Maltheris stood amidst the ruins of the enclave, his crescent-moon mask tilted slightly upward as if he were gazing at something only he could perceive. The air around him shimmered faintly, a distortion caused by the lingering effects of Aetherfang temporal instability. Yet despite the chaos unfolding before him, his demeanor remained eerily calm—almost serene. He was not merely an observer; he was the architect of this moment, the one who had orchestrated the threads of fate to converge here, in this fractured corner of existence.
And now, as the ritual began to take hold, Maltheris allowed himself a rare indulgence: reflection.
---
How quaint it was, Maltheris mused, watching the Church of Machines and Nature struggle against forces they barely understood. Their efforts were admirable, yes—but ultimately futile. Commander Lysandra fought with ferocious determination, her silver hair whipping wildly as she wielded Aetherfang with increasing recklessness. Each swing of the blade tore through shadows, dispersing them momentarily—but at what cost? Her movements grew erratic, her breathing labored, and her eyes glazed over as though she were losing herself within the weapon's unstable energy field.
Even Brother Thalos, whose prayers invoked blessings from Sylvara, seemed powerless to stem the tide. His staff, Verdant Resonance, pulsed with radiant green light, creating barriers that repelled shadowy tendrils and healing wounds inflicted upon their allies. But for every life saved, another fell victim to the encroaching darkness. And then there was Thalos's former student, now corrupted by devotion to the Devourer of Echoes. The irony wasn't lost on Maltheris. Here was a man who once sought enlightenment through faith, only to find madness instead.
"They cling to hope," Maltheris whispered softly, his voice layered with echoes that made the very air tremble. "Hope born of ignorance. They believe themselves saviors, yet they are blind to the truth."
He watched as Thalos attempted to shield Lysandra from the backlash of her own weapon, his emerald robes billowing dramatically as he chanted fervently. It was a noble gesture, but Maltheris knew better than anyone that nobility meant nothing when faced with inevitability. The commander's grip on *Aetherfang* faltered briefly, her body convulsing as the artifact's power surged uncontrollably. Reality buckled under the strain, causing objects nearby to flicker in and out of existence like ghosts caught between worlds.
"She will break soon," Maltheris murmured, almost pityingly. "And when she does, the consequences will ripple far beyond this enclave."
---
His gaze shifted to Evelyn Veylan, the reluctant captain whose arrival here had been foretold long before her birth. She stumbled through the wreckage, her violet eyes wide with terror as she fled alongside Spider—the masked assassin who fought valiantly to protect her. Their escape was desperate, fueled by instinct rather than strategy. Yet even as they ran, Maltheris saw the futility of their actions. The ritual had already begun, its influence spreading outward like ripples in a pond. There was no escaping it—not here, not anywhere.
"You carry fragments of destiny within you, Evelyn," Maltheris said aloud, though his words went unheard. "Fragments forged in the fires of time itself. You may think yourself free, but you are bound—as we all are—to the tapestry of fate."
He recalled her earlier defiance, the way she had challenged him with naive optimism. How charmingly human of her. In another life—in another timeline—she might have succeeded in altering the course of events. But not here. Not now. This was a realm where choices mattered little, where outcomes were predetermined by forces far older and more insidious than humanity could comprehend.
"The Whispering Rod brought you here," Maltheris continued, his tone contemplative. "But it is merely a catalyst—a spark igniting a flame that cannot be extinguished. Whether you live or die matters less than the role you play in unraveling the threads of time."
He paused, tilting his head slightly as though listening to whispers carried on the wind. The ritual's effects were growing stronger, seeping into the fabric of Port Solace itself. Shadows writhed across the streets, coalescing into grotesque shapes that loomed menacingly above terrified civilians. Buildings crumbled without warning, their foundations weakened by temporal distortions. Fires burned unnaturally hot, consuming everything in their path while leaving behind traces of ash that glowed faintly in the dark.
"This city will become a crucible," Maltheris declared, his voice carrying an eerie finality. "A testing ground for the Devourer of Echoes to reclaim what was lost. And when it awakens fully, the entire island—and perhaps the world beyond—will feel its presence."
---
For the first time since arriving in Port Solace, Maltheris felt a flicker of unease. A low hum resonated through the air, vibrating deep within his chest. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible—but it grew louder, more insistent, until it drowned out the sounds of battle entirely. The ground beneath his feet quaked violently, cracks spreading outward as though reality itself were tearing apart.
"What is this?" he muttered, his composure slipping ever so slightly. "This… anomaly…"
Then he looked up.
Above him—or rather, above the entire area of Port Solace—the sky had changed. What had once been a starless expanse dotted with storm clouds was now a swirling vortex of light and shadow, pulsating rhythmically like a living thing. Colors danced across its surface, shifting unpredictably between hues of crimson, gold, and pitch black. At its center lay a void—a gaping maw that seemed to devour everything it touched, including light itself.
It was the Sky of Truth.
Maltheris staggered backward, his confidence wavering for the first time. Of all the phenomena tied to the Temporal Sundering, the Sky of Truth was among the most feared. It represented the point of no return—the threshold beyond which time ceased to exist as a linear construct. Those who witnessed it firsthand often descended into madness, their minds unable to process the sheer scale of what they beheld.
"No…" Maltheris whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and dread. "Not yet. It's too soon…"
---
To those unfamiliar with the lore of Chrono Nexus, the Sky of Truth was merely a myth—a cautionary tale told to players daring enough to delve into forbidden knowledge. But to those who understood its significance, it was a harbinger of doom. The phenomenon marked the beginning of the Temporal Sundering, an event that shattered the boundaries between past, present, and future, plunging the world into chaos.
Its appearance signaled the collapse of causality—the unraveling of cause and effect until nothing remained but uncertainty. Memories became fragmented, identities blurred, and destinies intertwined in ways impossible to predict. Entire civilizations had fallen victim to its influence, their histories rewritten overnight. Some claimed it was the work of the Seven Shadows, seeking to reclaim dominion over creation. Others believed it stemmed from humanity's hubris, a consequence of meddling with forces beyond mortal comprehension.
Whatever the truth, one thing was certain: the Sky of Truth heralded catastrophe.
---
As Maltheris stared upward, his mind raced with possibilities. Had the ritual triggered this phenomenon prematurely? Or was it part of a larger plan—one orchestrated by entities even he dared not name? Either way, the implications were staggering. If the Sky of Truth spread unchecked, it would consume not just Port Solace, but the entire island—and eventually, the world.
"We underestimated them," Maltheris admitted bitterly, his fists clenched tightly. "The threads of fate… they've unraveled faster than anticipated."
He glanced toward Evelyn, who had collapsed onto her knees, staring up at the sky with uncomprehending horror. Spider knelt beside her, shielding her with his body as though he could protect her from the impending calamity. For all their struggles, they were still pawns in a game far greater than themselves.
"And yet…" Maltheris murmured, his lips curling into a faint smile despite the gravity of the situation. "Perhaps this is exactly what the Devourer intended. Perhaps chaos is the key to unlocking salvation."
With that thought lingering in his mind, Maltheris raised his arms, summoning tendrils of shadow that surged toward the vortex above. Whatever happened next, he vowed to bear witness—to stand at the precipice of destruction and see it through to the end.
---
End of Chapter