The air behind Arata Kurogane rippled like disturbed water, shimmering faintly as he turned to face the source of the distortion. A faint crack of light widened into a portal—its edges flickering unstable—and from it stumbled a man.
He looked ragged, half-burnt armor hanging from his shoulders, face marked by exhaustion and panic. His presence wasn't like anyone from Kael'Ar—no trace of circuits, no etheric pulse. Just something… different. Old, raw, and primal.
Arata's golden eyes narrowed as the man fell to one knee, gasping.
"Rei," Arata said quietly, "take the others back to the restaurant. Lock the door and don't open it for anyone until I return."
Rei looked at the man, worry flashing in her blue eyes. "But, boss—"
Arata cut her off gently. "He's not from our world. I'll handle this."
The children obeyed—Asar, Mitsuki, Nax, and Rei—running back down the dirt road that led to Hoshi no Ya, the small yet lively restaurant that Arata had built. When the last echo of their footsteps faded, silence reclaimed the field.
The stranger struggled to his feet, leaning on a broken blade that hummed faintly with foreign energy.
"You knew," the man said between breaths, voice hoarse. "You knew I wasn't from here."
Arata gave a faint smirk. "Your wavelength doesn't belong to this plane. Not a single particle of you resonates with Kael'Ar's law of existence. You're not just foreign—you're invasive."
The man exhaled sharply, almost in disbelief. "You can read dimensions?"
"Among other things," Arata said simply. "Now—who are you, and why are you here?"
The man hesitated before replying, "My name… is Kaelven Rynor. I'm from the planet Zerathis."
Arata folded his arms, silently urging him to continue.
Kaelven's gaze darkened, voice low and edged with memory.
"Zerathis is a dying world. We don't have 'circuits' like you people. We have what we call Double Count. Every being is born with a Number—the value of their existence. The higher your count, the stronger your essence, the more reality bends to you."
"And how do you increase your count?" Arata asked, though he already suspected the answer.
Kaelven's eyes flickered with guilt. "You kill. You take life, and with every death, your Number doubles. It's our nature—our curse. The oldest war never ended, and the strongest among us became gods by slaughtering entire continents."
He looked up at the horizon, trembling slightly. "I have a count of one million. That should make me a warlord on my planet—someone who could erase cities with a thought. But now…" He stopped, eyes filled with raw fear. "Now, it means nothing."
Arata tilted his head. "Because of what's chasing you."
Kaelven nodded slowly. "It's called Draegoth, the Eclipse Wyrm. The first Dragon of Zerathis—the creature whose wings once shrouded our sun for an entire century. They say it holds a Count of seventy billion. When it breathes, the air itself disintegrates. When it roars, planets tremble."
He clenched his fist. "It destroyed my home. It devoured my entire army. I tried to escape—but it followed the scent of my Number through the void. It's coming here."
Arata's eyes gleamed faintly, a spark of curiosity mixing with something far more dangerous—amusement.
"A dragon whose strength is determined by murder," he mused. "A Numbered world that trades morality for power. Intriguing system…"
He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, voice lowering. "So you fled across dimensions. And now it's my problem."
Kaelven swallowed hard. "If it gets through, your planet will burn. It doesn't devour for sustenance—it kills to grow. If it learns of this world's Circuits, it could evolve beyond anything you can imagine."
Arata's smirk widened. "Good."
Kaelven blinked. "Good—?"
Arata turned his back, gazing up at the dusky sky. "It's been a while since I've seen something that might actually interest me."
Kaelven stared at him in disbelief. "You're insane."
"Maybe," Arata said. "But I'm curious. Show me your world."
Before Kaelven could protest, Arata's hand lifted lazily. Space bent. The air itself cracked open in lines of blue-white light, forming another portal—larger, more stable, something that responded to his will alone.
But before stepping through, Arata paused. "One thing first."
He closed his eyes. The world around him vibrated faintly, as if reality itself was waiting for a command.
"I'll leave this world with a little… entertainment while I'm gone."
He opened his eyes again—an infinite glint flickered in his irises.
"I imagine an outbreak," he whispered, his voice resonating with conceptual authority. "Across all of Kael'Ar, I will birth Dungeons—living domains between realms, each harboring monsters drawn from imagination itself."
The earth shuddered as the concept took root. Across distant continents, invisible threads of energy began to weave underground, forming the first cores of what would soon be known as Veiled Gates—portals leading to dimensions of trial and terror.
"Each Dungeon," Arata continued, "will possess a hierarchy. The lowest will hold Common Bosses. The highest… will bow only to Dungeon Lords. Difficulty will vary—some will evolve, mutate, consume other dungeons, and grow beyond classification."
Kaelven watched in stunned silence as Arata spoke creation into law.
"Let there be variety," Arata said, tone casual yet commanding. "From High Orcs to Drakes, Dark Elves, Barbarians, Wolves, and Dragons. Let every soul on Kael'Ar test its worth against what I leave behind."
He then added, as if designing the future itself:
"And among them… a hero. A gravity and chrono circuit user—the one who bends time and mass, destined to challenge what even gods fear. But for every hero, an opposite must exist."
His tone darkened slightly.
"So I will give him a rival—a Dungeon Lord who is invincible in his domain. Who can nullify all circuits for a time. A reminder that even the perfect system has flaws."
Reality pulsed. The future of Kael'Ar was written.
Kaelven's voice trembled. "You can just… create these things?"
"I don't create," Arata said. "I simply make what should exist… exist sooner."
He exhaled slowly, as if sealing an era with words alone. "Let this be known as the Age of the Veiled Gates."
The title echoed through the fabric of reality—written across time itself.
Kael'Ar trembled far away as light pillars rose across continents, hidden beneath clouds and mountains. The world would soon awaken to the dawn of dungeons, heroes, and chaos.
Arata turned back to Kaelven, the faintest smirk on his face. "Now, take me to Zerathis. I want to see what kind of dragon dares to chase its prey across worlds."
Kaelven hesitated. "You don't understand—"
But Arata was already walking into the portal, his voice echoing faintly.
"Relax. I've destroyed and remade universes before breakfast."
The portal swallowed them both, sealing behind them like a curtain drawn shut.
And somewhere far below Kael'Ar, the first dungeon core pulsed alive—breathing for the first time, whispering in a voice that only the daring could hear:
The Veiled Gates have opened.