(Point of View: ???)
The full moon hung inert in the vast black canvas of the night sky like a polished silver disc, watching us with cold indifference. Its spectral light spilled over the huddled rooftops of the Great Village of the Four Roads, sculpting the landscape into sharp angles and treacherous shadows, where the daytime bustle had surrendered to silence. The night wind—my eternal confidant, my invisible accomplice—slid its icy fingers between the worn tiles, intoning a silent sutra that accompanied my important purpose.
Every leap I took through the air was like a syllable in that dark, star-strewn poem. Light and weightless, I became a shadow dancing on other shadows; my feet barely kissed the surfaces before propelling me onward—a fleeting disturbance in the endless flow of time.
My destination was an unassuming inn nestled near the beating heart of the village square. Behind its stone-and-wood walls dwelled another anomaly: the one they called Lexo.
That human's name, like the aura he exuded, struck a discordant note in the cosmic harmony—a mismatched chord reverberating with the ominous weight of prophecy and the unmistakable stench of imbalance. The Legacy of the Fallen Star—a vortex of antagonistic powers, a singularity born before its time, threatening to tear apart the delicate tapestry of destiny woven over eons.
My directive, etched into my soul by orders from the Ancients, was clear: observe, measure the magnitude of this aberration, and if the threat to the Great Plan is confirmed, proceed with neutralization. As the Sixth Seat among the Children of Twilight, deviation is not an option; it is heresy that must be purged.
My final descent was as gentle as a feather settling on soft black velvet. I landed on the eaves directly facing the designated window—a dark, hidden rectangle in the inn's façade. My senses, honed by years of discipline and the caress of astral winds, spread out like an invisible net, probing the vital energies within.
There, I saw the furious yet contained flame of a man—once a mighty hero—now reduced to embers of past glory, burning beneath the ashes of his own resignation. I saw the maternal light: serene, noble, a beacon of healing and defense, almost blinding in its purity yet with a core of cold steel and an unexpected bitter note… inherited, I presumed, from her blood. I caught a glimpse of the earthy, primal echo in the silent, suited guardian, whose form I could only see from behind as he massaged the abomination—a pillar of brute force and unwavering loyalty.
And at the center of this incongruous constellation was the child in question—the anomaly. A chaotic whirlwind of essences: the sweet, intoxicating aroma of newly awakened Chronos; the bitter, pungent aftertaste of Spatium; the bright clarity of maternal Light; the latent seed of primordial Darkness, waiting to bloom; and, beneath it all, the incandescent embers of the four fundamental elements. It was overwhelming—a cosmic error crying out for correction.
I tensed, preparing for the final crossing, the leap across the moonlit void that separated me from my prey. Then the night itself seemed to hold its breath. A presence. New, undetectable, impossible. My instincts screamed an alarm just before the figure took shape.
It emerged not from the shadows but as if it were the shadow itself, coalescing on a nearby roof—a slender, feminine silhouette clad in an impeccably tailored black suit that seemed to devour the pale moonlight. Her face, hidden behind a mask polished like ivory, depicted the mischievous smile of a monkey. The dissonance between the artificial joy of her mask and the lethal stillness in her gaze, the almost physical pressure radiating from her, was deeply disturbing.
"Saturn," the voice from behind the mask rang out—a perfectly tuned instrument, neutral yet sharp, each syllable cutting through the air like shards of obsidian. "Sixth of the Fallen. Your presence here… is unwelcome."
My body reacted before my mind did, adopting a defensive stance as the wind swirled around me like an invisible cloak. I recognized the deep, ancient resonance in her energy—a signature that spoke of forgotten power. Legends, whispered among the highest circles of my order, told of beings forged from primordial deities who never quite achieved full awakening. They were said to be myths, echoes of ancient forces, ancestral guardians denied the final spark of Legacy.
Facing such a being—a lesser deity guarding the epicenter of the disturbance—was a challenge in itself. I cleared my throat and spoke, "Mask of the Monkey, the famous Monkey. I see the Guild's archives are more complete than they appear." I forced my voice to remain calm, adhering to protocol even as my heart hammered. "Myths indeed walk tonight. I never imagined the decadent Guild would stoop to using such… relics… as guardians."
The masked figure remained impassive for a moment, then I sensed a hardening in her aura. "Some children," she replied coolly, "require specialized supervision—a level of care that beings like yours cannot comprehend. State your purpose here, Daughter of Twilight. Now. And perhaps," her tone hinted at a threat, "your inevitable retreat will be less… painful."
I straightened, letting the wind tease the edges of my hood. Retreat was not an option—not yet. "I come as an observer," I declared with the authority my position granted me. "To assess the one who disturbs the Great Balance—the false Legacy whose very existence threatens to unravel eons of sacred planning."
"Balance is a delicate dance, not a static state," Monkey replied, and I felt an invisible barrier close around the inn—a subtle distortion in the air that smelled faintly of turned earth and compressed space. "And observation," she continued, "is usually the prelude to interference. But there will be no interference tonight."
