Ten years bled — and the world learned to whisper the same name when strength was spoken.
The Zenith Quintet.
Their legend did not roar; it accumulated, slow and immutable, like snow layering on an ancient mountain — each deed a frozen white scar of proof. Villages rebuilt in months, not years.
Corruption uprooted without fanfare. Labyrinth-beasts slain in forgotten hollows where sunlight never touched.
they were considered the strongest adventurers in the current era.
Their silhouettes became the silhouette of hope.
And in a world where heroes retired and legends withered with time, they did not falter — they approached their peak with the calm arrogance of inevitability.
No Pioneer returned to eclipse them.
Nova Laminton, The Prime Axiom: He had vanished within five years of gifting the world The Logic of the Wind, a melody that scholars still claimed carried truth inside every breath of breeze.
Some people swore that, if one closed their eyes at dawn, they could hear his voice in the rustle — half-song, half-confession. Others believed he died in quiet serenity, history fulfilled.
Aurora Malice, The Dark Sun of Justice: She had not shown herself for over thirty years. But rumors clung to her like dust: a glimpse of rotating polyhedral silhouettes in remote deserts, like a many-faced god measuring the weight of cruelty from afar.
Because she was a Poly—a poly-dimensional being resembling humans but with slightly translucent skin and constantly shifting geometric shapes for bodies such as a cube turning into a pyramid, then a sphere, each form representing an emotion or idea.
The poly species lived long— a century, sometimes four — and so hope lingered. Fear, too. One did not forget a being who could weld pain to governance with a thought.
Flynn Carnal, The Absorber of Deeds: He dissolved into myth immediately after birthing and showcasing the power of the Hedonia Mega.
He remained the only Pioneer who officially refused the advancement from Hero to Pioneer, though the deed was undeniable.
He was the youngest Pioneer, having achieved his feat twenty years before Hyung-woo arrived in this world. Most suspected he was still alive, lurking somewhere.
And Lady Blur… a ghost that predated them all. A name worn thin by a millennium of rumor, untouched by time, delighting in impossibility. Her treasure still warped across maps, mocking seekers, laughing in absence. If she still breathed, she breathed in secrecy, unseen and uncontested.
Thus, by resignation or quiet awe, the world agreed:
The Zenith Quintet stood alone atop the present age!
Their names were spoken by apprentices with star-bright eyes, by war-scarred generals nursing prideful envy, by tavern poets who shaped myths like wet clay.
And among them — Hyung-woo, no longer a lost arrival, no longer a struggling wanderer clutching herb bundles. He stood now with his peers not by coincidence, but by will sharpened into inevitability.
Yet even glory becomes routine to those who carry it daily.
Another two years drifted by.
The Quintet, despite their fame, continued to take on requests—a habit born of discipline and a refusal to rust.
Wind hissed across the high plateau where they stood preparing. Rocks gleamed with thin frost beneath a pale horizon, the early sky painted in strokes of lavender and faint gold.
Cloaks fluttered like flags — worn, patched, lived-in, yet proudly slung across shoulders tense with readiness.
Jasper Thorne adjusted his gloves, the faintest flicker of ether-sigils pulsing along his fingers, breathing through the cold with composed, noble calm.
"Crystal Cloud Kingdom," he murmured, eyes narrowing with a half-smile as if tasting the words.
His tone held equal parts curiosity and fatigue — a man grown accustomed to miracles and yet still... tempted by mystery. "Rumors of dream-shapers. A floating citadel. Ancient crystal frequencies."
He inhaled, let his breath fog into the thin air. "It feels nostalgic... almost peaceful."
Cassian Sloane snorted, pushing his hair back from his forehead with the back of a gauntlet, expression dry, a lazy amusement curling his lip.
"Right. Peaceful huh. Right until someone starts molding your nightmares into reality and decides your head would look better replaced by a… I don't know, a blooming porcelain teapot with emotional trauma."
