Bell Cranel stood at the edge of the wild forest, his eyes scanning the vast landscape before him. A week had passed since he had left Orario behind, seeking solitude and clarity. The thrill of adventure called to him, but something deeper, something more primal, urged him to set off alone in pursuit of those mysterious people.
The days had been spent living off the land—hunting, cooking what he could find, and sleeping under the stars. His senses had sharpened, and his power, now imbued with divine energy, allowed him to thrive in the wilderness. He felt more alive out here than he ever had in the Dungeon. The whisper of the wind through the trees, the rustle of leaves, the chirp of distant animals—it was peaceful, grounding. But Bell knew his purpose was more than just to find peace.
He had to find them.
The mysterious group of evildoers, the cloaked figures he and his companions had encountered in the Dungeon. There had been whispers, hints of their presence in the deep woods, and Bell followed the trail like a predator stalking his prey.
On the seventh day, Bell's search paid off.
Hidden beneath a thick canopy of ancient trees and rocky outcroppings, he found what he had been looking for: a secluded lair, tucked away in the heart of the wilderness. The air around the entrance was heavy, dark, pulsing with the same malicious energy he had felt back in the Dungeon.
Bell approached the entrance with caution. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his heart pounded in anticipation. This was the place.
The lair was carved into the side of a mountain, an ominous, gaping entrance leading into darkness. Bell stepped inside without hesitation, the damp stone walls of the cave absorbing the sound of his footfalls. He moved silently through the narrow corridors, his heightened senses allowing him to navigate the twists and turns.
The deeper he went, the more disturbing the scene became. He passed rooms filled with strange, experimental tools, vials of dark liquid, and crude magical circles etched into the ground. In one room, there were strange cages—empty now, but they reeked of something sinister. Whoever these people were, they were conducting some twisted experiments.
Bell's stomach churned. This wasn't just about gathering power—this was about something darker.
At the end of a long hallway, he found the last room. It was dimly lit by flickering torches, their shadows dancing eerily along the walls. In the center of the room was a large, pentagram-shaped circle scratched into the rocky floor, runes and symbols surrounding its edges. In the middle of the pentagram, a clock symbol was etched in stark contrast to the rest of the markings, its presence radiating an unsettling energy.
Bell narrowed his eyes as he studied the circle. He could sense the magic, the power it contained. Whatever this group was planning, it involved time itself—a manipulation of reality far beyond what most mortals could grasp.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
Without a second thought, Bell pressed himself against the shadows, his body moving with the grace of a predator. The figures entered the room—ten of them, all cloaked in the same dark robes he had seen before.
Bell didn't hesitate.
In a blur of movement, he struck.
His divine power surged through him, amplifying his speed and strength. In the blink of an eye, nine of the figures fell, their bodies crumpling to the ground before they even realized what had happened. Bell's sword cut through them with surgical precision, his eyes cold and focused. There was no time for mercy—these people had committed too many atrocities.
As the last figure stood frozen in shock, Bell advanced, ready to finish the job. But the final cloaked man reacted with a desperate, panicked move. His hand slammed down onto the pentagram, activating the circle.
The clock symbol in the center flared to life, and a blinding light erupted from the floor. Bell tried to move, to stop whatever was happening, but the magic was too quick. The light engulfed him, and the world around him dissolved into nothingness, though he shot off a blade-shaped blast of magic right into the guy's skull.
When Bell opened his eyes, he was no longer in the lair.
He found himself lying on the cold ground, the sky above him a vivid, unfamiliar shade of blue. The air was fresh, crisp, and held no trace of the magical energy he had grown accustomed to sensing in Orario. Bell stood slowly, his body tensed, his senses on high alert.
The landscape before him was breathtaking. He was on the top of a mountain, its peak stretching toward the heavens. The world around him was wild, untouched by civilization. Forests stretched out endlessly below, rivers snaked through valleys, and towering cliffs framed the horizon.
But something was wrong. Very wrong.
Bell reached out with his divine senses, searching for the familiar presence of the gods, for the aura of divinity that always lingered in the world. There was nothing. No gods. No divine energy.
It was as if the world itself was… younger.
The realization hit him like a tidal wave.
He wasn't in Orario anymore. He wasn't even in the world he knew.
He had been transported through time.
"This… this is the past," Bell whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I've been sent to the past."
His heart raced. This world felt different, stronger in a way, like the very essence of the earth pulsed with raw, untamed power. It was a world before the descent of the gods, before the divine had laid claim to the realm of mortals.
Bell's mind swirled with possibilities. The heroes of old—the legends he had grown up admiring—were alive in this time. He could meet them, fight alongside them, perhaps even learn from them. And if he played his cards right… perhaps he could change things. Perhaps he could save countless lives before the gods descended, before the monsters ravaged the world.
He clenched his fists, excitement bubbling in his chest. He could be more than just a hero—he could be a ruler. A leader. He could unite the races, bring peace to the world long before the gods ever arrived. An empire.
But then, a pang of sadness struck him. He had left everything behind. His friends, his Familia, Freya…Loki... all of it, gone. He was alone now, in a time not his own.
But he couldn't dwell on that.
This was an opportunity, a second chance to do something extraordinary. Bell stood tall, his eyes blazing with determination. If he was here, then he would make the most of it. He would carve his name into history, not just as a hero, but as a legend. And maybe… just maybe, he could create a world where the gods and mortals could live in harmony.
His journey had only just begun.