Chapter 3
The sea did not roar.
It listened.
Blackshores lay beneath a sky of muted silver, waves rolling in slow, deliberate arcs as if time itself had decided to breathe more carefully here. The sand was dark, almost obsidian, yet soft underfoot, threaded with faint lines of pale light that pulsed like veins beneath skin.
Orion stood at the edge of the shore, twelve wings folded, cloak of eclipse settling into stillness behind him.
This place had not rejected him.
Nor had it welcomed him.
It remembered.
The wind carried fragments—voices that were not voices, footsteps that never touched the ground, vows spoken and erased before language learned how to record them. Every grain of sand felt like a witness that had sworn silence.
Orion stepped forward.
The tide retreated.
Not violently. Not in fear.
But in respect.
He paused.
That was new.
In the previous arc, the world reacted to his power. Realms bent because they could not do otherwise. But here… the shore adjusted itself before he acted, as though anticipating his intent.
"This island…" Orion murmured.
It was not Blackshores alone.
It was something older layered beneath it—an anchor point between eras, a place where time rested its head when it grew tired of moving forward.
A faint shimmer appeared farther down the coast.
At first, Orion thought it was a mirage—heat bending the air. But the temperature did not change. Instead, causality wavered.
Someone was there.
Not hiding.
Not fleeing.
Simply… existing slightly out of step with the present.
Orion's instincts sharpened. Not the reflex of battle—but the quiet awareness that came when fate leaned too close.
He walked.
With each step, the sea whispered louder, waves brushing the shore in uneven rhythms, as if trying to speak in a language it had forgotten.
The figure resolved slowly.
A woman stood near a weathered stone marker half-buried in sand.
She wore a long coat the color of dusk, edges frayed by salt and time. Her hair was dark, tied loosely, strands moving even when the wind stilled. She faced the sea, back turned to him, one hand resting on the stone as though grounding herself.
She did not turn when Orion approached.
Yet—
She spoke.
"You don't belong to this time," she said calmly.
Orion stopped several paces away.
"Neither do you," he replied.
A pause.
Then a soft breath—almost a laugh.
"Fair."
She finally turned.
Her eyes met his.
And for a single, dangerous instant, Orion's perception fractured.
Not because of power.
But because nothing in her existence aligned cleanly with the world.
She was not weak.
She was not strong.
She was… anchored.
As if something immense slept beneath her shadow, restrained not by chains, but by choice.
"You're early," she said.
"Or late," Orion answered. "Depends on which version of the shore you're standing on."
Her gaze sharpened—not hostile, but alert.
"You speak like someone who's died more than once."
"I've lost count."
That earned a genuine smile.
The sea surged once behind her, then calmed.
"My name doesn't matter," she said. "Not yet."
Orion felt it then.
A thread.
Thin. Almost invisible.
But tied around his fate and hers, looping forward into places he could not yet see—even with dominion over time.
"Then why are you here?" he asked.
She glanced at the stone marker, fingers tightening briefly.
"Because something is waking beneath Blackshores," she said. "And when it does… it will look for you."
Orion followed her gaze.
The marker bore no name.
Only a symbol carved so deeply the stone had cracked around it—
A broken infinity, half light, half dark.
His symbol.
The woman continued, voice quieter now.
"This island remembers what the world was forced to forget. And you—" she looked back at him, eyes unreadable, "—are the reason it hasn't sunk into the sea."
Silence stretched between them.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
"Will you help me?" she asked.
It was not a plea.
It was not a command.
It was an invitation—one that carried consequences far beyond this shore.
Orion closed his eyes briefly.
Somewhere deep within him, the Paradox Throne stirred.
Not in warning.
In recognition.
"I will," he said at last.
The woman exhaled, relief flickering across her face before she masked it.
"Good," she said. "Then stay alive."
She turned away, walking down the shore, footsteps leaving no prints.
"Wait," Orion said.
She stopped—but did not turn.
"You said your name doesn't matter," he continued. "Does that mean I'll learn it later?"
A pause.
"Yes."
The sea whispered again.
"And when?" Orion asked.
This time, she looked back.
Her expression was soft. Certain.
"When you put a ring on my hand."
Then she vanished—
Not by teleportation.
Not by illusion.
But as if the shore itself had decided she was no longer part of the present.
Orion stood alone once more.
The waves returned.
The island breathed.
And for the first time since his ascension, Orion felt something unfamiliar settle into his chest.
Anticipation.
Not of war.
But of promise.
(Luminous) (Kaito) (Zephyro) (Dino)(Zero)
Be ⚪⚪⚪⚪ my f⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪⚪