beat around the bush this time."
I realize how harsh my voice sounds, but I don't back down.
"I've been asking you the same things for a week. The missing children. The places where your name comes up. And you… you keep running away. Tell me plainly—are you in on this?"
I choose the word carefully: in on. Because it's not just about knowing anymore. It's about being involved. Touching it. Getting tainted.
Magnus doesn't answer right away. As usual. But this time, the silence is heavier. As if he's weighing me. As if he's thinking less about the answer he'll give… and more about whether I can handle it.
"'Being in it'…" he says finally, his voice calm but unnervingly soft.
"People sometimes think they're in something, Aki. When really… they're just stepping on its shadow."
I clench my teeth. The same thing again. Another escape.
"I'm not asking for a metaphor."
This time, I make him look me in the eyes.
"These are real people. Children. They're suffering. You know that too. So… tell me the truth!"
I jumped to my feet in a sudden reflex, and my voice had likely risen even higher than necessary. A momentary silence follows.
Then… something unexpected happens.
Magnus's gaze shifts slightly. For the first time, he looks away from the question—but not to avoid it. To change direction.
"Shu…" he says.
A familiar echo, like my own name, reverberates in my mind. My breath catches ever so slightly, but I try not to let it show.
"…what is he still teaching you, Aki?"
This question… catches me off guard.
"What—?" I furrow my brows. "What does that have to do with anything?"
But something inside me tenses. Because Master Shu… isn't someone who should be drawn into this conversation. He shouldn't be.
Magnus continues. As if he weren't waiting for my answer.
"There are some teachers," he says slowly, "who don't teach their students about the world… they only pass down their own broken perspectives."
Something inside me reacts instantly. Almost like a reflex.
"Be careful when you speak of Master Shu. If you say the wrong thing or tarnish his name, I won't forgive you."
My voice is sharper this time. More personal. Because we're talking about something I care about. About the person I value most.
But Magnus… seems to have been expecting this.
"I'm already careful," he says softly. "More than enough."
A brief silence. But this silence… isn't like the one before. This time, there's something in it. An implication. A weight.
"Betrayal…" he says then, almost in a whisper, "…doesn't always scream out loud, Aki. Sometimes… it hides within what seems most right."
My heart skips a beat.
I understand what he's saying… but at the same time, I refuse to accept it.
"What do you mean?" I ask, this time more slowly.
Magnus's eyes are on me. He doesn't look away. He doesn't hide. But still… he doesn't say anything directly.
"For a person to save you," he says, "doesn't mean they're leading you to the right place. Someone heading toward the point where they lose their humanity will, without a doubt, drag others along with them."
Master Shu's face appears in my mind… but it's not like a memory. More like something still alive inside me. I remember his gaze—sharp but non-judgmental, firm but not harsh. When he looked at me, I felt as though he could see everything inside me, but he never confined me to what he saw. It was as if… he wasn't watching what I was, but what I could become.
I remember the day he first found me. I was on the ground—not just physically. Shattered, directionless, not even knowing what to hold onto. And he… didn't reach out to me right away. He waited first. He watched me get back on my feet. He watched me accept my fall. Then he spoke. With few words, but each one felt etched into my soul.
"If you don't learn to get back up, you can't choose who you'll become."
In that moment… he didn't save me. But he taught me how to save myself. He taught me to love everyone. He taught me to value Cistern, to protect the land I live on. He taught me to fight. He became someone who could be a remedy for my sorrows. He became someone I could talk to about the things I loved and the things I didn't.
Our training… wasn't easy. It never was. He'd stop me every time I made a mistake, but he never belittled me. He didn't get angry when I did something wrong—but he wouldn't let me go until I found the right way. When I was tired, he'd let me rest, but he'd never let me give up. Being by his side… was like a battle. But not against the outside world. Against myself.
And the strangest thing… was that, for the first time, I felt like myself around him. I wasn't playing a role. I wasn't trying to live up to an expectation. I was just… there. And that was the most real feeling I'd ever had.
He never told me who I was.
But he made me realize who I wasn't.
And that… was more valuable than anything.
Now Magnus's words… are trying to seep into all these memories. As if he wants to undermine those moments. As if he's whispering that everything Shu gave me… might have another meaning.
But I lived through those moments.
