The city streets were quiet that night — rain dripped from the rooftops, whispering against the cobblestones.
Neon signs flickered in puddles, their colors twisting in the wind.
Outside a small corner café, two figures sat beneath the awning. Steam rose from untouched cups of coffee between them.
One was a boy — no older than twenty, his eyes sharp but restless. The other, a man in his forties, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a black coat that carried the faint insignia of an old Coap Officer, long since retired. His name was Ronav.
The boy's gaze was fixed on the building across the street — specifically, on a single dimly lit window on the third floor.
Behind that glass, he could see the faint silhouette of a man — hunched, motionless, the light of a bottle glinting beside him.
> "Mr. Ronav…" the boy said quietly, "what happened to my master?"
The older man didn't answer immediately. His eyes stayed on that window too — his expression unreadable. The rain traced lines across his reflection, like cracks across time.
> "He's lost in the past, Nirav," Ronav said finally, his voice low, heavy.
"The wars took everything from him. His magic. His family. His reason."
Nirav turned sharply.
> "But that can't be. When I left sixteen years ago for training under the Hidden Realm, he was… unstoppable. I've returned with power beyond worlds — and yet, look at him now. What happened since then?"
Ronav smiled faintly — not out of amusement, but sorrow. The kind of smile people wear when words are too cruel to speak.
He took a slow sip of cold coffee.
> "That," he said, eyes still on the window, "is a story no one likes to tell."
The rain thickened, muffling the sounds of the city.
A flash of lightning briefly illuminated Aryan's shadow inside — still, broken, surrounded by ghosts of bottles and medals.
Ronav set his cup down.
> "You want to know what happened, Nirav?"
Nirav nodded.
Ronav leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant — as if staring through years, through wars, through loss.
> "Then listen carefully. It all began… the day the Thirteenth War ended."
Thunder roared in the distance, and the screen cut to black.
Rain continued to fall softly, tapping against the café's canopy like quiet drumming from another time.
The street was nearly empty now — only the two of them remained, lost in conversation and memory.
Ronav leaned forward, his gloved hands folded around the cooling cup.
> "Nirav… do you know about the Great Omniverse War?"
Nirav let out a short, almost offended laugh.
> "Obviously. Everyone knows that war. The one that decided the fate of creation itself."
He straightened, his eyes reflecting the golden lights of passing hover-cars.
"It wasn't a single war, but the war — fought across millions of galaxies, between the Multiversal Warrior Kings and the Demonic Armies of the Dark Dimension. Thousands of universes were destroyed. Hundreds reborn."
Ronav nodded slowly.
> "Good. Then you also know that every thousand years, when the Omniversal balance begins to collapse, the war repeats — again and again. Each time, stronger, crueler, wider."
He paused, letting the sound of rain fill the space.
> "We call them the Great Omniverse Wars — from the First to the Thirteenth. Every one of them reshaped reality itself."
Nirav's tone grew thoughtful.
> "I studied the records in the Hidden Realm. The Thirteenth War ended before I left… but the archives never said how. Only that the savior of that age — the Warrior of Light — vanished soon after."
He looked up, confusion in his eyes.
"That was… Master Aryan, wasn't it?"
Ronav's jaw tightened.
He nodded once.
> "Yes. Aryan Jalnir. The last bearer of the Celestial Core — the heart of magic itself."
Lightning flashed, revealing both their faces — one lined with experience, the other with disbelief.
> "He was the strongest mage the Omniverse ever saw," Ronav continued quietly. "He could bend light, summon galaxies, tear through dark matter with a whisper. But even gods bleed, Nirav. And when the Thirteenth War ended, so did he."
Nirav's eyes widened.
> "What do you mean?"
Ronav looked toward the rain-slicked street, watching the reflections ripple.
> "The war was won… but the cost was beyond measure. Aryan's Core was shattered in the final battle — a wound that no healer, no cosmic being, could ever repair. When he fell, the light of a thousand worlds dimmed. His comrades scattered. His enemies hid in shadow. And the universe… moved on."
The older man sighed, a cloud of white breath mixing with the mist.
> "Now, all that remains is the memory of that golden age — and a broken man who once saved existence."
Nirav stared again at the window where Aryan's silhouette sat unmoving.
His throat tightened.
> "Sixteen years ago, he was a legend. The whole Omniverse looked up to him. How could he fall so far?"
Ronav's eyes glimmered faintly under the dim café light.
> "Because, my boy," he said, "even legends are human. And when the world stops believing in them… they stop believing in themselves."
Thunder rolled once more, deep and distant, as if the heavens themselves remembered that war.
Ronav's gaze darkened.
"No one who saw the Thirteenth War ever forgot it, Nirav. Even the gods closed their eyes before the end."
Nirav leaned forward. "Tell me… how did he lose everything?"
Ronav looked toward the storm, silent for a long moment.
"Not tonight," he said. "You're not ready to hear what really happened out there."
Lightning flashed — and for an instant, Nirav thought he saw flames reflected in Ronav's eyes.
"When the Thirteenth War ended," Ronav whispered, "the Omniverse itself wept."
The rain had slowed to a whisper.
Inside his apartment, Aryan sat alone, the faint hum of thunder fading into silence.
He leaned back on his bed, eyes heavy, the sound of Ronav's voice echoing faintly from a memory long ago —
> "The day the Thirteenth War ended, even the stars went dark…"
And suddenly—
The world around him fractured.
Blinding white light, then red.
Screams tearing through the void.
Armies of light and shadow colliding across broken worlds.
Mountains floating, seas burning, skies splitting apart.
A thousand universes chained together by magic, collapsing one after another.
Aryan stood in the center — robes torn, his magic core glowing like a dying sun inside his chest.
In the distance, a colossal dark figure — Lord Dark's second brother — raised his blade, his laughter shaking entire galaxies.
The voice of girl cried out from somewhere unseen:
> "Aryan! Don't—!"
Then — a blinding explosion.
The light of creation bursting apart.
The sound of a heart — his heart — breaking.