The portal closed with a vacuum sigh, reaping the last wisp of smoke that still connected the two survivors to the ashes of Endomyar. In the center of the grey clearing, the transmigration sphere — that relic of pure reality which Ether handled with near-artistic precision — floated for a brief second before silently retreating beneath the folds of his cloak.
Ethan fell to his knees on the barren rock. The ground of Orhtid was cold, devoid of any biological warmth. The boy covered his face with his calloused hands, his shoulders trembling as grief for Ana, Sara, and Ariny surged through his chest like a suffocating tide.
The fall of the fifth world still echoed in his ears; the sound of destruction and the image of the Decatry sisters being swallowed by darkness were open wounds, bleeding in his mind.
An imposing silhouette stepped forward, casting a protective shadow over the shattered boy.
Ether had changed. The ancient cloak and the mask with enigmatic inscriptions that had spread such terror through the fifth world had been put away in secret. Now, he wore a new beige cloak, immaculate and voluminous, which effectively concealed the silhouette of the hidden crown and the dangerous outline of his collider sword. The new mask, also beige and completely smooth, bore no detail or written word. It was an absolute void of porcelain. Yet, the aura of cosmic majesty and the unpredictable terror he exuded remained intact, weighing upon the environment.
Ether leaned slightly, extending a gloved hand toward Ethan. His voice flowed through the mask with his usual magnetic eloquence, a dark melody that could be, at once, terrifying to the world and comforting to the boy.
"Rise, my dear Ethan. The floor of the periphery offers no answers to your tears; it only consumes what little warmth you have left."
Ethan raised his reddened eyes, facing the smooth abyss of the new mask. There was a blind trust in the way the boy looked at him.
To Ethan, Ether was no longer the enigma that had destroyed the second sun; he was his mentor, his savior, the only constant in a universe that had ripped everything from him.
"I couldn't save them, Ether..." Ethan's voice broke, a whisper laden with despair. "They died because of me. Zirinos took everything I had."
Ether withdrew his hand gracefully, crossing his arms beneath the voluminous cloak. The silence that followed was heavy, calculated to let Ethan's pain mature until it transformed into something useful.
"Death is merely a bureaucratic border for those who lack the will to violate it," said Ether, his tone soft and almost paternal, though the invisible eyes behind the porcelain measured every heartbeat of the boy. "I made you a promise under the ashes of Endomyar, Ethan. I will guide you through the labyrinth of worlds. I will give you the strength that Macano denied you and the intelligence to orchestrate the fall of the prince of Z. And when your steel bathes the earth with Zirinos's blood, we will pull Ana, Sara, and Ariny from the very world of the dead. But for that... you must survive this place."
Ethan nodded, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. Ether's words acted as a venomous balm, infusing a fanatical purpose into his shattered chest. He clung to that promise like a castaway clings to the rocks.
"I'll do whatever it takes. Just tell me what I have to do, Ether."
"First, walk," instructed the beige figure, turning toward the hillside. "Behold your new training ground."
As they rounded the rocky crest, the city of Onité spread before them under the grey sky of the dwarf planet. The architecture was a collision of polished basalt stone and industrial gothic structures, cut by beams of pale neon that illuminated the streets. But what shocked Ethan the most, accustomed to the vibrant chaos of Earth and the liveliness of Endomyar, was the sound.
Or rather, the absence of it.
Onité was bathed in a surgical silence. As they entered the peripheral avenues, Ethan observed the inhabitants walking along the sidewalks. They wore dark clothes, with straight, severe lines. No one shouted, no one ran, no one showed haste or enthusiasm. People crossed paths with a perfectly aligned posture, almost military, but their faces seemed strangely placid. Devoid of worry lines or spontaneous smiles.
Ethan frowned, feeling a chill run down his spine as he noticed that several of the wealthier citizens wore mirrored visors or white porcelain masks, completely concealing their features.
"What place is this?" Ethan whispered, approaching Ether as they walked side by side. "It seems... like they're all dead inside. No one talks. No one reacts to anything."
Before Ether could answer, a scene a few meters away caught both their attention.
A young scrap collector, whose left arm bore a recent, deep scar, tripped over a protruding metal bar, falling heavily onto the stone floor. The fall was ugly; the sound of bone striking rock echoed through the alley. Any normal person would have screamed in pain or cursed. That creature, however, merely rose slowly. His face remained in an absolute void of expression. He dusted off his pants and kept walking, dragging his injured leg with an indifference that bordered on inhuman.
Ethan stopped dead, his eyes wide.
"He didn't even blink... He should have been screaming in pain. What's wrong with the people of this world?"
Ether stopped a step ahead, his beige figure standing out against the pale neon of Onité. He glanced sideways at the boy, appreciating the confusion and the glimmer of horror in his eyes.
"On Orhtid, my dear Ethan, people discovered that the soul is not a single block of marble," explained Ether, his voice echoing with ancient and mysterious wisdom. "They look inward and see a garden. And when a plant grows too much and causes pain... they simply prune it. Fear, physical pain, grief... all of these things can be removed if you have the right blade."
Ethan swallowed hard, processing the information slowly. The concept seemed too abstract, almost mystical, but the living example he had just witnessed proved otherwise.
"They remove what they feel?" Ethan asked, his voice trembling slightly as he looked at his own hands, which still held the tremor of grief. "Is that possible?"
"It is their culture. The system that governs survival on this barren rock," replied Ether, resuming his measured steps toward the old industrial district, where they would establish their refuge. "But do not rush to understand the mysteries of Orhtid today. First, your mind needs rest, and your body needs to prepare for the instructors I have requisitioned for you. Remember where we came from, Ethan. And remember who put you in that state."
Ethan clenched his fists so tightly that his nails nearly pierced his skin. The name Zirinos echoed in his mind like a mantra of hatred. He looked one last time at the silent, painless citizens of Onité before following Ether into the shadows of the city. The seed of fanaticism had been planted; he would do anything to get the Decatry sisters back, even if it meant learning to prune his own humanity.