Year 543 — New Gallery Era
The sky was burning.
Not from the sun.
Not from dragons.
Not even from magic.
It was burning because the world itself had begun to crack.
Mountains collapsed.
Oceans trembled.
Stars vanished from the heavens one by one.
And below that crimson sky—
War.
A war that had lasted for generations.
A war so old that no one remembered who had struck first.
Humans.
Elves.
Beasts.
The Magicians.
The Sword Saints.
The Mutated Ones.
And the Gunmasters.
Seven races.
Seven civilizations.
Seven enemies.
Yet on this day—
None of them were fighting each other.
Because something far worse had appeared.
Something that should never have existed.
---
"Retreat!"
"Protect the barrier!"
"Don't let it touch the world wall!"
"Fall back!"
Explosions shook the battlefield.
Golden arrows rained from the heavens.
Ancient cannons roared.
Beasts larger than castles charged into the darkness.
And still—
They were losing.
Far above the battlefield—
Seven figures stood upon a broken platform floating in the sky.
Representatives.
Chosen by their races.
Each possessed one of the seven sacred artifacts granted by the Goddess herself.
The Sword of Origin.
The Crown of Wisdom.
The Eye of Eternity.
The Beast Fang.
The Heavenly Flame.
The Silver Compass.
And—
The final artifact.
A black ring whose existence had been erased from history.
The oldest among the seven slowly opened his eyes.
"The wall won't hold."
Silence answered him.
The elf woman clenched her fists.
"So this is truly the end?"
"No."
A giant beastman stepped forward.
"There is one final method."
Everyone froze.
The Gunmaster's eyes widened.
"You can't mean—"
"The Forbidden Summoning."
"No!"
The Magician slammed his staff into the ground.
"That spell was abandoned by the Goddess herself!"
"It is incomplete!"
"It has never succeeded!"
"And if it fails—"
"The timelines will collapse."
Silence.
Then—
The youngest among them laughed.
A strange laugh.
Not one of fear.
Not one of despair.
But hope.
"If we're already doomed…"
"...what's the difference?"
Nobody answered.
Because deep inside—
They all knew.
The war had already been lost.
The old man closed his eyes.
Then he spoke.
"Very well."
"Let history judge us."
---
The seven artifacts rose into the sky.
Light exploded across the heavens.
The earth trembled.
Mountains shattered.
The stars themselves seemed to stop moving.
And then—
The seven representatives began chanting words that no longer existed within mortal language.
---
"Casted Omen…"
"Yo coma gata gata…"
"Openo…"
"To yom imet…"
---
The world screamed.
Reality cracked.
Space twisted.
And time—
Stopped.
Everything became silent.
The battlefield.
The soldiers.
The rain.
Even death itself.
Everything froze.
Except for one thing.
Something…
Appearing in the center of the ritual.
At first—
It was only a point of light.
Then—
It grew.
Larger.
Larger.
Until—
A gigantic transparent cube materialized before the seven representatives.
No mana.
No aura.
No divine energy.
Nothing.
And yet—
Every instinct in their bodies screamed.
Danger.
The Beast King staggered backward.
"What… is that?"
The Magician trembled.
"I don't know."
The elf woman whispered.
"...Did we fail?"
But before anyone could react—
The cube moved.
Not physically.
Not magically.
Yet somehow—
Everyone felt it.
And for the first time in thousands of years—
The black ring began to glow.
The oldest representative slowly widened his eyes.
Impossible.
Because engraved upon the surface of the cube—
Were words.
Words from a language none of them had ever seen.
And yet—
Somehow—
They understood.
The old man fell to his knees.
His face turned pale.
"No…"
"No…"
"This cannot be…"
The others stared at him.
"What does it say?!"
The old man looked at the cube.
His entire body trembling.
And then—
With horror in his voice—
He whispered:
"...It says..."
[SEARCHING FOR THE ANCHOR]
---
Far away.
Beyond worlds.
Beyond time.
Beyond even the concept of gods.
Something—
Opened its eyes.