The room held its breath.

  Celeste’s words—To occupy your realm—hung in the air like a drawn blade.

  Mike choked mid-sip, spraying beer down the front of his shirt.

  Michelle staggered backward until her shoulders hit the wall, eyes wide and unfocused.

  And Eric… Eric went the color of old paper, pupils tight with horror.

  “How bad are we talking?” Eric managed, voice too thin for a man his size.

  Celeste turned her head toward him, eyelids heavy, exhaustion and alcohol making her expression looser, more unfiltered. She stared straight into him with solemn, drunken clarity.

  “My… former expedition leader,” she said, voice slurring at the edges, “the one you hurled back through the gate—he is a wyvern.”

  The blood drained out of Eric’s face so fast Mike actually reached out like he thought his friend might faint.

  Eric blinked once.

  Then he fully fell on his ass.

  “Sub?” he croaked.

  Mike exhaled sharply. “Dude, is this really the time to be talking about bondage—?”

  “Brute,” Celeste corrected, wobbling.

  Eric dropped back on his hands and groaned at the ceiling like God Himself had personally handed him a losing lottery ticket.

  He rolled to his feet—poorly—and power-walked to the box of beer with a haunted purpose. Celeste tracked him with her eyes the whole time, like watching a wounded animal limp toward a watering hole.

  Michelle pressed a palm to her forehead, trying to steady herself. “Okay—okay—wait. Hold on. Wyverns? Brutes? What does any of that mean? Can someone explain what the hell is happening?!”

  Eric cracked the beer and threw back half of it before turning around.

  “Michelle,” he said flatly, pointing the can at her, “are you seriously playing the ‘this can’t be real’ card—?”

  He gestured to Celeste’s ears.

  Celeste slapped his hand away, offended. “Rude.”

  “Okay, okay, okay—focus,” Mike said, wiping beer off his chin. “Eric. Brutal honesty. What exactly are we looking at?”

  Eric closed his eyes and gave a long, steady exhale. “The end of the world.”

  The silence that followed was so absolute it felt like the apartment walls were listening.

  Mike processed that. Blinked. Then softly—like he was afraid of the answer:

  “…Can you fight back?”

  Eric stared at his beer like it might provide advice. “Once upon a time? Yeah. I could put a dent in whatever they threw. Enough to make ‘em think twice.”

  Mike leaned forward. “And now?”

  Eric laughed. It wasn’t humor. It was broken glass in sound form.

  “Now? I can’t generate mana. At all. I barely survived that guy in armor playing with me. No mana, no training for fifteen years, and—” he gestured weakly at himself “—a bloodstream made of Miller Lite and regret? I’m not winning shit.”

  Celeste’s face softened—just slightly—as she swayed in place. The alcohol kept peeling away her guard layer by layer, revealing something rawer underneath. Sadness. Guilt. Maybe longing.

  She reached down, tapping a pattern along the rivets of her leg plating.

  A chime sounded.

  Then another.

  Then a third.

  A soft tear in the air opened just above her thigh plate, swirling with blue-and-silver mana.

  Michelle let out a yelp.

  Mike jumped.

  Eric jolted so violently he nearly dropped his beer.

  “You have a dimstor on you?” Eric exclaimed.

  Celeste nodded proudly—sort of—her head bobbing out of rhythm. “Small one. Enough for mission supplies. Malachius required it.”

  “Malachius?” Michelle echoed. “Who’s that?”

  Celeste blinked slowly. “…The wyvern.”

  Michelle’s voice cracked. “You still haven’t told me what a wyvern is.”

  Eric rubbed his temples. “Imagine a lizard that really wanted to be a dragon.”

  Mike squinted. “Is that… a joke…?”

  Eric’s smile was small, sad, and scary. “No. No, it’s not.”

  He sat back down on the floor with two extra beers, leaning against the couch. Celeste’s presence hovered slightly behind him, like a shadow with gold eyes.

  “Remember that movie in the early 2000s?” Eric said to Mike. “The one with dragons coming out of the mines in the UK?”

  “Reign of… Blazes?”

  “Fire, but close. Wyverns are like that. But meaner. Faster. And aligned to one of seven mana types, traditionally: fire, water, lightning, earth, wind, and the spiritual ones—chaos or holy.”

  Mike let out a low whistle. “Well shit.”

  He turned to Celeste. “So you’re wind-aligned?”

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  Celeste lifted her chin with tipsy dignity. “Correct.”

  "Well then Miss Wind-Wizard Elf lady who could definitely kick my ass, I'm Michael Jake Growler, and it's a pleasure to not be killed by you"

  She bowed—still sitting. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Michael Jake Growler. I am Celeste Giara Sypleria.”