Hyung-woo exhaled sharply — almost a laugh. The corner of his mouth twitched, tired but genuine. His posture relaxed, but his hand subtly tested the weight of the blade strapped at his back — a habit mingled with instinct, respect, and paranoia.
Mayumi Tala had been silent until then, eyes tracing clouds drifting high above like thoughts she didn't want to speak yet.
Her kimono-armor hybrid rustled as she shifted, the faint glow of spell-threads dancing at her fingertips like restless fireflies.
"Oniromancers don't harm unless provoked," she murmured, voice soft, airy — like a dream itself. "Their arts are… spiritual. Symbolic. Ritualistic. But—"
Her eyes narrowed sharply, lips tightening.
"They blur the veil. Lose control and they might not know what is dream or flesh anymore. That's where danger lives."
Willow Martin rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck with a grunt, voice rough like gravel yet lightly teasing.
"So, we're investigating architects who might accidentally turn us into interpretive sculptures of existential meaning? No pressure for real."
She smirked, iron-ringed fingers drumming on her thigh.
"At least they're pretty. If I die, I prefer it be by someone with decent aesthetics."
Hyung-woo's gaze drifted past them — beyond the chatter, beyond the veil of banter — toward the horizon where the Crystal Cloud Kingdom supposedly drifted.
The air there shimmered faintly, like a dream seen through a glass surface.
He felt something tighten in his chest — wonder, caution, hunger. The mix that always visited him before a new threshold.
Ten years of climbing.
Ten years of proving.
His voice, when it came, was quiet but steady.
"Let's go see if dreams breathe truth," he said.
Jasper nodded once — firm, directing, trusting.
"Eyes sharp. Minds sharper. Stay tethered. Oniromancers don't break bodies first."
Cassian smirked.
"They break sanity. Very... delightful."
Hyung-woo didn't answer aloud — but inside, a whisper coiled, soft and private:
Dreams… I've lived in dreams before. And nightmares. Let's see what yours look like...
Around them ether shifted, air trembling as their teleport spell primed — white-blue particles gathering like stardust in winter wind.
The sky flickered.
Clouds parted.
And then—
The request description burned faintly across their adventurer cards like script carved into the soul:
Investigate rumors of Oniromancers meddling with dream-ritual architecture in the Crystal Cloud Kingdom.
A final hum, rising sharp.
Light swallowed the plateau.
They vanished into wind.
Ether wavered like heat over desert sand as the Zenith Quintet materialized at the Crystal Cloud Kingdom.
For a breath — the world was silent.
Then reality resolved.
They stood upon a bridge of translucent sapphire quartz, suspended in a vast sky of drifting cloud-rivers and shimmering auroras.
The kingdom rose around them like a dream carved from mirrors and starlight — spires of opalescent crystal spiraling upward, each reflecting fractured rainbows and ripples of floating mist.
Buildings leaned at angles that defied geometry, windows opening to impossible perspectives, archways twisting into melted curves like sleep-thought architecture.
Every footstep rang soft, echoing like silver droplets on glass.
Willow's eyes glimmered as she exhaled, breath misting. "...Beautiful. Terrifyingly so."
Cassian rolled his shoulders, gauntlet plates clinking. "Pretty things bite hardest."
Hyung-woo's shield was already lifted — his grip careful, practiced. His sword rested low, blade angled behind him like a coiled promise.
His gaze tracked every shimmer, every vibration in the dreamlike air. Even the clouds around the kingdom felt wrong — too still, too deliberate, as though breath belonged to the place itself.
No citizens. No music. No drifting dreamers.
Just silence — clean, surgical, expectant.
They wasted no time. Maintaining their tight formation, the Quintet began their investigation.
Jasper lifted a hand — a signal. "Formation."
They moved as one.Shield front.Steel ready.Bows taut.Magic simmering.Faith glowing.
Boots whispered on crystal. Wind hummed faint harmonics along the spires, like distant church choirs drowning in water.
