CHAPTER 385: CHAPTER 374: FOURTH DIMENSION

The air shimmered like glass under pressure. Darkness wasn’t empty anymore; it was breathing. It trembled as if aware of its own existence, stretching thin where light began to bleed through.

They stood together—Atlas, Lara, Aurora, Merlin, Gabriel, Eli—on the threshold of something too vast to name. The Fourth Layer.

And in that layered dark, light began to stir.

Far away—like a heartbeat seen through smoke—a sword ignited.

White flame. Pure. Trembling.

Michael.

Atlas felt it before he saw it; the pulse of divinity hitting his chest like thunder trapped under ribs. That light wasn’t gentle—it demanded, commanded, seared. Every instinct screamed to move toward it.

He raised his hand, voice rough from dust and disbelief. "Follow him!"

Their footsteps echoed hollow against a floor that wasn’t quite solid, wasn’t quite air. The darkness shifted under their feet as if they walked on the surface of a dream.

Each step should have closed the distance. It didn’t.

The light stayed the same—far, unreachable, suspended in an eternal midpoint. They walked until breath became ache, until the echo of their boots became a rhythm of desperation.

Then—

A sound like wings tearing through creation.

Michael landed beside them, fire glancing from his armor, eyes burning with the quiet gravity of one who has seen the core of Heaven.

Everyone froze.

Atlas turned slowly, heart punching against ribs. "Michael?"

But even as he said it, the light ahead still burned—unchanged, unbroken. Another Michael, far away, standing with sword raised.

Lara gasped. "That—can’t be possible."

Aurora’s hands trembled around her staff. "An illusion?"

Merlin squinted, madness and awe twisting in his grin. "No illusion holds fire that burns real."

Gabriel drew his blade, its edge whispering through the black air. "Then...Who are you?"

The Michael beside them didn’t flinch. "You called," he said simply. "And I came.... prophet..."

{{{{{He’s real. Tell him to ignite his sword.}}}}}

Atlas’s knuckles whitened around his axe. "If you’re real—ignite your sword."

The voice of the guide slithered inside Atlas’s mind, smooth as oil, sharp as bone.

Atlas hesitated, then nodded once. "Light it, Michael. Prove it."

The archangel tilted his head slightly, no fear in his face. With one motion, he unsheathed the sword and struck it against the unseen air.

Flame roared alive—radiant, devouring.

And from behind them—another roar.

They turned.

Far behind, the other Michael had done the same. Another sword. Another blaze.

Three lights. Three Michaels. One ahead, one behind. One with them..

The space between them warped, folding like the inside of a mirror.

The air thickened. Each breath turned heavy with heat and meaning.

Merlin’s voice cracked through the stunned silence. "Oh, now this is divine geometry...a theory, I only saw in ancient books ."

Aurora whispered, half to herself, "indeed ...it’s like our Past and future both alive."

And then Lilith’s voice came. Soft. Endless. Everywhere.

...You still see with mortal eyes....

The sound brushed their skin like smoke, echoing from no direction and every direction.

....This is no realm of time. You have crossed the first seam—the joining of the Fourth Layer with the Fourth Dimension. Where what was and what will be walk together, chained to their own reflection.....

Her voice grew quieter, deeper. "What you see ahead is your future. What burns behind you is your past. Between them, you must choose your path."

Then silence again. Only the hum of light, trembling like a living wound in the dark.

The group stood still, caught in that suspended world.

Atlas’s thoughts scraped raw inside him. ’Past. Future. Which one am I walking toward?’

He looked at the sword in Michael’s hand—the same fire that had once burned beside him in countless wars, the same light that had guided him through every impossible dawn.

And yet now, the same light behind them was his past. The same fire, already extinguished once, reborn again.

"Do you feel that?" Lara whispered.

He turned. "Feel what?"

"The air," she said, eyes wide. "It’s... it’s like it’s watching us."

She wasn’t wrong. The space around them pulsed with awareness, the way a heartbeat does just before it stops.

But he knew, it wasn’t watching us, what they were feeling were their own gaze.

Every step forward made the shadows breathe differently. Every step backward made the ground hum like glass about to shatter.

Eli crouched, fingertips grazing the black floor. "It’s a mess....how do we get out of this .. ."

"If, we are the present...then why don’t we trust ourselves, follow our future..." Gabriel echoed, skeptical.

"Yes." Eli straightened. "We’re walking on what time remembers about us."

Merlin chuckled under his breath, eyes glinting. "Then tread carefully. Memory breaks easily."

A wind moved—cold, scentless, whispering through their hair.

Atlas closed his eyes for a heartbeat. For an instant, he saw his mother—Lilith—her gaze from before, filled with both sorrow and omnipotence. ’Even the layers bend for those who love against the pattern.’

Her words clung like ash.

He remembered Lara’s hand in his. The promise under the tree. The laughter that once was simple before it was forbidden.

That was his past—burning behind him in Michael’s distant flame.

And ahead—the light of his future, waiting, unreachable.

He breathed, slow, deliberate. "Then this is the first test."

Aurora turned to him. "Test?"

