A streak of crimson light flashed across Roze's vision, and in the next breath, he was no longer in Celvarn.
The marble floor beneath him glowed faintly with golden sigils, spiraling like veins of ancient power. The air shimmered, heavy with presence — something beyond mortal comprehension.
Roze took a steady step forward. Before him rose a colossal chamber, its dome lost in swirling clouds of silver and black. Along the curved wall stood twenty seats, carved of different materials — crystal, bone, obsidian, flame, mist — and upon them sat twenty figures, each radiating an aura so distinct that the air itself seemed to bend around them.
Roze's crimson eyes scanned them one by one.
On the first throne sat Amandon, a young man with dual-colored eyes — one golden, one black — his body wreathed in alternating bands of light and shadow.
Next, Wisind, a girl with green hair that dripped like venom, her fingers glistening with poison.
Scaret, armored and sharp-eyed, his aura blazing with an unshakable sense of justice.
Veloina, cloaked in mist, her form half-visible, half-lost to haze.
Kaihold, pale as snow, ice crystals forming where he stood.
Ajaos, eyes closed, breathing slowly, his aura dreamlike.
Soverina, silver scales faint on her arms — the reverent of dragons.
Jiliana, who pulsed with the energies of fire, water, earth, and air.
Then Agarias, who Roze already knew — the reverent of knowledge.
Beside him sat Sinial and Sebas, twins whose hands joined together sprouted small vines of glowing nature.
Musan, calm as always — the reverent of souls.
Nianos, with catlike ears twitching lightly, tail flicking as he grinned lazily.
Mysialsia, beautiful and haunting — human desire incarnate.
Hexos, his eyes holding both warmth and sorrow — emotion's keeper.
Hanabi, radiant as gold and delicate as a painting, reverent of beauty.
Selina, cloaked in black silk, eyes like void — death's reverent.
Melancholy, silent and sunken-eyed — despair's manifestation.
Theodre, whose very outline flickered like a shifting clock — time's master.
Sephnir, shrouded in feathers, silent and raven-eyed.
And finally, Heath, the reverent of music, whose every movement released a faint melody.
Roze let out a low whistle. "Quite the gathering," he murmured.
Hanabi smiled faintly, her voice like the ringing of glass. "We meet again, Roze Apocalypse."
Roze's eyes hardened. "Oh, I remember you, Hanabi. The goddess of beauty herself. You blessed me once, didn't you?" His lips curved into a smirk. "And thanks to that blessing, my life was destroyed over and over again. Beautiful, indeed."
Hanabi tilted her head, lips curving in amusement. "Beauty and ruin often walk hand in hand. You of all people should know that."
Before Roze could retort, a voice deeper than thunder rolled through the chamber.
"Roze Apocalypse."
Amandon rose from his throne, light and darkness swirling around him in a perfect, violent balance.
"I am Amandon, reverent of light and darkness — and the leader of all Reverents. Welcome to our palace. You must already know your role."
Roze folded his arms, his tone half mocking. "Yes, yes… to make people bow before you all, to serve as your hand, your weapon, your spectacle — whatever the word of the gods demands."
Amandon's lips curved faintly. "You speak as if you haven't already begun doing that."
Roze's smirk faded. The truth stung, and Amandon's smile deepened.
"But it's not only you, Roze. We have summoned six individuals, each touched by our essence. One, however…" Amandon's gaze darkened. "...has already perished. By your hand."
Roze's expression remained unreadable.
"He was weak," Amandon continued. "Even Sephnir abandoned him. But the rest remain. Allow me to introduce them."
With a wave of Amandon's hand, the air rippled and four figures stepped out of swirling portals behind Roze.
The first was tall, his black hair streaked with silver, his crimson eyes sharp — Vyralthus Vlaskos, the exiled prince.
Beside him stood a man draped in regal red, fangs faintly visible beneath a half-smile — Lucius Nocturne, the bloody dracula.
Next came a serene figure with a white robe and a golden staff — Hikari Takahashi, the priest of Amandon himself.
And finally, a young man in silver armor stepped forward, his eyes blazing with conviction — Shin Yamahara, prince of justice.
The moment Shin's gaze met Roze's, his lip curled. "You…"
Roze smirked slightly. "Ah, the prince of justice himself."
Shin stepped closer, voice cold and sharp. "Justice doesn't exist in your world, murderer. You call yourself king, but you're just a killer wearing a crown."
Roze's grin widened, venomous. "And yet the world listens to me. Perhaps your justice simply isn't loud enough."
"Enough." Amandon's voice cut through the air like a blade. Both men fell silent.
He looked at Roze. "You've remembered your past, haven't you?"
Roze froze. His hand twitched, his eyes narrowing. "Why bring that up?"
Amandon's smirk deepened. "Because memory is truth, and truth must be shared."
Roze took a step forward, tension lacing his voice. "Don't—"
But Amandon raised a hand and snapped his fingers.
The sound echoed like thunder, and instantly, Vyralthus, Lucius, Hikari, and Shin clutched their heads, their faces twisting in agony.
"Stop!" Roze shouted, his voice breaking the air — but Amandon's eyes glowed brighter, divine power rippling outward.
The four screamed — not in pain alone, but in recognition. Memories poured into them like molten fire.
"No… no!" Vyralthus gasped, falling to his knees. "That life… those flames… I was betrayed!"
Lucius staggered backward, clawing at his own chest. "I didn't deserve this curse… I was only defending my kind!"
Hikari's face was pale as he shouted through tears, "I was supposed to be a servant of the light! Why did you take everything from me?!"
Shin fell to one knee, slamming his fist against the marble. "No! There was no justice… there never was! I'll avenge it all!"
Their cries rose like an unholy choir, echoing off the vast walls of the Reverent Palace.
Roze stood there, frozen in disbelief. His chest tightened as he watched the four bend under the weight of their returned memories.
He saw in them the same confusion, rage, and grief that had once consumed him — the agony of remembering what came before.
Amandon watched it all with calm detachment, his golden and black eyes gleaming.
"Now," he said quietly, "they remember who they truly are."
Roze turned toward him slowly, his voice low and sharp. "You did this on purpose. You wanted them broken."
Amandon smiled faintly, his tone chillingly composed. "Broken? No. Awakened. The world's next age cannot be built by the blind."
The chamber fell silent except for the echoing gasps of the four newly awakened souls.
Roze's hands curled into fists. The air around him pulsed faintly with crimson energy.
"Then I hope," he said, voice like a low growl, "you're ready for what you've awakened."
Amandon's shadow and light flared behind him, his smile unreadable. "We always are."
And beneath the unending dome of the Reverent Palace, the echoes of destiny began to stir once again.