I saw his gaze. I heard his voice. I felt what he taught me.
These… can't be fake.
…can they?
But that's the problem.
What Magnus says doesn't feel entirely wrong.
And that thought… is enough to crack even the strongest thing inside me.
And Magnus's words… are trying to seep into those moments.
No.
No, that's wrong.
But…
…what if it isn't?
That's the thought. That damned, tiny possibility. It's seeping into me. Silently. And the more I try to ignore it, the bigger it gets.
Because that's the most dangerous thing about Magnus.
It's not that he lies to you.
It's that he… makes you doubt.
And I… I hate this.
But at the same time…
…I can't completely distance myself from him.
That crack inside me… is growing. Shu's memories and Magnus's words are blending together, and I'm struggling to tell which is real and which is distorted. It's infuriating me. Because this conversation… shouldn't have come to this. That was the point. The children. The lives lost. And he… is somehow dragging me in another direction again.
This time, I won't let it happen.
I lift my head. I don't look away from him.
"Magnus… why?"
My voice is lower, but much sharper.
"I asked you about the children. You're talking to me about Shu. This isn't a coincidence. You're doing this on purpose. Why are you changing the subject?"
I pause for a moment. The knot inside me tightens.
"Or… are these two really connected?"
This question… shifts the atmosphere.
Magnus doesn't stay silent this time.
But before he answers… for the first time, I see something in his gaze. Just a fleeting moment. Almost too small to notice.
A weight.
As if the past itself… is trying to seep out of his eyes.
Then he speaks.
"Beings…" he begins, his voice retaining its usual calm but with an unusual depth beneath it, "…always look for evil in the wrong place, Aki. They want to pin it on a monster, a madman, an 'other.' Because this… is comforting. Being able to say, 'I'm not like that'… is the cheapest assurance beings give themselves."
A brief pause. But this time, the words aren't chosen to escape… but to settle in.
"I was that monster."
Silence.
But this silence… doesn't resemble any previous silence.
"The Black Dragon Company…" he continues, the name leaving a heavy trail in the air, "...was an organization that bought people's fears and sold their hopes. And I… was at its head."
I'm certain I heard the name of this organization while I was in Cistern. Aurelia had gleaned a great deal of information from those strange, bizarre-looking history books she was always reading. I wish I had listened when she was talking to me…
Lost in my thoughts and thinking of my one and only Aurelia, my eyes widen involuntarily. But I can't speak. Because Magnus continues.
"Cistern…" he says, as if speaking of a wound rather than a Sacred Domain, "is one of the places where human nature is most prone to decay. There, the law… exists only as long as it serves the powerful. Everything else… is up for negotiation."
His gaze fixes on me.
"Including the children."
He says the word so calmly… something inside me shatters.
"People say 'abduction,' Aki. 'Abducted children.' What an innocent phrase, isn't it? As if something had been stolen… and could be brought back."
He tilts his head slightly to the side.
"The truth is… they weren't taken. They… were transformed."
He pauses for a moment.
"By one person's hunger. Another's fear. Another's desperation."
His voice is still calm. But every word… is heavy.
"The Black Dragon Company… didn't just sell children. That would have been too simple. We… organized people's darkest desires. We turned chaos into a system. A child's value… wasn't determined by their innocence, but by who would destroy that innocence and how."
My stomach churns. The urge to kill something rises within me. It doesn't take long for me to convince myself that "that thing" is Magnus. I can't even describe these feelings to myself right now.
I wish I had the strength to kill this man.
But he keeps going.
"And I…" A brief pause, but this time, for the first time, something is felt—a shadow, perhaps not regret, but… an awareness, "…I was the architect of this system."
He doesn't take his eyes off me.
"Most of the worst things that happened in Cistern… were directly or indirectly tied to me. I bought people's fears… and turned them into others' nightmares."
It's getting hard to breathe.
But the worst part… is that what he's saying doesn't feel like a lie.
Because there's something in his telling.
No embellishment.
No escape.
Just… the naked truth.
