"That thing at the end of the whirlpool must be the Grey Castle," El realized.
The thought settled in his mind as he stared at the vast spiral before them. Countless fragments of golden, bronze, and prismatic clouds revolved slowly in the heavens like the turning of some ancient celestial mechanism. Each strand of colour shimmered with quiet majesty as it flowed inward, forming a colossal whirlpool in the sky. At the distant centre of that spiral stood the Castle, faint and immeasurable, like a sacred throne glimpsed through layers of reality itself.
"What is supposed to happen now?" Leon asked.
His voice was steady, though the unease in the air pressed heavily against their senses.
El turned his head toward him. For a moment he said nothing. Then he simply shrugged and tilted his chin toward Elias.
Elias frowned immediately.
"Why are you all looking at me?" he protested, raising both hands slightly. "How am I supposed to know wha—"
His words stopped abruptly.
A presence appeared behind them.
It did not arrive with sound, nor with light, nor with any disturbance in the air. It simply existed.
At once, the three of them turned.
Their eyes widened slightly as their bodies shifted instinctively, feet adjusting against the strange surface beneath them as they repositioned themselves.
A man stood there.
The moment their gazes settled on him, an indescribable calm washed over their minds. It was not comfort exactly. It was a strange softness that seeped into their consciousness, as though the mere act of looking at him invited sleep.
His hair flowed freely down his back in long, immaculate strands. It was dazzling white, pure and luminous, like snow illuminated beneath morning sunlight. Each strand moved gently as if drifting in invisible water, falling behind him like the slow current of a tranquil river.
His appearance possessed an unsettling perfection.
His eyes were the most striking feature.
Within their dark depths lay a void that resembled the night sky itself. Yet at the centre of each iris revolved a radiant star, a brilliant rainbow light that rotated endlessly in slow and silent motion. Around that luminous core were countless faint points of starlight, scattered like distant constellations suspended within his gaze.
The contrast was breathtaking.
Behind him stretched the crimson sky and the black sun that devoured the heavens. Above them churned the golden whirlpool of clouds that spiralled toward the distant Castle.
Yet the stars within the man's eyes seemed brighter than all of it.
His eyelashes shimmered faintly with a deep golden hue. His nose was slender, his lips soft and naturally pink. Every line of his face possessed a delicate harmony that bordered on the divine.
He looked ethereal.
He wore a black tuxedo.
The elegant clothing rested upon his form with effortless grace, as though the fabric itself understood it had been given the honour of touching something sacred.
And yet.
Something about him felt wrong.
Terribly wrong.
The calm surrounding him was too perfect, too quiet. Beneath that gentle presence lurked something cold and unnatural. Something that instinctively pushed against the mind like a silent warning whispered from the depths of the soul.
El felt his vision begin to sink into the man's eyes.
The rotating rainbow star inside them pulled at his focus like a vortex of light.
Elias suddenly looked away.
A faint tremor passed through him as if some hidden instinct forced his body to break contact with that gaze.
Leon did not react at all.
He simply observed the man.
His face remained completely blank, free of anger, confusion, fear, or curiosity. It was as though the man's appearance had no influence over him whatsoever.
The stranger tilted1 his head slightly.
"Am I too beautiful?" he asked.
His voice carried a gentle charm that seemed to flow through the air like warm silk. It was pleasant to hear, almost soothing.
Yet the moment the words reached them, the strange spell shattered.
All three of them snapped back to reality.
Leon stepped forward.
"Where are we? Who are you?"
"Well…Isn't that too many questions for a man I've never met before?" the man asked jokingly.
However, Leon did not respond. He simply stared at the man again with dead-set eyes and a cold expression.
Seeing this, the man sighed.
In a loud and deep tone, he declared:
"You are in the graveyard of fools."
Then, his tone dropped.
"I am The man of the Grey Castle."
'I was already expecting that' El thought.
"We are here to propose an alliance between the Void Castle and the Grey Castle," El spoke. Though, it sounded more like a command instead of a proposal.
"Hearing the two words: Void castle, does that imply something suspicious?" The man asked, completely ignoring the alliance proposal.
"The White Castle waged war on the Black castle, resulting in a conflict between these two castles. The Black castle won this war and fully eradicated the White Castle, killing its ritualists, and in the end, The Mysterious One.