He nodded. "Lilith’s voice said it. This... is how the fourth layer judges us. The Fourth Layer begins by splitting time itself. If we move wrong, we’ll walk into either oblivion or our own beginning."

Gabriel frowned. "And which one do we want?"

Atlas looked toward the burning light of Michael in the distance. "The one that keeps us whole."

They began walking again, slower this time, each step deliberate. Copying what their future self who were at front.

The ground rippled like water, reflecting faces that weren’t quite their own. Younger. Older. Versions of themselves that might have been—or still could be.

Lara saw herself as a child, tracing constellations in the sand. Then older, standing beside Atlas under the tree. Then—eyes gone hollow, staring at his grave.

She stumbled, gasping. "Atlas—"

He turned instantly.

She pointed. The image vanished before he could see it.

"Nothing," she said, voice trembling. "It’s nothing."

But her hand stayed in his longer than it needed to.

He squeezed it, grounding her, grounding himself. The warmth of her skin against his calloused palm was the only thing that still felt real.

Then Michael—the one beside them—spoke. "Once the almighty had voiced, hell has a place, where it had stored an inkling of his vision. "

His voice held no fear. Only recognition. "So this is how our Creator saw our world, seeing the past and future and present at the same time .."

Aurora’s lips tightened. "Will this plan really work though? We are just walking .."

Michael looked forward, toward his twin light burning ahead. "Gabriel has the blessing of luck, one of the many reasons he found our prophet in the right timing. I believe on him...."

The words sent a ripple through them all.

Merlin tilted his head. "Cryptic as ever."

But Atlas understood. His gut twisted with that same terrible clarity. "Yeah...I think our magic, our powers matters nothing here. We can only trust our luck here."

The guide within him whispered again, low and cold.

{{{{{....Now you know, how the three empresses operate, what you see right now, is what they see, and ever so vast than this....do you still want to follow through Odin’s deal? }}}}}

’what done is done....I don’t break contracts’

{{{{{You will die.}}}}}

He clenched his jaw. "...So be it."

{{{{{haaaa....be careful, you will not just see your past and future...time is not just back and forth, it has infinite directions...so be careful...}}}}}}

They stopped walking.

"Everyone," Atlas said, voice cutting through the whispering dark, "no matter what you see next—don’t look away."

The ground pulsed once beneath them—alive.

Then came the sound.

A distant murmur at first, then a roar. A thousand voices rising and falling like waves crashing in reverse.

From the blackness, shapes began to form—silhouettes of themselves. The past versions. Each one stepping forward, eyes hollow, faces cracked like old statues.

The child-Lara. The young Eli. Aurora before her first ascension. Merlin still unscarred by madness. Atlas before the war, before death, before Lilith.

Each figure carried a weapon of light and shadow both.

Lara whispered, horrified, "They look.... like us."

"No," Gabriel said, sword half-raised. "They are us...from a different point in time..."

The air split like a scream.

The mirror-selves moved.

And the battle began.

Every strike rang like a memory trying to correct itself. Steel against steel, breath against breath. The clash didn’t wound the body—it wounded the soul.

Atlas met his other self head-on. The other’s eyes blazed with all the rage and innocence he’d long buried.

He swung his axe, felt it connect—and felt the pain bloom in his own ribs as if he’d been struck too.

He staggered, gasping. "We share pain..."

Merlin laughed through blood. "Perfect symmetry!"

Eli, ducking a strike from her mirror, shouted, "Then to win, we have to converse, they are just us, only quieter..."

"Converse?" Aurora spat, parrying a blow that sang like a hymn. "You can’t converse your own ego, never!!"

Lara faced her own reflection—the younger, brighter version of herself. The child’s eyes shone with unbroken trust.

"I never wanted to lose atlas," she whispered.

The child smiled sadly. "Then why did you?"

The answer died in her throat.

Behind her, Atlas’s voice cut through the chaos. "Don’t fight them! Understand them, Eli is right, there must be a reason!"

He dropped his weapon, stepping toward his double even as the other raised a burning axe.

"I know what you’re afraid of," Atlas said softly. "I know what you couldn’t save. I know who you lost. We both are the same....."

The other Atlas hesitated, blade trembling.

Then, slowly, he lowered it.

One by one, the mirror-selves began to fade, dissolving into threads of light. The battlefield quieted, the hum of violence fading into stillness.

Only the sound of breathing remained—raw, human, sacred.

Lara dropped to her knees, tears streaking her dirt-smeared face. "What... what was that?"

"The first test," Atlas said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Lilith wasn’t testing our strength. She was testing our own acceptance."

Aurora exhaled shakily. "Of what?"

"Of ourselves."

The darkness shifted again. The air warmed. The two Michaels—the one near them and the one far ahead—blurred, their outlines merging into one.

The light grew brighter until it washed the world clean.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Then a single feather drifted down, burning softly as it fell.

Michael’s voice—now unified, whole—filled the space.

"You have chosen truth over denial. Now the Fourth Layer truly opens."

The ground cracked, radiant lines spreading outward like veins of gold through obsidian.

Atlas turned to his companions. "We move...."