  Mike puffed up slightly. “Ma’am.”

  Michelle elbowed him.

  Michelle stepped forward, voice shaky. “And I’m Michelle Calder. Nice to… I don’t know. Meet you? Survive you? Something.”

  Then she turned to Eric.

  “So you’re… what? Some chaos superhero from another world?”

  Eric shook his head. “No. I’m from this one. I just went… elsewhere. And I’m not chaos-aligned.”

  Michelle frowned. “Then what’s your element?”

  Mike, whose alcohol tolerance was rapidly failing, blurted: “Yeah, what are you? ‘Cause you ain’t water, fire, wind—”

  Eric cut him off.

  “My power is… the Void.”

  The room stilled.

  "The what?" Mike asked, confusion pinching his voice like shoes yet to be broken in.

  “I destroy. I devour. I consume.” His eyes shifted to Celeste—pain buried deep. “Good, bad, beautiful or ugly… I unmake.”

  A single tear slid down his cheek.

  Celeste stopped breathing for a full second.

  Something in her expression cracked—just a little.

  “Oryx,” she whispered, voice soft and mournful, “you….”

  He looked away.

  “I may have something that can help,” she murmured. “It won’t fix anything. But it can give us a shot.”

  Eric, Michelle, and Mike all said the same thing in perfect confused unison:

  “Us?”

  Celeste reached back into the dimstor and pulled out:

  two rune-inscribed rings, each with a singular fitting with a water and lightning shard embedded in them and a small tube filled with swirling black powder that behaved like living soot

  Eric leaned forward. “What are these?”

  “The rings,” Celeste said, holding one up and nearly poking her own cheek with it, “they scan mana. Give real-time readouts. A newly developed tool of the Empire”

  “Empire tech?” Eric asked.

  Celeste shushed him aggressively.

  Mike pointed at the tube. “And that thing?”

  “Oh! That’s a mana supercharger for when you are captured. It makes your mana explode.”

  Eric’s entire soul left his body. “Why would you HAND ME THAT?!”

  “All you do,” Celeste slurred, “is eat it.”

  Mike and Michelle exchanged the dear God she wants him to kill himself look.

  Eric popped the lid—

  Celeste smacked his hand. “I meant devour it, you idiot.”

  “Oh thank God.”

  Eric summoned a small void-construct plate, set the container on it—

  —and the world pulsed.

  Unlight rippled from him.

  Wind exploded outward.

  Everyone’s hair flew back as if caught in a maelstrom

  The floorboards vibrated.

  Cans and loose trash and paper flittered about like birds in a typhoon.

  Then, as fast as it started, it ended.

  Celeste slipped one ring onto her finger and tossed the other to Eric.

  Then she reached deep into the dimstor again—and withdrew a small, three-sided crystal device, shimmering with lightning, ice, and holy tint.

  Mike blinked. “What’s that?”

  Celeste set it gently on the coffee table.

  “This device reads the rings… and displays the data externally. A status reader.”

  Michelle stepped closer. “Like… like a state sheet?”

  Celeste nodded once—and raised her hand over it.

  Light shot upward through her palm, forming a holographic projection.

  And her information appeared in a rectangular pane of mixed lights.

  The holographic projection stabilized above Celeste’s hand—crisp lines of light forming symbols, runes, then readable text. It shimmered like a sheet of living glass.

  Michelle gasped.

  Mike whispered a reverent, terrified, “Holy shit…”

  Eric went still, breath caught halfway in his chest.

  And Celeste… Celeste just blinked up at it like she’d forgotten it could even do this.

  CELESTE GIARA SYPLERIA — STATUS

  Light-blue glyphs scrolled downward.

  Name: Celeste Giara Sypleria

  Race: Aetherion (Aetheri)

  Age: 29

  Height: 5'2"

  Weight: 115 lbs

  Hair Color: Brown

  Eye Color: Gold

  Alignment: Wind

  Role/Caste: Imperial Vanguard Scout

  Current Mana: 14% / 100%

  Maximum Output: 25% (Capped: Harness Interference)

  Status Effects:

  Mana Depletion — Severe

  Output Restriction — 75% sealed

  Cognitive Strain — Moderate

  Vitality Drain — Active

  Skill Access — Partial Lock

  Skills:

  Windstrike Arsenal

  Mana Enhancement

  Mana Detection

  ???

  ???

  Stats:

  STR: B

  DEF: D

  AGI: B

  MANA: C

  MENT: B

  The projection faded slowly, the last line dissolving like mist.

