Seventeen years had passed.
Sebastian, now nineteen, had grown fond of a girl named Shilah. But her heart belonged to Oliver. Every glance she cast, every gesture, every soft smile seemed to move in rhythm with him. Sebastian felt it keenly, a cold edge growing inside him.
Anger. Hatred. Jealousy. Envy.
And a quiet, dangerous urge he could barely control.
He knew one thing: he could not defeat Oliver—not yet.
So he fled. Disappeared from everyone. Friendship left behind, he pursued power in the shadows.
When he returned, he was changed. Darker. Stronger. Deadlier.
He crept toward Oliver's father, intent on murder—but XAN intervened. Tal moved to stop him, but XAN restrained him, the warning clear: any attack would erase him.
Sebastian's eyes caught Oliver and Shilah together. Rage consumed him. He unleashed everything he had, and chaos spread, life withering under the force of his power.
Oliver turned to XAN.
"What has become of Sebastian?"
"He has become… the literal embodiment of death," XAN replied.
Oliver gave a single command: attack.
In an instant—BOOM, BOOM—he leapt into time itself, to the moment before Sebastian ever gained his powers, erasing his influence from memory.
When time reset, Shilah lay dead. She had been the trigger for Sebastian's darkness. Grief crashed over Oliver, deep and unyielding.
XAN led him through the portal that traps everything—even light itself.
"Where are we?" Oliver asked.
"The Morden City," XAN said. "Modern civilization. That portal kept Kagemori—and other kings—from entering here."
Oliver looked back, said goodbye to his parents, and began a life of his own.
Twelve years passed. He muted XAN, choosing a normal life.
Tal had always been a man of appearance and reputation—calm, confident, admired. But beneath the surface, few knew him. He loved himself… and little else.
Now, in Morden City, he inhabited the world he had built for himself:
A minimalist apartment overlooking the city, each item in its place, everything controlled, precise, silent. Nights were spent analyzing, strategizing, playing chess against himself—sharpening patience, intellect, and discipline.
Yet something was missing. Not trophies, victories, or recognition. Something quieter, felt rather than seen: a longing for a presence he could not yet define.
By noon, Tal boarded a plane to Carlz, searching for someone who could stir what Shilah once had.
Night fell, and he found himself in a dimly lit club, the bass vibrating through the floor. The chaos and light felt like an antidote to his ordered life.
A man slid into the seat across from him, grinning.
"You don't look like you belong here," he said, waving his drink.
"And what would someone who belongs here look like?" Tal asked, calm.
"Loud. Reckless. Easy to read. You? None of that."
"Good observation," Tal replied, taking a slow sip. "I'm not here to be read."
The man laughed.
"I'm Cihan. And you are?"
"Tal," he said, eyes scanning the room but never leaving Cihan's face.
"Mysterious. I like it. Business or trouble?"
"None," Tal said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Secrets, then? Care to share one?"
Tal leaned closer, voice low.
"Depends. Can you handle the truth?"
"Try me."
"I'm a traveler… from the times before time."
Cihan's eyes widened.
"Now that… I can respect. Cheers to chaos."
They clinked glasses, the first thread of a bond forming amid the music and lights.
Sunlight crept through half-drawn curtains. Tal woke at 7:30 a.m., the faint scent of alcohol lingering. Cihan scrambled, realizing he had an interview at nine.
Tal, unconcerned, stayed behind—letting the morning stretch into silence and thought.
By afternoon, Carlz had lost its charm. By evening, Tal was on a plane to Mushi T., already preparing for the next phase.
Mid-flight, he calmly requested:
"I'd like a parachute."
The attendant froze.
"Sir… we don't provide that."
"Hesitation is the limit of life," Tal said softly.
She hurried off, leaving him alone with the clouds and gravity, already another variable to control.
In Mushi T., Tal knew one thing: he needed a Shilah in his life. If not, he would leave.
Hungry, he stopped at a roadside restaurant, eating simply and deliberately. No rush, no schedule—just the present.
Arriving in Molis, he booked a modest guesthouse, dropped his bag, and stepped back into the cool evening air.
The narrow streets whispered their secrets. Tal wandered, letting the neighborhood introduce itself.
A small shop caught his eye—crates of tomatoes stacked neatly. Three sisters worked behind it.
"What do you sell?" Tal asked.
The middle sister answered:
"Tomatoes. We sell tomatoes."
Tal bought a basket, handed over the money, and asked their names.
"I'm Isabella. That's Sofia. Our eldest is Lucia."
"Is she here?"
"Out fetching something. She'll return soon."
Lucia approached, calm and composed. Tal's eyes met hers briefly, and the moment lingered just long enough.
As he walked away, Isabella whispered:
"Why were you looking at him like that?"
"I wasn't," Lucia said.
"He's good-looking. Tall. Masculine energy," Isabella laughed.
Lucia said nothing—yet the hint of acknowledgment was there.
That night, Tal returned to the guesthouse. Beneath the stars, he sat alone—no music, no phone, just silence and space to breathe.
He felt it: a world outside his control, a life waiting to unfold.