Minutes passed — maybe hours; time felt unstable here.
Everything was meticulously constructed, almost too perfect. They found no signs of structural sabotage, no crude alterations, and certainly no trace of the Oniromancers. The place felt abandoned, preserved in an unnervingly pristine state.
Just immaculate stillness.
Mayumi frowned suddenly, hand drifting to her bowstring. "Too quiet."
Jasper's jaw tightened — breath shallow. "Agreed. Let's remain alert."
A subtle tension rippled through the group — shoulders sinking lower, eyes narrowing, lungs held tighter. The kind of quiet that preceded ambush. Hyung-woo's heartbeat thudded, heavy and slow — too slow, as though something was thinning space between beats.
He inhaled sharply — to reset his senses—
And then—
A laugh.
It was a loud, vibrant burst of laughter!
It didn't come from a specific direction; it seemed to resonate from nowhere and everywhere at once, echoing off the crystal architecture.
The laugh was full of pure, unrestrained joy and teasing, a mocking, high-pitched peal that made the skin crawl.
Hyung-woo raised his shield, his eyes narrowing to pinpoints.
Willow flinched, hand flying to her temple.
Cassian dropped into a stance, snarling, gauntlets sparking.
Mayumi's bowstring tightened until it quivered like panic-thread.
Jasper raised his staff, teeth clenched, voice low and lethal.
"Show yourself."
The laugh swelled, rich with taunt and theatrical mischief. Light twisted — shadows stretched wrong — and a figure peeled into existence before them, as though stepping forward from behind the surface of a dream.
The jester.
Tall. Thin. Unsettling — like an ink smear given limbs.
Their hood hung in knotted dread-strands, black silk slumped and alive. Bells at their shawl chimed faintly with each delicate motion — but the sound didn't ring; it tremored, as if felt inside bone, not heard.
The mask — white, smooth, emotionless — a void of humanity, marked only by subtle lines that suggested a smile without meaning. A face designed not to conceal identity, but to erase it. It was impossible to guess the figure's true intentions.
The Jester, with a theatrical flourish, executed a low, graceful bow.
Jester placed their right hand flat against their chest in a dramatic gesture of respect, their thin body folding elegantly. The jester then straightened, the white mask tilted slightly, and their voice, though soft, carried clearly through the unnaturally resonant air.
The jester spoke only one sentence, their voice high-pitched and clear, filled with a dramatic flourish.
"Be my audience, enjoy my performance."
No threat spoken. Perhaps threat wasn't necessary.
He plucked the strings.
Sound split the world.
A tremolo burst — frantic, razor-bright, vibrating too fast for sanity. High-pitched and keening like steel screaming against steel. Notes collided, broke, multiplied — arrhythmic clacks, sharp like bones knocking on marble, scraping like claws on glass.
Air warped. Clouds flickered.The kingdom dimmed — sickly dim, like the sky blinked.
Hyung-woo's vision tore at the edges — shards of color slicing his sight. His pulse stuttered, breath catching, every nerve vibrating as if his mind were being shaken from the inside.
Jasper staggered back half-step, magic sputtering. "Mental—! Distortion—?!"
Mayumi's pupils quivered, bow trembling as reality rippled around her.
Willow gasped, clutching her chest as if her heartbeat faltered.
Cassian ground his teeth, sparks leaping from his fists, voice breaking into a half-snarl, half-cry.
Hyung-woo's legs shook — shield arm spasming, sword heavy like it wanted to fall from his grasp. His ears rang. His skull felt too small to contain thought. The kingdom around him twisted like melted glass —
Clouds turning into mouths swallowing colors.Halls stretching like elastic nightmares.Spire-shadows forming hands that reached and beckoned — laughing, always laughing—
He dropped to one knee — grit teeth grinding, forcing breath through pain.
Move. Don't fall... Don't fall!
The jester walked forward — steps light, elegant, dancing between notes like a conductor in love with his cruelty. He twirled once, the bells humming discordantly, his mandolin strings trembling like nerves on the edge of rupture.