  No one spoke.

  Michelle’s mouth worked silently for a moment. “That—That’s—Celeste, that’s like—actual—stats. Like a video game.”

  “Empire logistics,” Celeste corrected primly… and then hiccuped.

  Mike stared at the space where the projection had vanished. “You’re tellin’ me you do all that at twenty-five percent?”

  Celeste nodded once, already reaching for the coffee table and tapping the device. “Now you.”

  Eric froze.

  His pulse thudded once in his throat—heavy, reluctant.

  “Eric?” Mike said, voice softer than usual.

  He didn’t move.

  Celeste tilted her head. “You are afraid.”

  He swallowed. “…Yeah. Kinda.”

  Michelle stepped closer, arms crossed but tone gentle. “Hey. If we’re in this together, you need to stop holding back. We need to know what you can do.”

  His eyes shut tight, jaw clenched.

  “Michelle… I don’t want you two to see this.”

  “We already saw worse today,” Mike said. “Hell, you drank a magic bomb ten seconds ago.”

  Celeste stared at him with something complicated—fear, hope, grief. “If you are who I truly believe you to be,” she said softly, “you must.”

  He took a slow breath.

  Then another.

  And finally, he reached his arm out, hand trembling just slightly, and placed his palm above the pyramid.

  The device hummed.

  The light shot upward.

  And the projection glitched.

  The hologram crackled like a screen trying to render something it wasn’t built to display. Runes misaligned. Colors warped. A low, wrong hum filled the air—like metal grinding inside the walls.

  Michelle backed up instinctively.

  Mike’s fingers curled tight around his half-finished beer.

  Celeste’s eyes widened—gold pupils tightening to thin slits.

  “Oryx,” she whispered, “what—what is—”

  The projection snapped into focus with a violent flash.

  ERIC MCGABE — STATUS

  Name: Eric McGabe

  Race: Human — Ascendant

  (text flickers, distorts, shifts into unreadable symbols)

  Age: 34

  Height: 6'1"

  Weight: 170 lbs

  Hair Color: Brown

  Eye Color: Hazel

  Alignment: VOID

  Class: UNKNOWN

  Current Mana: 0.9% / 100%

  Maximum Output: 15%

  (Higher output locked — Seal of Bahamir Level 2 required)

  Status Effects:

  Seal of Bahamir — Level 1: Unlocked

  Seal of Bahamir — Level 2: Locked

  Seal of Bahamir — Level 3: Locked

  Void Suppression — Active

  Memory Fragmentation — Severe

  Mana Generation — Inhibited

  Void Instability — Dormant

  Abilities:

  Hunger of the Void — Mastery 3%

  Void Resonance (sealed)

  Annihilation Field (sealed)

  Zone Command (sealed)

  Hunting Instinct (fragmented)

  ???

  Stats:

  STR: C

  DEF: E

  AGI: C

  MANA: F

  MENT: F

  The projection flickered violently and then stabilized—barely.

  Mike’s beer slipped from his fingers and rolled across the carpet.

  Michelle’s breathing hitched audibly. “Eric… what the hell…”

  Celeste was stone still.

  Not breathing.

  Not blinking.

  Not moving.

  Terror crawled slowly across her face.

  Not fear of Eric.

  Fear of recognition.

  “…Seal of…” she whispered. “You have Seals....from His Majesty?” her eyes dropped to the line showing his sealed abilities. “And THREE of them!?”

  The shaking in her voice wasn’t subtle.

  “He killed you,” she whispered. “Lord Bahamir killed you. I saw your name burned from the Pillars of Legacy. You were executed. The last of your kind. We mourned. I— I mourned.”

  Eric’s eyes dropped.

  “I did die,” he said quietly. “Or… something close.”

  Celeste covered her mouth, eyes glimmering with tears. “You ran away. You ran away from our fight and you hid like a coward.”

  Michelle looked between them helplessly. “Eric… what are you?”

  The hologram guttered one last time—

  VOID

  ERROR

  UNREADABLE

  ASCENDANT

  UNMAKER

  RESTRICTED

  DORMANT

  PANZER—

  [DATA CORRUPTED]

  —and then it collapsed into darkness.

  The room was silent.

  Eric exhaled shakily. “That’s… me.”

  Mike finally spoke, voice hoarse. “…Dude.”

  Celeste lowered her hand, eyes fixed on him with something between awe and heartbreak. “Oryx…will you abandon this world too.”

  She swallowed, anger returning to her voice and bathing it in fire.

  “ Or will you be the one to save it?”