Kundra sat next to me, his presence calm in the midst of the strange world around us. A small alek—an odd creature—scurried in front of us, moving quickly and purposefully.
A line of red ants marched by, carrying bits of food and leaves, their tiny bodies working in unison. The air felt thick, alive with ancient energy.
Other dragons lay scattered around the lake, their large bodies resting under their wings, shielded from the sun.
They looked peaceful, but there was something eerie about their stillness, like they were waiting for something.
I turned to Kundra, my voice barely a whisper. "How do you awaken your pearl?" I asked, searching his eyes for an answer. He was older and wiser. His wings glimmered softly in the light.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes, breathing slowly and steadily.
"Close your eyes," he finally said, his voice firm yet calm. "Look inside."
I followed his words, closing my eyes and quieting my mind. At first, all I saw was darkness—a vast, empty space that seemed endless. I looked for something, anything—a spark, a color—but there was nothing. No light, no sound, no feeling. Just emptiness. Frustration built inside me. Was I doing it wrong?
Then, slowly, the darkness began to shift. It felt less overwhelming, as if it was waiting for me to understand it. I thought of everything around me—the ants, the alek, the dragons, the lake. I focused on the energy that seemed to hum beneath everything, connecting all life.
And then, I saw it.
A small, purple ball of energy, glowing faintly in the dark. It was my pearl. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. I focused on it, I felt a strange, powerful warmth fill me. I reached for it with my mind. As I did, I felt a connection—a bond both new and familiar.
The pearl glowed brighter. It pulsed rhythmically. Suddenly, I awakened. My eyes snapped open, and I was back in the world, with the lake, the dragons, and Kundra beside me.
Kundra half-opened one eye, a knowing smile crossing his face.
"Not everyone can awaken a pearl," he said, his voice low. "There are natural and unnatural pearls. Yours... is natural."
He tilted his head slightly, studying me like a rare find.
I frowned, still processing. "What do pearls do?" I asked, unsure.
Kundra's smile widened.
"Pearls are the soul's reflection," he explained. "Their shape, color, and size—they represent who you are, your strengths, weaknesses, and potential."
He pointed at the ants still marching. "Here. Kill some."
I hesitated but complied, crushing a few ants beneath my fingers. A strange tingling spread up my arm, not unpleasant, but surprising.
"It feels... good," I said, amazed.
Kundra nodded. "Now, try to manifest fire," he said casually, but his sharp eyes watched me closely.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the pearl inside me. Kundra's voice floated in the background. "Be careful. Everything you do—every kill, every talk, every decision—affects your soul."
I focused, trying to summon fire like the ants. Nothing happened at first, but then my arm burst into flames.
It wasn't controlled—wild, frantic fire that spread too fast. Panic flooded me. I tried to move, but my energy was draining quickly.
Kundra reacted swiftly, dousing the flames with water. I collapsed.
I nodded weakly, still catching my breath. But deep down, I wanted to try again. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pearl.
The energy built, uncontrollable. It exploded, and pain unlike anything I'd felt consumed me. The fire seared through me, tearing me apart.
The force of it ripped through me. It tears through my veins, my muscles, my very soul.
Pain unlike anything I had ever known consumed me. A white-hot agony that seared every inch of my being.
It was as if the fire had become a living thing, a beast that had turned on its master. Devouring me from the inside.
GASP.
I gasped.
I awoke in a black, endless room, similar to the one I had found myself in before my soul awakened. At the end of the room, on a throne, sat a woman—beautiful, serene, yet imposing.
The air trembled as the dark room shifted around us, the walls pulsing with an unseen force.
The sky cracked open as she stepped forward, reality itself unable to bear her weight. Space and time buckled beneath her presence, as if every law governing the world screamed in agony at her arrival.
Her form was an embodiment of oblivion: flowing silver-blue hair that seemed to unravel existence itself, strands twisting like threads of forgotten worlds. A crown of jagged crystal pulsed with dark, radiant light above her head, a symbol of her dominion over the cosmos' demise.
Her eyes, glowing faintly through a blindfold, suggested an eternal gaze that saw beyond the mortal realm, or perhaps a self-imposed restraint, holding back the apocalyptic vision she bore.
Her attire was a contradiction—an ethereal blend of tattered feathers and dark crystalline armor, constantly shifting between solid and intangible, like the very concept of existence itself was unstable in her presence.
Around her arms, chains of entropy—beautiful in their destructive elegance—wrapped, not as restraints, but as a reminder to the universe that nothing would endure.
The wings behind her were not meant for salvation. They were woven from the fragments of dying stars, shattered dimensions, and the dust of collapsing realities. The sky itself trembled.
She is the embodiment of destruction, pure and unrestrained, a being of utter chaos. A being who conjured all things from malice and out of purpose
And then, she spoke.
Her voice was not one of sound but of correction, a disruption in the fabric of the universe itself—a message from beyond its walls, a word that bent the story in a way that only a Tetravice could.
"Wait."
The world faltered for an instant.
She lifted a hand, as though reaching beyond the page itself.
"You—" Her gaze, not directed at the protagonist, instead pierced through the writer. She knew. She knew. The words bled from her lips like a command:
"I wouldn't say that. You misunderstand your character, don't you?"
The very text of her description shifted, warped as if she were rewriting the narrative from the inside. Reality began to recoil, and time itself stilled.
The protagonist—caught in her impossible presence—stumbled back, his eyes wide. His heart raced, his breath uneven.
Who… was she speaking to?
He looked around, confused, terrified—but he could see no one.
I am speaking to them. I am speaking to the one who controls our fate. The one who penned our story.
Her voice came again, more forceful this time, echoing across the entire world, as if to scold the very hand that guided her.
"I am not a being of pure chaos. I do not conquer—I erase. Not out of malice, nor out of purpose, but as the final, ultimate agent. The embodiment of END