This was his stage.His court.His world.
And they were guests.
Hyung-woo's fingers clawed into the crystal ground, veins bulging in his neck as he forced his voice to break free, raw and ragged.
"…Wh-who… are you?"
The jester paused mid-step, turning his masked face slowly toward Hyung-woo — like savoring the question.
The tremolo continued beneath the stillness — relentless, tearing sanity in tiny, precise pieces.
He didn't answer.
Instead he only tilted his head — bells swaying — mandolin hand quivering, ready to shred minds further.
A performer basking in the perfect beginning of his show.
His stage.His audience.His rules.
And the Crystal Cloud Kingdom… bowed to him alone.
The mandolin's tremolo drilled deeper.High. Shrill. Insistent.Each note like a needle threading through bone marrow, pulling panic taut.
Cassian's breath caught mid-growl—His gauntlets sparked wildly then fizzled, metal shaking around his fists.
"Stop—!"
He choked out, voice cracking, veins rising at his neck like splitting cords.His knees buckled. He dropped one palm to the shimmering cloud-floor, claws digging, body trembling as if electrified from inside.A hoarse sob escaped him — part rage, part humiliation."I— I can't— move—!"
Willow staggered sideways, legs folding gracelessly, fingers clawing weakly at her robes as though trying to hold her soul in place."Dream—breach…? No—this isn't—"
Her words slurred, eyes fluttering unfocused, tears streaking down unintentionally.
Her lips trembled, silent prayer half-formed, choking in her throat."Light… please… don't—"
Her voice wilted into a whimper.
Jasper gritted his teeth so hard blood gathered at his gums, magic circle fracturing into static sparks around him — arcane geometry snapping like brittle glass.
"Hold—hold your minds—!" he rasped, one hand clawing toward his temple like he could physically drag sanity back in.
But his pupils dilated, swaying."D-don't give in—!"
Mayumi forced an arrow nocked — but her fingers convulsed, hand twitching with phantom jolts. Her bowstring trembled violently, soundless sobs rattling through her ribs.
"Why— won't— it— stop?" her voice cracked, voice shredding from inside.
Her vision smeared like water over ink — and she flinched, gasping as something unseen brushed her cheek like cold fingers.
Hyung-woo's breath came in broken pulls — armor rattling, shield edging toward the ground.He couldn't feel his arms anymore.He couldn't feel time.Only falling — as though the cloud beneath his feet hollowed out, his body suspended above an abyss of endless screaming mandolin threads.
"Tr—trap…" he mouthed soundlessly."Curse…"
The mandolin's rhythm shifted — faster, more frantic, then suddenly slow, deliberate, cruel.A descending arpeggio, like the plucking counted down heartbeats.
Clack—Clack—Clack—
Each pluck felt like a hammer to their skulls.
The jester's silhouette shivered like glitching mirage — bells chiming without wind, head tilting with eerie grace, mask blank and merciless.Every tremolo stroke carved despair into air.A stage.A gallows.A coronation of ruin.
Cassian convulsed — a violent jerk tearing through him, breath escaping in a broken wail as if his lungs collapsed.
A thin line of blood trickled from Willow's nostril, then another, her chest rising shallow, trembling.
Mayumi's bow slipped from numb fingers — clattering silently, swallowed by cloud.
Jasper's knees buckled, robes pooling like wilted wings, his hand still outstretched helplessly.
Hyung-woo's shield finally dipped — tip kissing the crystal floor.His sword slid from his fingers, falling, clattering, echoing faintly like dropped hope.
The kingdom dimmed further — stars above flickering out one by one, as if the sky closed its eyes to their suffering.
Breath thinned.Heartbeats stuttered.Limbs stiffened.Thoughts dissolved — until even fear was too heavy to hold.
The jester never stopped smiling — his mask expressionless, yet somehow pleased.
