"But in the end, the fire will one day fade… and only darkness shall remain."
"The light will cease to shine upon the world of men, and night shall endure without end."
The blazing First Fire flickered without warning.
Like a film reel skipping frames, the image stuttered—each flicker dimming the once-mighty flame, until it was no more than a trembling candle in the wind.
From beyond the edges of the vision, an endless darkness crept inward. Something unspeakably vile stirred within that blackness—writhing, swelling, surging forward—until it seemed ready to swallow the last spark of light.
Leon shifted uneasily, cold sweat running down his back. A dread born straight from his soul made his golden hair appear dull and lifeless.
Before touching the second bonfire, he never would have believed such a sight possible.
The glorious Age of Fire—a time of gods and heroes, of vitality and divine radiance. Everything they had learned, from the Lightning Stake to the Warrior of Sunlight, painted it as an era of eternal brilliance, where light would never fade.
So why—why was the First Fire dying?
Just two sentences, yet each word carried the weight of despair.
The sudden shift struck Leon like a bucket of ice water to the face. Only moments ago, he had spoken with conviction about the eternal glory of the Age of Fire—now he felt like a fool.
But that didn't matter. Fool or not, one question burned in his mind:
Why is the First Fire fading?! If it dies… what becomes of the world we live in now?
He turned to the others. Their faces varied in expression, but none were calm.
The most shaken was the Fire Priest. When the first words rang out, his smile froze. As the flame waned, he dropped to his knees, trembling violently, looking ready to scream "Impossible!"
But sheer willpower held him back. He dared not interrupt the bonfire's revelation.
If their world still existed, then surely the First Flame still burned—
...probably.
Even so, panic gnawed at him, no matter how hard he tried to appear composed.
His eyes darted toward the others, desperate for reassurance. Strangely, the fear mirrored in their faces brought him a strange sense of comfort.
The Knight of Holy Light—that stubborn zealot who had always mocked the Age of Fire and once desecrated a bonfire—was no better. His eyes, usually hard with scorn, now flickered with shock, unease, and even sorrow. In the end, he closed them, feigning calm.
Stella, whose longing for the Age of Fire rivaled Leon's, was no less shaken—perhaps even more so.
Then, the voice spoke again.
"Those that once hid in the fire's radiance have ever coveted the First Fire."
"When the flame dies and the world falls into darkness… the Abyss shall rise once more, and the Age of the Deep Sea will begin."
The fire abruptly went out. Darkness surged like a tide, devouring the world whole.
It was as if time had reversed—returning to the age before the First Fire's birth, when immortal dragons ruled the lightless world.
And yet… this was different.
The mighty gods withered into the dark.
And humanity…
Humanity faced despair.
Leon and the others watched as the Abyss boiled up from the depths, birthing grotesque creatures that roamed freely. With no flame to restrain them, spirits and fiends danced madly in the darkness.
The once-glorious royal capital lay in ruin. The bustling crowds were gone—swallowed by shadow.
Then, upon the bodies of men, a dark ring quietly appeared.
"The cursed Dark Sign has begun to spread among the people."
The voice fell silent. The vision turned pitch-black—utterly lightless, like the Abyss itself. No hope remained.
Despair seeped into their hearts. No one spoke. No one even breathed the names "Age of the Deep Sea" or "Dark Sign." The weight of the vision pressed on them like a mountain.
A great age had ended before their eyes—a legend closed with tragedy. None could help but feel sorrow.
Leon's dry lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came. He realized with a hollow ache that he was the most broken of them all.
The vision's pull was absolute. Its emotional weight went beyond any simple illusion or memory—it felt real.
It was Roger, ever the broad-minded one, who recovered first. He clapped the silent druid on the shoulder and said softly:
"Hey… we're still alive, aren't we? Maybe that Age of the Deep Sea never actually came. Or maybe—"
He stopped himself.
Maybe it wasn't history at all.
He didn't dare say it aloud, fearing the shaken crowd might tear him apart.
But the doubt was there.
Even if two thousand years of history had vanished—could every trace of the world's origin, the gods' names, and the grand edifices of their time truly disappear without a single remnant?
The first lesson of every mage was to face the unknown with reason.
And yet… what if these visions were real? What if history itself had simply been lost to time?
Roger could already imagine the future—once this spread, the world would split in two. One side believing, the other denying, locked in endless debate over what was real.
History was gone. And people—people would believe anything.
With the right evidence, a bit of logic, and enough voices agreeing, they'd even believe the world was created by a flying spaghetti monster drifting through space.
Roger frowned. The vision still hadn't ended. The screen of darkness lingered, unmoving.
Had something gone wrong? Or was there more?
A suffocating silence filled the air.
Then—music began.
"Dun... dun... dun."
Only three notes. Yet each carried such profound sorrow that it brought tears to their eyes.
And then—flames erupted.
A colossal fire, no weaker than the First Fire itself, blazed forth. Its light surged across the darkness, scattering fiends and driving the Abyss back like a receding tide.
Before anyone could even breathe, they saw it: two great hands holding the fire aloft.
No—not holding it.
The flame was burning from his very body.
In that final heartbeat of the vision, they saw clearly the one who bore the fire.
Gwyn, Lord of Cinder.
"For the sake of the world's survival, the heroes shall march forth…"
"...upon the journey of linking the fire."
And with that, the vision ended.
In the crystal's reflection at his feet, Roger caught sight of his own face.
He didn't even need to look up to know.
Without a doubt, his expression was—
Utterly dumbfounded.