"People carry their pasts like a grave, Aki; they believe every sin they've buried under dirt rots and poisons them from within. I, however, never chose to bury my past. Because a person only feels shame for what they hide. I don't know what shame is. I have not denied the blood on my hands, the destruction I left behind, or the lives I silenced; I did not try to erase them like stains. Because they are the traces of my will, the seals of my existence. People call this evil, because they fear power; because when they see someone who accepts their will to the very end, their own weaknesses are thrust in their faces. What they call regret isn't a virtue anyway—it's just a fancy name for a person's inability to bear the weight of their own actions. I bear it. I carry everything I've done, all the darkness, all the rot, all the horror—not on my shoulders, but upright within my very being. And I feel not the slightest discomfort from it. Because I am not one of those who flee from their own darkness. The creature called "human" survives by believing it is good; I, however, survive by knowing exactly what I am. That is the difference between us. They need the illusion of innocence; I need the truth. If there is an abyss within me, I do not look at it and step back; I look into it, claim it as my own, and if necessary, make it even deeper. Because what makes me who I am is not my light, but my power to embrace my darkness. So do not expect remorse from me, Aki. I am not trying to forgive my past. Because I see no sin to be forgiven. I see only the consequences of my own will. And the greatest freedom a person can attain is to be the absolute master of what they do. "I am free, Aki… because I can accept the monster within me."
As Magnus spoke, a strange heaviness settled over me. Every word he spoke was calm, but there was a terrifying certainty in that calmness; as if what he was saying was not merely a thought, but an indisputable truth. What shook me most about his voice wasn't anger or arrogance—it was his utter lack of hesitation. When a person describes the terrible things they've done, you look for a crack in their voice; a shred of regret, a tiny hesitation, a tremor that reminds you they're human… but there was nothing in him. It was as if the darkness he'd committed hadn't shattered him, but instead had completed him.
In that moment, I didn't know what to say. Because it was easy to be angry with him, easy to find his actions horrifying, but what truly wounded me was that some of his words sounded disturbingly meaningful. People do indeed flee from their own darkness, bury their sins, and convince themselves they're good people by labeling their conscience "remorse." Magnus, however, seemed to have torn off all his masks. This didn't make him right… but it made him terrifying.
When I looked into his eyes, I saw not pain; I saw peace. And that peace was more unsettling than all the brutality of his past. Because someone in pain can change. Someone crushed by their guilt can be saved. But someone who isn't crushed by the weight of their actions—who stands tall amidst them… I didn't know how to stop him.
A chill rose within me. I wasn't afraid of his darkness, but of the peace he had made with that darkness. Because in that moment, I realized that Magnus didn't see evil as a deviation; he had accepted it as a natural part of his identity. And perhaps a person who sees themselves as a monster can still be saved… but saving someone who sees themselves as the truth was nearly impossible.
My throat tightened. I wanted to answer him, but the words stuck in my throat. Because what was rising within me wasn't anger. It was sorrow.
I looked at Magnus and, for the first time, felt how alone he was.
He had embraced his own darkness, yes… but in doing so, he had completely denied the existence of light. He thought he was free, but in reality, he had established his throne within the abyss he had created. And the most tragic part was that he mistook this for a victory.
My chest tightened. I realized I felt pity for him.
Because the power he spoke of didn't feel like power to me. To me, it felt like nothing more than a deep, endless separation.
My lips parted, but my voice was barely a whisper.
"Magnus…"
Nothing came after his name.
Because in that moment I understood—I didn't want to judge him.
I just… saw that he had lost himself.
"So now…" I finally manage to say, my voice so hoarse it's barely recognizable, "why… why are you telling me this?"
Magnus's expression doesn't change.
But this time, his answer… feels heavier.
"Because," he says slowly, "you still see the universe as something that can be saved, Aki."
There's a brief pause, during which he stares at me for a long time.
Is the world salvageable?
The answer to that question isn't in logic. It isn't in the numbers. It certainly isn't in what I've seen.
Because what I've seen… doesn't contradict what Magnus has told me. Magnus admits he's a bad person. But that doesn't make him a good person. Magnus is truly the worst of the worst. Still… if he's a bad person I can trust, should I trust him…?
I know how far people can go. I've seen how easily they break, how quickly they can rot… I've experienced how pain transforms a person, how fear turns someone into another's nightmare… And I'm not blind enough to deny these things.
But…
…that doesn't mean this is all there is to it.
Because in the same world… there was also Master Shu.
There was a hand that lifted me up. Someone who did what was right—not out of self-interest, not out of obligation… but simply because it had to be done. Someone who taught me that my choices mattered. Someone who taught me not to surrender to the darkness… without denying its existence.
And this… is not an exception.
I didn't see this just once.
I've seen it time and time again.
I've seen moments when people protect one another. Those who fight not to gain anything, but simply to avoid losing. Those who stand up for others despite their own fears. Those moments that seem small and insignificant, yet change a life…
If the world were truly only what Magnus described, none of this would exist.
Perhaps the world is tainted.
Maybe most of the time… we lose.
Maybe some people… drift too far away to ever come back.
But that… doesn't mean the rest of us are the same.
I see the world as salvageable because… I've seen things that can change.
I've seen people who were broken but not completely gone.
And most importantly…
I saw myself.
I, too, was on the brink of that darkness. I could have fallen. I could have been lost. But I didn't fall.
Because someone showed me… that I didn't have to fall.
If even one person can be saved…
If even one person can change…
Then this world… isn't completely lost.
And I… won't give up on that possibility.
While I was lost in these thoughts… Magnus paused for a moment after his last words, then continued speaking.
"And Shu… the one who taught you this."
Yes, the one who taught me that the universe could be saved was my master.
My eyes hardened.
But he continued.
"Shu… was my student."
That sentence… stopped everything.
My mind… goes blank for a moment.
"He saw a world I created," Magnus continues, his voice deepening slightly for the first time, "in its ugliest, purest form. And then… he rejected it."
He tilts his head slightly.
"That sounds virtuous, doesn't it?"
A brief smile. But it isn't warm.
"But when a person… sees the truth and rejects it, Aki… what exactly are they rejecting?"
He looks into my eyes.
"The world?"
He doesn't take a single step.
But the distance changes.
"Or… everyone who still exists within that world?"
Something inside me… shifts.
But I still can't quite figure out what it is.
"Shu's mistake…" Magnus says finally, his voice returning to that familiar calm, "wasn't believing he could eliminate evil."
A brief pause.
"It was believing he could eliminate it… by choosing it."
He kept talking without even taking a breath, not giving me a chance to react.
"Things have happened—and are still happening—that you wouldn't want to know. There's much you'll understand once your mission is complete. You, who have entered adulthood and been separated from your loved ones for three years… you will become someone capable of facing the dark side of the entire universe—no, you must become that person."
And I…
…don't know what to believe anymore.
I realize I'm breathing, but it feels like my body is doing it for me. Magnus's words don't just hang in the air; they sink into me. Not like a weight… more like a crack seeping into every thought I have. "To erase by choosing." This sentence keeps spinning in my mind, shifting shape, its meaning slipping away. It's as if there's no single truth… as if every possibility could be true at the same time.
Heroism… that word used to be simpler. Saving someone, protecting something, doing the right thing. There was a childlike clarity to it. But now Magnus's voice is trying to shatter that clarity. Shu's name, however, keeps rising up again and again from among those shards. When I think of him, the same thing happens: my belief in how one person can lift another back up grows stronger. But at the same time… the idea that he, too, must have passed through some part of Magnus's world holds that belief on the edge of a sharp blade.
If Shu really is the person Magnus described… then who was the Shu I knew? Was he the one who lifted me up, or someone who guided me down a path? Could the two be the same thing? Or am I just simplifying the story to convince myself that I chose the right side? This thing I call heroism… does it truly stem from my choices, or is it just a word I've created to justify my choices?
And Magnus… he's saying something entirely different. It's not as if heroism is just an illusion… it's as if heroism is the most dangerous thing when misunderstood. There's fear in what he says, but it's not ordinary fear. Like a warning. A "you've gotten too close" feeling. And instead of stopping me, it pushes me further.
Because I don't know… I really don't know. But even the act of wanting to know feels like a kind of danger now. There are things Magnus calls "things you wouldn't want to know," and I haven't even heard them, but it feels as though they've already seeped into me. I feel trapped between what Shu taught me and what Magnus told me. One says I can change the world, the other says that even understanding the world changes a person.
And the worst part… is that neither of them feels completely wrong.
If what I call heroism is really about my choices, then every choice must come with a price. But I haven't seen that price yet. Or maybe I have… and I've chosen to ignore it. Perhaps what Shu showed me was exactly that: the responsibility of choosing. What Magnus said, however, is that the choice itself is already an illusion.