The air crackled with contained energy. The moon hid behind a fleeting cloud, as if averting its gaze from the imminent conflict. Words had run dry. Only the dance of destruction remained.
I attacked without warning. A swift flick of my fingers sent forth a blade of pure wind, dense as steel, slicing through the night. Simultaneously, I wove threads of gravity beneath her feet, aiming to crush her against the roof, to pin her as a stationary target.
Monkey's reaction was instantaneous—almost precognitive. The roof didn't sink or crack. Instead, a pillar of smooth black rock erupted from the very depths of the building, intercepting my wind blade in a burst of sparks and displaced air. At the same time, she traced intricate mudras in the moonlight, and the surrounding tiles rose like scales on a dragon, forming makeshift shields. Dozens of sharp limestone pinnacles sprouted like the teeth of a ravenous shark, aiming to impale me from below. Earth! Her primordial affinity was that—an immovable force, the patience of stone, the contained fury of a mountain.
The battle became a chaotic whirlwind. My attacks flowed—fluid and unpredictable—as I exploited the freedom of the air and manipulated gravity. Cutting gusts tore at her rocky defenses; sudden gravitational wells tried to unbalance her or deflect her projectiles; powerful leaps defied logic, propelled by hurricane-force winds emanating from me. It was a deadly dance, spinning on a stage of frozen time.
She countered with brutal efficiency—walls of rock rose like defensive thoughts, fragments of tile were launched with the precision of a master archer, and the very ground undulated and cracked beneath my feet, attempting to trap and slow me down. It was the ethereal agility of the wind against the unyielding solidity of the earth.
For a fleeting instant—one heartbeat—I thought I had the advantage. Gravity was my ally, my secret weapon against her earthbound power. I intensified the pressure around her, feeling her movements slow ever so slightly, her rock defenses forming with a barely perceptible delay.
I pressed on relentlessly—a storm of wind and invisible weight, seeking the final crack, the definitive opening. A concentrated blast of hurricane-force wind shattered one of her largest stone shields, exposing her for a millisecond. That was my chance. I gathered all my power, forming a sphere of intensified gravity—a miniature black hole ready to collapse onto her center…
Then, the universe tilted on its axis.
Monkey stopped her retreat. The aura of solid earth around her receded, replaced by something new—an energy that pulsed with life. It smelled of damp earth after rain, of chlorophyll and decay, acrid and penetrating, vaguely reminiscent of Spatium's bitterness, yet wild and untamed. The air turned a sickly phosphorescent green, a light that throbbed with its own dark life.
"You underestimate the hidden gardens that weave through our reality, Sixth," the Mask said. For the first time, her tone lost its neutrality. There was a hint of cruel amusement—perhaps even primordial joy at the unleashing of nature.
Vita una est, vita oritur, rerum sator, evigila tua lethargia, Biotic!
Barely a syllable had left her lips when the roof beneath her exploded—not with rock or earth, but with a violent eruption of unnatural plant life. Vines as thick as pythons, covered in dagger-like thorns, lashed out at me, whipping through the air like living whips. Simultaneously, thousands of gnarled, twisted roots burst forth from the walls and tiles like tentacles from an underground kraken, seeking to entrap my limbs. Fleshy flowers of vibrant color and hypnotic patterns opened at lightning speed, releasing clouds of iridescent spores that distorted light and air, clouding my senses and inducing a nauseating vertigo.
A cold, primal terror crawled up my spine. This wasn't just Earth magic—it was [Biotic] at its most aggressive, a manifestation of life itself gone wild. The Legacy of Tertius, the Third Realm—Earth and Life! The synergy was a nightmare come to life.
The battle instantly became a desperate struggle for survival. I stopped attacking and focused solely on dodging and deflecting. My wind blades barely managed to slice through the thickest vines before more took their place. My gusts dispersed the hallucinogenic spores, but new flowers bloomed continuously. I manipulated gravity frantically, trying to crush the emerging roots, but they were tenacious, driven by an unearthly life force.
The raw power behind Monkey's response was catastrophic—a tidal wave of green, thorny mana threatening to overwhelm me. My control over Air and Gravity frayed under the relentless pressure, and my mana reserves plummeted.
Just as I was summoning my last strength for a final, desperate maneuver—a total gravitational implosion around me, a suicidal tactic that might either obliterate her or disintegrate me—a new pressure descended upon the battlefield. It made the vegetal fury of the Mask seem like a mere summer breeze.
It was darkness.
Deep, absolute darkness. Not the absence of light, but a tangible presence—an ancient, powerful void that seemed to absorb moonlight, sound, heat, and even hope. My own shadow affinity paled in comparison. It came from a figure now visible on a nearby roof—a figure who had been watching all along, hidden even from my sharpened senses. The old man. Gustav. The Grandmaster of the Guild. His aura was like a black hole of unfathomable power, a void threatening to swallow reality itself.
