There was no warning when the world changed.
One moment Selion stood within the fractured void, and the next he was falling through suffocating darkness, his body weightless and out of control.
The descent ended violently as he slammed into jagged stone, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain spread through his limbs, sharp and familiar, grounding him in the only certainty he knew—he was still alive.
For a few seconds, he didn't move. His chest tightened as he forced air back into his lungs, his body slow to respond. When he finally pushed himself upright, the rough stone scraped against his palms, cold seeping deep into his bones. He lifted his head—and immediately realized something was wrong.
There was no sky above him.
Instead, a vast mountain ceiling stretched endlessly overhead, jagged and cracked, as though it had been broken and forced back together. From within those cracks bled a dim crimson light, faint but constant, painting the entire world in a dull, blood-like glow. The air was heavy, damp, and suffocating, thick with the scent of earth and something long decayed.
Before him stood a town—Or rather, what remained of one.
The buildings were warped and broken, their wooden frames splintered and leaning at unnatural angles. Roofs had caved in, doors hung loosely from rusted hinges, and the ground beneath his feet was uneven and cracked. It didn't look abandoned—it looked interrupted, as if something had stopped time at the exact moment everything fell apart.
Selion's eyes narrowed slightly as he took a step forward. "...What kind of place is this?" he muttered under his breath, his voice low, cautious.
The sound echoed faintly, swallowed quickly by the suffocating silence.
A single road stretched ahead, cutting through the center of the town and winding upward toward the mountain's peak. At the very top, barely visible through the crimson haze, stood a shrine. Even from a distance, it carried a strange weight, pulling at his attention in a way he couldn't explain.
***
He began walking toward it—Each step felt too loud in the silence. The deeper he moved into the town, the heavier the air became, pressing faintly against his chest. His gaze sharpened as he took in more details—overturned carts, scattered tools, abandoned belongings left exactly where they had fallen.
Then he saw them.
Bodies.
They were everywhere, scattered along the road and slumped against buildings. Some looked as though they had collapsed mid-step, others twisted unnaturally as if caught in their final moments. None of them showed signs of decay, yet every face carried the same expression—fear, frozen so deeply it had outlived death itself.
Selion slowed as he approached one of them.
The man was dressed simply, his clothes worn from labor, his hands rough and calloused. A farmer. His body was stiff, unmoving, but his face told a different story—his eyes wide, his expression locked in pure, unfiltered terror.
Selion crouched slightly, studying him. "What did you see…?" he murmured, more to himself than anything else. For a moment, he hesitated—but curiosity, or perhaps instinct, pushed him forward.
He reached out and touched the body—
The world shattered instantly.
***
Sound rushed in all at once, overwhelming and chaotic. The silence broke apart, replaced by laughter, voices, movement—life. The ruined town dissolved, reshaping into something whole, vibrant, and alive.
The same road now pulsed with activity.
Children ran freely, their laughter echoing through the air, while merchants called out from their stalls, advertising goods neatly arranged before them. The scent of food drifted between the buildings, warm and inviting. Evening light stretched across the town, soft and golden, carrying none of the oppressive weight from before.
Selion didn't move.
Because he wasn't there.
He was seeing through the farmer's eyes.
The man stood among others, relaxed, engaged in casual conversation. His voice came naturally, steady, unaware of what was coming. "You hear about the new shipment?" he said, glancing toward a nearby stall.
"Blackwater goods. Supposed to be better this time."
Another man chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "We'll see. Last batch barely lasted the week."
The tone was normal and ordinary.
Peaceful.
Until it wasn't.
A figure appeared at the edge of the road, running hard, his movements uneven and desperate. His breathing was ragged, his face pale, his entire body trembling as if he could barely hold himself together. He stumbled toward the farmer, grabbing onto him as though he might collapse at any second.
"They're coming…" he gasped, struggling to speak. "Up the hill… soldiers…"
The farmer frowned, gripping his shoulders. "Slow down—what are you talking about?"
"Horses… torches… Falkenridge…"
The words barely held together, but they were enough.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The noise of the market faltered, conversations cutting off mid-sentence. People began to turn, their attention drawn toward the mountain.
Selion felt it—the fear rising within the farmer as his gaze lifted toward the shrine.
In the distance, faint but unmistakable, figures moved along the path. A line of mounted soldiers advanced steadily, their torches flickering against the growing dusk. Even from afar, their presence carried weight—authority, purpose, inevitability.
Whispers spread through the crowd, low and uncertain. Some spoke of the chief, others of rumors long ignored—black magic, forbidden practices, things that should never have been touched. No one knew the truth, but it didn't matter. Fear filled the space where certainty failed.
Something had gone wrong—The memory shifted, pulling upward toward the mountain.
***
The soldiers had reached the shrine, their formation tight and controlled, their presence overwhelming. The air itself seemed heavier there, pressed down by something unseen.
Another man stepped out from the shrine, frustration clear in his movements as he turned back inside.
"What have you done now…?" he muttered, his voice tense, strained. "Do you even realize who you've provoked…?!"
The scene shifted one final time—
Inside the shrine, the air was thick and still, heavier than anywhere else. A figure stood in the darkness, unmoving, watching. There was no fear in him, no urgency—only quiet control, the kind that came from complete understanding.
He stepped forward slowly. The light reached his face.
Selion saw him.
"…no…"
The memory shattered.
Selion staggered backward, ripping his hand away from the corpse as his breathing turned uneven. The ruined town returned instantly, the crimson light swallowing everything once more. His chest rose and fell sharply as the images clashed in his mind, refusing to settle.
His gaze lifted toward the shrine at the top of the mountain, his expression darkening as the truth settled into him. This town had not been random, and the massacre that had taken place here had not been meaningless.
The man within the shrine had never been just a legend, nor merely the fallen enemy the empire claimed him to be—Luke Spellbound had lived here, not as a myth but as something far more real, as the very man they had come to destroy.
Silence returned.
But this time, Selion understood—He wasn't just walking through ruins. He was walking through the remains of something the world had tried to erase.