If there really is such a thing as "choosing to destroy"… that means the line between right and wrong is no longer fixed. And I… can I be a hero in such a world? Or is what I call heroism just the desire to stand against the darkness without understanding it?
But still… somewhere inside me, I still remember Shu's voice. That voice seems to be saying something simpler, purer than all of Magnus's weight. "Get up." Maybe the issue isn't saving the world. Maybe the issue is being able to get back up again, no matter how complicated everything gets.
And I… even as I drown in Magnus's words, I don't want to let go of that small possibility. Because if I lose that too, I'll have nothing left. Not just Magnus's darkness… Shu's meaning will fade away as well.
But what if Shu… is really as complicated as Magnus says? What if heroism isn't what I thought it was? Then what will I become? Did I think I was following someone, and didn't realize who I'd actually become?
I don't know.
And maybe that's the scariest part: for the first time, I'm more afraid of what the right answer might look like… than I am of wanting to find it.
I lift my head slowly.
It's as if everything that was just spoken has turned into an invisible weight in the room, settling on my shoulders. But this time, I'm not being crushed by it. Those vague, scattered thoughts inside me are still there—Shu's voice, Magnus's cold calm, the echo of the word "choice"—but now they're all colliding in the same place, and for the first time, instead of stepping back from the clash, I choose to stand my ground.
I look at Magnus.
This gaze… it's not the gaze of someone seeking an answer. Nor is it the gaze of a child seeking approval anymore. There's still fragility within it, yes—but alongside a thin layer of resolve. As if someone who's learned to stand firm in the midst of the wind. I may not understand everything, I may not have figured everything out… but I'm not running away anymore.
In that moment, I realize: even the silence in the room has changed.
Before, when Magnus spoke, time flowed to his rhythm. Now, for the first time, I feel as though I'm the one setting the rhythm. This isn't a display of power. It's more like… a balance restored. As if something that had been tilted for a long time has finally found its place.
I don't take my eyes off him.
Because in this gaze, there's now only one thing: the weight of a decision made. And that weight is slowly filling the space left by the questions.
"Listen to me, Magnus. I will protect everything in this universe that I believe deserves protection… no matter what name the darkness gives it, no matter how the world declares it impossible. Because light doesn't burn to be seen—it burns to exist. And I will not let it go out."
Magnus narrows his eyes. Leaning back in the chair where he sits with one leg crossed over the other, he rests against the backrest.
"Neither my master nor you… there may be things I've learned from you, seen in you, or even had etched into my very being. There may be moments when I've hated you, and moments when I've fallen silent with boundless admiration… but none of these define me. Because I didn't embark on this path because of you, but because of what I feel toward this universe."
I take a short breath. My voice no longer falters; it moves forward, confident in its place, unshaken.
"This world didn't just show me its darkness. It also showed me people who get back up even after being broken. And I… I saw both. I saw how deep decay can be, and how far even a single act of goodwill can reach."
I lean forward a step, as if my words are moving not just toward Magnus, but toward everything he represents.
"If this universe is truly as twisted as you describe… even then, I won't abandon it. Because understanding something isn't the same as running away from it. And seeing something can't be an excuse to ignore it. My master taught me that."
My gaze is steady; there is nothing left for me to hesitate about.
"Even if he taught me, my path neither begins with what you taught nor ends by breaking away from you. My path… is the answer I give to this universe itself. And this answer, no matter how dark it may be, will not retreat."
My voice grows heavier, as if the words aren't just being spoken—they're being carved into the world.
"If this world is falling… I will not be one who watches its fall. If this world is rotting… I will not turn a blind eye to that rot. And if this world can be saved…"
My eyes, never leaving his, narrow tightly.
"…then I know the only thing capable of doing that is an unwavering will."
As I speak the final sentence, I'm no longer looking only at Magnus.
It's as if I'm speaking to the entire universe.
"I will be that will."
Magnus didn't say a word for a while. That silence was different from all the silences before; there was no pressure, no questions, no invisible sense of analysis cornering me. This time, it was as if the world had held its breath, weighing the weight of my answer. I felt his gaze upon me, but now those eyes weren't analyzing—they were acknowledging. It was as if, for the first time, he was seeing me not as a "possibility" but as a "chosen path."
