"The gods want you. So, NightWhiskers' child… join us," Lucian said, his voice reverent.

"…What?" Ereskia exclaimed, stunned. For a moment, she honestly thought she'd misheard him.

Then her expression twisted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Lucian's eyes gleamed.

"You tried to kill our father," Ereskia snarled. "You lied to us, manipulated us for years, and now you're asking me to join your deranged little cult?! Ha! Are you serious right now? Do you even hear the bullshit coming out of your mouth?"

Lucian didn't react much. He simply shook his head, his expression maddeningly calm.

"I mean every word," he said softly.

Then he extended a hand toward her, his smile unnervingly gentle. "I hold no grudge against you, my dear child, or your brother, or even your father. I only did what I had to. I merely obeyed the will of higher beings because I wanted us all to be saved, to awaken to the truth of the world. But in the end, it's you who misunderstood me."

"Misunderstood? What? You're insane," Ereskia murmured.

Lucian continued, undeterred. "If you join us, the gods will grant you everything. Power beyond imagination, wealth without end, literally anything you've ever wanted! And when the day of reckoning comes, you will be spared. You will be saved!"

As he spoke, his voice grew fervent, his eyes shining with a fanatical gleam.

"All they ask for is your devotion. Your faith. Your love for the divine."

Ereskia stared up at him, disbelief tightening her throat. Fury churned beneath her ribs, red-hot and bitter.

"And why the hell would I believe a single word from a traitor like you?" she hissed.

Lucian didn't react. No anger, no guilt. Only a slow, unsettling smile.

"Then let me show you."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. One hand rose to the side, palm open in reverence, and the other pressed against his chest, where the twisted mark of the gods pulsed like a second heartbeat.

Then, his voice dropped to a near whisper, before shifting into a chant, a prayer.

"O' Heavenly Aphaeleon…

Grant me your light.

Let her see as I have seen.

Let her understand.

Show her the truth that burns behind the veil.

Let her eyes be opened."

The cross-and-wings sigil on his chest ignited with an unnatural radiance, dark and divine. It pulsed with both shadow and holiness, too terrible to be either.

Then he stepped forward and gently touched her forehead.

In that instant, the world vanished.

Ereskia was torn from the dungeon, flung into a storm of color and sound, her mind yanked into something else.

A vision.

And there…

She saw it too.

---------------------

There was a world.

Or rather—there used to be.

A vast, vibrant, achingly beautiful world, where land stretched endlessly beyond the horizon and oceans shimmered with boundless purity. Forests were teemed with life, skies danced with color, majestically beautiful regardless of night or day, and every living thing thrived in harmony. Nature, civilization, and magic intertwined in perfect balance.

It wasn't Terra, nor was it Faunae though.

It was somewhere else… a realm far beyond Ereskia's comprehension.

There, cities rose like dreams carved into reality, with towering spires of glowing crystal and enchanted stone, brushing the heavens themselves, built from luminous stone and enchanted glass. Magic was life itself, flowing freely and surging in everything. It was the very air, the very breath, woven into the bones of the world. Even the most ordinary people there had power that would make an S-rank adventurer back here pale in comparison.

It was, in Ereskia's eyes, a paradise.

Truly, a paradise. A golden utopia.

Until one day…

The sky tore open.

Without warning, the firmament split, shredded by thousands of dimensional tears carved into reality. And from those fractures, they came.

Aphaeleon.

From those cracks in reality, twelve beings descended, divine and terrible. Their shapes were human-like but obscured, haloed in light and shadow, their faces impossible to behold. Wings erupted from their backs, six, eight, even more, feathers shimmering with impossible hues or cloaked in consuming darkness.

And at their center stood one.

The leader.

He had twelve wings, six as pure as morning snow, six as black as void.

An embodiment of balance and tyranny, of holiness and horror.

Its presence alone bent reality. Space twisted around it. The air trembled. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.

And without a single word, it spoke.

Not with voice, but with will, with divine truth that pierced every mind, crushed every thought, and imprinted itself upon every soul below:

Submit to us. Obey us. Worship us, Aphaeleon!

Those who kneel shall be spared.

Those who resist… shall perish.

But of course, the people did not bow.

After all, they had their own gods, their own legacies, their own pride. To abandon all that, to kneel before an unknown pantheon demanding blind devotion, was something beyond ridiculous, something unthinkable!

And so, they resisted.

And in answer… the twelve-winged god raised its hand once more.

This time, to condemn.

And the end began.

An apocalypse.

In mere days, paradise became ruin.

Cities that had stood for millennia crumbled like sand. Meteors the size of mountains fell from the heavens, setting oceans ablaze, splitting continents. The skies wept fire, and hurricanes screamed across the land, tearing the world apart.

From every rift, divine soldiers rained down, winged and merciless, numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Their eyes burned with a devotion to destroy, to take life, to leave nothing behind. They killed all who resisted, sparing neither the elderly nor children.

Unless you surrendered to them.

Then, they might consider sparing you.

And in the end…

That world crumbled.

Gone was the paradise.

Now, only eternal hell remained.

Snap.

The vision shattered.

Ereskia gasped.

Her knees gave way, her breath caught in her throat, and she sweated like a pig. She staggered back, eyes wide with horror, the afterimage of burning skies and dying screams seared into her mind.