The mandolin's final tremolo rose — sharp, shrieking, merciless — a hysterical crescendo threatening to rip thought from flesh.
The note hung suspended — trembling, murderous —and Willow's breath simply… didn't finish.
A small sigh left her lips, like a child exhaling after tears.
Her body slumped forward, eyelids fluttering shut with gentle finality — as though falling asleep in a pew of glass-white clouds.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, serene and accepting.But her eyes — the moment before they closed — held naked terror.
Her voice was barely a whisper."Protect… them…"
Then her pulse faded — a candle drowned by silence.
Hyung-woo's hand twitched toward her, instinct long-formed — to shield, to save — yet nothing moved.Nothing obeyed.His soul screamed, but his throat was stone.
Willow…? Hey… no—
His lungs choked on air too thin to breathe, heart clawing against ribs.
Mayumi...
Her pupils widened — glassy, lost — as she clutched nothing, like reaching for her bow one last time.
A thin whimper cracked from her throat — not of fear, but heartbreak.
"…I didn't even… get to retire…"
Her fingers clenched at her chest, shaking, desperate to hold life in place —then stilled.
Her head lowered.A single tear slid off her cheek — falling through cloud like a diamond dropping into the void.
Hyung-woo's heartbeat staggered.
No. No— stop! Stop taking them! Stop—
He tried to move toward her — to cover her, to hold her, to do anything —but he was frozen in his own body, a corpse waiting its turn.
Cassian fought it.
His fist slammed weakly against the glass floor, sparks dying on knuckles.
"Get… up! We're… Zenith— we can't—!"
His voice cracked into a strangled scream of rage and helplessness — his muscles contorting, eyes bloodshot—
Then his breath tore out in a raw, broken gasp.His body collapsed forward, arm twitching once — then still.
Not triumphant.Not valiant.
Just… stolen.
Hyung-woo felt his chest cave inward — an invisible blow splitting him in two.
Cassian… you were supposed to break the world, not—
His sight shuddered; the floor beneath him pulsed like a dying heart.
Jasper fell to one knee, fingers trembling mid-sigil, lips quivering through a final spell no one would hear.
His face contorted — anger, sorrow, shame twisting together.
"…I'm sorry… I led you here…"
His head bowed — breath failing mid-word.
His body went still in a kneeling posture, as though praying for forgiveness even in death.
Hyung-woo's vision blurred with burning tears that couldn't fall.
Leader… you always carried us. You didn't lead us wrong. This is not your fault. Please— please get up.
His jaw locked in a silent cry — the world ringing, hollow, cruel.
Then — only Hyung-woo remained.
The note trembled above him — hungry, savoring.
His shield slipped fully from his fingers.He didn't feel it leave.
His head lowered as if gravity itself mourned.
Their bodies around him…Too quiet.Too small.Too still.
His throat worked — finally dragging a sound from it, broken and trembling, like words dragged through splintered bone.
"…everyone…?"
Silence answered.
His body shook — agony trembling down his spine like lightning trapped in flesh.
Fuck…Fuck— not like this…
His thoughts bled out in frantic bursts:
We trained.We bled.We swore—
We were supposed to grow old together—
He swallowed, choking.
If the rumor… if this place grants one wish…
His vision flickered, going dark at the edges — each blink heavier, slower.
Perhaps… just perhaps…
A ragged, trembling breath scraped his lungs.
"…let me live again…""…me and my friends…"
His voice cracked like glass under heel.
"…ugh… f-fuck…"
His knees gave.His body folded forward — slow, heavy, inevitable.
The mandolin's final note dropped like a guillotine.
Silence.
Clouds drifted.Crystals hummed faintly — as though mourning or mocking.
The jester stood immobile — head tilted, mask blank.
Slowly the jester raised a hand — snapping softly.
Clink.
The stage of clouds shifted, as if curtains prepared to rise on a new act.
And the kingdom — impossibly vast, impossibly quiet — waited.