And that difference was even changing the atmosphere in the room. As for that tiny smile that appeared on Magnus's face… it gathered all the instability inside me into a single point. It wasn't an expression of victory, nor was it a sign of superiority. Rather, it was the silent approval of someone who had witnessed a long-awaited fracture occurring exactly where it should. Within that moment, there was a strange blend of relief and a deeper weight; because what he was approving didn't feel like an answer, but rather a choice of direction that could no longer be reversed.
"This is it…" said Magnus, his voice as calm as ever but carrying a different intensity this time. "What you're talking about now isn't a belief. It's a direction." He paused for a moment; his eyes were still on me, but there was nothing in that gaze trying to unravel anymore. "People usually think heroism is about knowing what's right. But knowing the truth is nothing. The real issue is knowing you can't live with that truth, yet choosing to walk with it anyway..." His voice slowed, as if he were speaking not just to me, but to something far broader. "...and most people turn back here. Because what you call a choice isn't a comforting idea—it's a form of burden."
Then Magnus's gaze drifted slightly away; it was as if he were looking beyond the room, even beyond this world. His tone didn't change, but the scale of what he was describing had shifted.
"The universe is more layered than you think, Aki. What you call reality is just the surface. Beneath it lie other orders. And some of these orders… aren't established merely to exist, but to be observed."
The first time he said the word "Sacred Domain," it felt less like a place name and more like the key to a system. "These are called Sacred Domains. They aren't the gods' battlefields. Nor are they something lesser. Something more twisted. A kind of stage. A kind of… organized chaos aesthetic."
Magnus's voice deepened slightly.
"Those fighting there aren't really fighting. They're playing. The gods don't intervene; they just watch. And those above them… see it as an experiment. Not an outcome, but a flow. The story itself, a mechanism for generating meaning."
He paused at this point and turned his gaze more directly toward me for the first time. "And you…" he said, his voice almost softened but the gravity within it hadn't diminished, "you could fall into those scenes. In fact, you will. In fact, it's been many years since you fell…" This sentence wasn't spoken like a threat, but with the certainty of a possibility. That's why it felt heavier.
Something stirred inside me, but it wasn't just fear. It was more like an expansion of my sense of reality. As if the world I knew wasn't as fixed as I'd thought, and Magnus wasn't saying this to shatter it for me, but to reveal it. "There are no heroes in those scenes," he continued. "No villains either. Only roles. And these roles aren't moral; they're structural." He paused for a moment, as if waiting for the universe itself to grasp what he'd said before I did.
"And sometimes, the most important role isn't the strongest one. It isn't the most visible one. It isn't the one most remembered. Sometimes the most critical role… is the clown."
As that word fell into the room, it took on a strange weight. Magnus didn't rush to explain it, because it behaved less like a concept that needed explaining and more like an idea that needed to settle in. "The thing you call a clown…" he finally continued, "...is important not because it's funny, but because it's impossible to ignore within the system. Everyone wants to be the king. Everyone wants to be the hero. But those who change the true workings of the stage are generally not the ones sitting at the center, but those who disrupt the center's balance."
His gaze turned back to me, this time more direct, more personal. "When you step onto those stages, Aki… they'll probably not take you seriously. This isn't a weakness. It's a strategic form of invisibility."
In that moment, what Magnus said settled in a different place within me. Heroism was no longer just about "being good." Even making a choice wasn't enough on its own. Everything was part of a structure; it found meaning within the invisible layers, the watching eyes, the roles being played. Yet despite that, something inside me didn't recede. On the contrary, a clearer line emerged. If the world is truly layered like this, if the stages truly exist, if people are truly being watched… then my position couldn't simply be that of a spectator. Even the "clown" Magnus spoke of no longer carried a derogatory meaning; on the contrary, the idea that it could be the most critical breaking point within the system created a strange clarity within me.
And Magnus spoke one last time, with an almost serene expression.
"Remember, Aki… those standing at the edge of the stage don't change the story. But those who fall into the center… either disappear or reshape the structure."
After that sentence hung in the air, I was still in the same place, but I no longer felt like the same person. Because what Magnus had described wasn't fate. It was a possibility. And the change within me was born, for the first time, not from fear, but from the possibility of choice.
"Thank you… Liar."
END OF CHAPTER