Our gazes met across the chaos. His piercing, emotionless eyes bore into mine—not with anger or disdain, but with cold, measured recognition. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised a wrinkled hand and snapped his fingers.
There was no explosion. No bolt of energy. The world simply… twisted. Reality bent and groaned under an invisible, irresistible will. I felt every atom of my being caught and crushed by a cosmic force. It wasn't a physical blow—it was an existential nullification. I lost control of my powers, of the wind, of gravity—even of my own body—for an eternal instant. I was hurled backward like a rag doll, my lungs emptying in a silent gasp, and I landed with a brutal impact on a roof several streets away.
The pain was sharp, but the terror was paralyzing. I struggled to my feet, bruised and broken in spirit. The old man hadn't attacked again; he remained motionless—a dark silhouette against the indifferent moon. His message was clear: This is over. You are nothing. The Mask of the Monkey was still, and the green tide of [Biotic] had calmed, waiting silently—a deadly garden poised to strike at the slightest command.
My mind, trained to analyze tactics even in defeat, assessed the situation in a fraction of a second. More figures, each wearing a different mask, emerged from the shadows, watching silently. Masks—plural—and the Grandmaster's power defied comprehension. The observation mission had ended in the most humiliating way possible. Neutralizing the anomaly now seemed like a suicidal fantasy.
I activated the stealth crystal hidden in my gauntlet—a black gem that heated instantly and released a dense cloud of opaque, distorting smoke charged with energy that confused magical senses. It was my last card, my escape route. Channeling my remaining mana, I summoned a gust of wind to propel myself and used gravity to accelerate my fall into the dark alleys below. I disappeared into the labyrinthine shadows of the village. The retreat was not just strategic—it was my only option for survival. I had severely underestimated the Legacy's protection. The Great Plan… needed a fundamental revision. And I had to inform the other Seats immediately.
(Gustav's Point of View)
I watched that black smoke gradually disperse in the night breeze. There she was—Saturn, the sixth among the self-proclaimed Fallen—skilled with Air and Gravity, but undoubtedly too impulsive. Despite our skepticism, we managed to contain her. I had anticipated her move—or at least the possibility of an intervention from the Children of Twilight. Their interest in my grandson was logical, given his power and the ancient prophecies that both sides interpreted differently.
"Good job containing her, Monkey," I said, breaking the silence that had settled over the now-quiet rooftops. The Mask bowed slightly, the last wisp of green [Biotic] energy fading from her aura like morning mist. Her smile now appeared a touch more satisfied. "She underestimated our preparedness, Grandmaster. And the versatility of the gardens."
"Arrogance often blinds even the most powerful," I agreed. "A lesson that the hooded figure in the darkness still seems unable to learn." I glanced into the shadows where Saturn had vanished. "But her audacity confirms our suspicions. They aren't mere fanatics hiding in the woods—they possess power, organization, and the will to act."
"It was wise to bring the Trades Fair forward and relocate the young Legacy and his… picturesque entourage… here," Monkey commented. "Extracting him from the isolation of Serena Village has provided us with this controlled scenario for interception."
"A necessary maneuver," I confirmed. "But now, Four Roads becomes a focal point. Security must be absolute." I made a subtle gesture, and three more figures emerged from the deepest shadows—identical black suits and unique masks: a copper raven, an old silver wolf, and a golden serpent. My other eyes and hands in the world. More Masks loyal to the Guild, loyal to me. "Raven, Wolf, Serpent—Saturn has fled. Track her. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. I want full intelligence: her routes, contacts, and base of operations. I want to know the structure of the Children of Twilight from the inside." The three nodded in unison and melted back into the shadows.
I surveyed the damage: rooftops shattered by the intense battle, loose tiles, scars from rock and thorns—silent witnesses to a conflict that never officially took place. Then I turned to the last figure who remained—a nondescript, androgynous silhouette watching from a nearby gargoyle. The Shark Mask, deep blue like the abyss.
"Shark," I ordered. "Right now I need your specialty." I fixed him with an intense look. "Restore this reality to its pre-attack state."
Shark nodded wordlessly. He raised a pale, bony hand, and I felt the familiar but alien vibration of Chronos emanate from him—cold, precise, immensely controlled, like the ticking of a cosmic clock. In an instant, time around the combat zone visibly rewound. Broken tiles snapped back into place, burn and frost marks vanished, withered vines shrank until they were gone, and dust settled in undisturbed patterns. In less than a minute, the entire battlefield we had witnessed had reverted to its former state, bathed in the innocent light of the moon, as if the brutal battle had been nothing more than a forgotten nightmare.
Perfect. Discretion was paramount.
I turned my gaze south, toward the distant Serena Village, but my thoughts were here—at this crossroads of life and danger, and, above all, on the child sleeping in the inn, oblivious to the secret wars waged in his name. The game had changed irrevocably. The stakes were higher than ever. And I, Gustav, Grandmaster of the Guild, intended to control the board. Though Lexo—my grandson—remained the most powerful… and the most unpredictable… piece of all.