"Make sure this never happens again." The man's voice was low, deliberate, and heavy with authority. Each word landed like a strike, sharp and unmistakable.
His brows were furrowed in frustration, his disappointment written clearly across his face. He stood tall, exuding an aura of command that was impossible to ignore.
Behind him, the shadow of Reves' room loomed ominously, the boy still recovering from the incident that had sent shockwaves through their carefully constructed world.
Though silence had settled in the corridor, the tension was thick, and the events of that day hung like a storm cloud.
The woman standing behind him, her back straight and posture unwavering, nodded briskly, her tone laced with urgency.
"We'll ensure it doesn't happen again, sir. This was a mistake on our part."
But there was something else in her eyes, a flicker of uncertainty, as if a question lingered on her lips, one that had been gnawing at her since the incident had unfolded. She hesitated, collecting her thoughts before she spoke again.
"But... do you think this incident is connected to the prophecies?" Her voice softened as she carefully phrased the question. "The ones we've been hearing about?"
The man stopped, his gaze turning inward as he considered her words. The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of what she was implying. After a long moment, he exhaled slowly, his voice tinged with frustration.
"It's possible. The prophecy of the Ten Throne Holders' fall has already shaken the foundations of the Orthodox Temples. It's stirring things up more than I'd like."
His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, the tension in his body a mirror to the unease brewing in his mind. He began to walk toward his office, his steps slow but purposeful, the weight of his thoughts grounding him as he moved.
The woman followed, her footsteps quiet but deliberate, as though she too felt the heavy burden of uncertainty that loomed over them.
"I can't make sense of it," he muttered, voice strained.
"Why would that prophecy, from that... woman, include my son as one of the key players in the fall of the Ten Throne Holders?" He shook his head, his thoughts a swirling mess of doubt and confusion. "It doesn't add up."
As they reached the door to his office, he paused, resting his hand briefly on the frame. His mind was racing, the pieces of this intricate puzzle failing to fit together in any meaningful way.
"If it weren't for my position as one of the Walkers of the Eighth Throne Holder... if Reves and I weren't tied to that—" He stopped himself, the words bitter in his mouth. "We'd probably be buried in some forgotten corner by now, no one the wiser."
The woman remained silent, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. She had heard the undercurrent of fear in his voice, the acknowledgment of just how fragile their position had become.
"And yet," he muttered, almost to himself, "if this continues, it won't just be us. Every Orthodox Temple, along with the other Nine Throne Holders, will turn against us. We'll be forced into a war that we're not prepared for. A war we can't win." His hands tightened into fists again, his knuckles turning white.
The woman's expression softened, but her professionalism never wavered. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, met his, understanding the magnitude of what was being said.
"And what will we do if that happens?" she asked, her voice softer now, though her tone still carried the weight of responsibility.
The man didn't answer immediately. His mind was awash with possibilities, each one darker and more complicated than the last. He needed time to process the ramifications of what was unfolding—time that he didn't have.
Finally, he turned back to her, his eyes hardening with resolve.
"We prepare for the worst," he said, his voice steady, almost grim. "We gather what allies we can, fortify our position, and make sure we're ready for whatever comes next. And above all, we pray it doesn't come to that."
He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on the door in front of him as if he could see the future through it.
"Because if it does, everything we've built will come crashing down."
...
Reves lay still in his room, his mind racing, replaying the events of the traumatic incident over and over. His face, once streaked with tears, had dried, but the weight of what had happened lingered in every corner of his thoughts.
'If only… if only I had the strength to protect myself,' he thought bitterly.
The thought gnawed at him, his mind spiraling into a pit of self-doubt.
Then maybe my father wouldn't have to worry so much about me.
Turning to his side, Reves faced the empty space beside him, his body heavy with exhaustion and his mind lost in thought.
He couldn't shake the memory of those bodyguards, the way they'd turned violent the moment he'd refused to answer their invasive questions about his father's affairs. Their cold, calculated cruelty still echoed in his ears.
He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fist. 'If only…' The words replayed in his mind, a broken record of helplessness.
Then, without warning, a thought flashed through his mind. His body suddenly went rigid, and he sat up quickly, throwing the covers aside. He stumbled out of bed, his feet shuffling toward the pile of clothes he'd discarded earlier.
They lay crumpled in the corner near a small laundry basket, remnants of his earlier disarray. His fingers fumbled through the clothes, searching frantically. His heart raced as he dug deeper, until his hand brushed against something hard.
A silver coin.
He pulled it from the fabric and stared at it, the cool metal strangely comforting against his fingertips.
It was the coin that Ivaim, that strange bodyguard, had given him. He turned it over in his hand, the coin gleaming in the dim light of the room. For a moment, everything around him seemed to quiet, and the weight of his thoughts seemed to vanish.
As his fingers idly traced the coin's edges, something unexpected happened. A strange, game-like notification appeared before his eyes, its bright letters glowing against the darkness of his mind.
[You have been forced into a Fractured Reality!]
Reves froze, the words searing into his brain. Before he could process what had just happened, the world around him began to distort. Colors bled into one another, growing more saturated with every passing second.
Shapes twisted unnaturally, bending and reshaping like melted wax. The walls of the room seemed to bend in on themselves as the air around him shimmered with a strange energy.
Then, in an instant, everything stopped.
The room he had once known was gone. In its place was something else entirely.
The space around him was dim, lit by the flickering light of tall, ornate candlesticks. A massive stone altar dominated the room, its surface carved with intricate patterns that seemed to dance and shift under the candlelight.
The altar's stone was dark, almost black, and the vines twisting along its surface seemed alive, pulsing with a strange energy. The two candlesticks were tall, elegant, their forms twisting like vines reaching toward the ceiling.
The flames they held burned brightly, casting a golden light that filled the room. Yet, instead of warmth, the light felt unsettling, as though it had an unnatural presence of its own.
Candles lined the walls, their soft flames flickering gently, but their glow seemed to cast longer shadows than they should. The shadows moved, as if alive, slipping between the cracks of the room like restless spirits.
A strange mixture of scents filled the air—melting wax, yes, but underneath it, something older, something ancient and decaying lingered.
Reves stood frozen in place, his breath shallow, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. The room, beautiful yet haunting, pressed in around him. The flickering candlelight cast distorted shadows that seemed to writhe and shift with a life of their own.
The eerie glow of the candles illuminated the space, but in a way that made everything seem just a little too perfect—too clean. The air was thick, as though it carried centuries of secrets, of things forgotten, yet never truly gone.
Reves' heart pounded as he scanned the room, his eyes following the flickering candlelight that danced along the edges of the stone altar. His mind raced, trying to make sense of everything—this strange, twisted place, the eerie atmosphere that seemed to press in from all sides.
'What is this place...?'
A chill ran down his spine as he moved cautiously, his gaze flicking to the shifting shadows on the walls. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him, waiting for the right moment to strike.
His father's warning echoed in his mind, a chilling reminder of the dangers he now faced.
"The moment you step onto the path of the Walkers, you become a target, Reves. You're not just dealing with your own fate anymore—you're tangled in the threads of something far darker. The Walkers don't just fight... they invite death to follow them."