The Black castle decided to merge itself with the White castle, becoming the Void Castle."
"Ohhhh! Now I get it," The man sighed.
Suddenly, the man snapped his fingers. The sheer sound alone brought a ringing screech to their ears, sending ripples across the space, the waves of the ink sea became violent. Collapsing on each other like a devouring tide.
At once, a staircase of clouds appeared into existence.
"Follow me," the man said, his voice calm as he began to ascend the staircase.
Leon, Elias, and El exchanged brief glances before stepping after him. The moment their feet touched the clouds, the surface shifted beneath them, soft yet firm, as though they walked upon something alive. Each step sank slightly before lifting again, leaving behind faint ripples that dissolved into drifting mist.
The air grew thinner as they climbed. A faint chill brushed against their skin, carrying with it a subtle scent, clean and distant, like rain that had never touched the earth. Below them, the world had already begun to fade, swallowed by layers of pale vapour that coiled and folded endlessly into themselves.
El's gaze lingered on the man ahead. His figure remained steady, unhurried, as though the climb required no effort at all.
Now that I think about it, how does this man know we came here for an alliance?
The thought settled uneasily in his mind.
Without slowing his pace, El drew inward and activated his divinity.
The Mark of a Thousand Threads awakened.
Upon his skin lay the Mark of a Thousand Threads, an intricate sigil formed from innumerable strands so fine they seemed drawn by the hand of fate itself. From a dark and silent centre, the threads spread outward in luminous tangles of silver, gold, crimson, and shadow, weaving together into a pattern too complex for mortal eyes to fully grasp. Circular rings of ancient glyphs encased it like the mechanism of some forgotten divine law, while the threads shifted ever so slightly beneath the surface, as though the mark were not merely worn, but alive.
As soon as the mark awakened, El began to see threads suspended in the air, as delicate as the silk of a finely woven dress. They stretched across the space in quiet disarray, some gleaming silver, others rich gold, while a few hung heavy, dark, and damp. Certain strands were already fraying, marked by tiny, almost invisible tears.
All of them converged into a vast, intricate network that overlaid reality itself. El followed the lines with his gaze, tracing each thread toward its distant end.
One thread drew his attention.
Within it, he saw a small boy tending to his sick mother. The child's movements were careful, practiced, far too steady for someone so young. A faint tightness settled in El's chest. He followed the mother's thread and saw its end approaching far sooner than it should have.
Without hesitation, he reached out and seized it.
The thread resisted at first, taut and unyielding, but El tightened his grip and pulled. It stretched under his will, lengthening inch by inch until it extended far beyond its original limit, until it rivalled the length of the boy's own thread.
He released it slowly.
The illness remained. Nothing in the present had changed. Yet the end had been pushed back, drawn farther into the distance. Time had been forced to loosen its hold.
If fate were threads, then existence itself was a loom. And he stood before it, not as a strand within the weave, but as the one who could touch it. Cause bent, and consequence followed. Death no longer arrived when it should, and endings lost their certainty. Destiny did not shatter… it simply yielded, as all fragile things inevitably do.
El lowered his hand and turned his attention to the man before him.
Curiosity stirred within him. He reached again, this time tracing the man's thread.
It was gold.
Not merely bright, but radiant. A strand of flawless silk that stretched onward without end, disappearing into a horizon that did not exist.
Length defined more than time. It spoke of weight, of significance, of a destiny that pressed against the boundaries of the world itself.
El's gaze lingered on it, quiet and intent.
The mark of a thousand threads granted El an affinity with time and space. Through it, the past and future lay open, waiting to be observed, measured, and, if necessary, altered.
He studied the man's thread more closely.
It dwarfed all others.
Where ordinary strands stretched to a fixed end, this one continued without limit, flowing onward in an unbroken line. Around it, countless possibilities drifted and gathered, clustering like children drawn to a single figure, each waiting for its moment to take shape.
El's gaze sharpened.
An endless thread could only mean one thing.
Immortality.
And beyond that, something greater. Something that stood above the order of all living things.
A god.
The realization settled quietly, yet its weight was immense. A slow smile spread across El's face, controlled at first, then widening as a restless hunger stirred within him. Anticipation followed, sharp and insistent, urging him to unravel more, to reach deeper into what lay hidden.
Then, without warning, the man spoke.
"We're here."