Darius could feel himself slipping.

  The question—"What is a hero?"—had been spoken, and the world around him was already dissolving. Not physically. Not like fire consuming a page. But in meaning. His memories blurred. His victories, his failures—moments that had once defined him were unraveling into static.

  He had sworn an oath.

  He had bled for the Empire.

  He had stood at the gates of war, bde in hand, ready to die for his people.

  But now—what was a hero? He tried to remember. Tried to form the words in his mind. But nothing came. IX'ZYRETH stood before him, watching. Waiting. The knights who had accompanied Darius were already on their knees, hands clutching their skulls. Their eyes were bnk. One by one, they fell silent. Not unconscious. Not dead. Just... empty. Darius gritted his teeth. No.

  He would not fall.

  He forced his mind to hold on—to grasp the memories before they dissolved completely. But the world was becoming quieter. The city of Solmaria blurred at the edges, as if it had been half-forgotten. Darius tried to breathe. Tried to think. Tried to be. But the question still echoed. What is a hero? And his mind had no answer.

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  A Moment Before Unraveling

  Then—something pushed back. Not from Darius. Not from the knights. From somewhere deeper. Something old. Something buried. The weight pressing against his mind staggered for a fraction of a second. IX'ZYRETH tilted its head. Paused. And in that pause—Darius moved. His sword sshed through the air. The steel passed through IX'ZYRETH's body. There was no wound.

  No resistance.

  But the moment his bde cut through—the silence trembled. Darius staggered backward, gasping for breath. He did not know why. He did not know what had just happened. But he was still here. He was still standing.

  And that was impossible.

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  IX'ZYRETH Observes the Impossible

  The High Inquisitor of Unbeing stood motionless. For the first time in eternity, it observed something it had not expected. Something that should not have been. It raised its hand again.

  A single finger pointed toward Darius.

  And this time, the question was different. "Who are you?" The words tore through reality. Darius' vision fshed with white void. The streets of Solmaria flickered between existence and erasure. The bodies of his men shimmered between being and never having been. And deep inside him, something resisted. Something fought back. He clenched his teeth. No.

  I am Darius Vaelthorne.

  The moment the thought formed, the weight of IX'ZYRETH's gaze increased. "That name does not exist," it whispered. And Darius screamed.

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  When Darius opened his eyes, the world was still. The Thanatarchy's presence was gone. The sky was not yet empty. The streets had not yet fallen silent.

  And his body... still existed.

  But something was wrong.

  He turned, looking at the knights who had fallen. Sir Alden was staring at him.

  Not speaking. Not moving. Just staring. Darius' stomach tightened. Alden did not blink. Did not breathe. And then, his lips parted. And in a voice that was not his, he spoke.

  "This is only the beginning."