30 years before the ascension of the Celestial Monarch.
A graceful and mature-looking figure stood at the side of a room with a neutral expression on her face while she waited.
This figure was none other than Alana. After a brief moment of waiting, Doctor Ghiran suddenly appeared, carrying a notebook under her arm.
"Professor Alana, there is no need for you to wait here, there is nothing you can do at this point," she said in a gentle tone, in an attempt to comfort her.
After all, she had caused her student to nearly lose his life in the Palace of the Solar Demon.
"How is he?" she asked, still extremely worried.
"He will be fine for now. His most severe injuries have been reduced thanks to grafts and the use of the violet jade pill," she added in a comforting tone as she opened the door. "Do you want to see him? Even though he is unconscious, he could wake up at any moment."
And then she saw him. Ducanor's appearance had changed during these ten days since she had managed to get him out of the temple. His hair had grown a bit, and he also seemed to have lost weight, with clear signs of paleness and weakness on his face.
"Oh, my God," she said in a tone that almost tried to hold back tears.
"The injuries are severe, but not irrecoverable," the doctor tried to comfort her. "In the times of the Hegemon Pecunia, it is said that wounds were disinfected with the urine of the Aureans, which had healing properties. They even began to gather Aureans to collect urine in order to heal wounds; they were known as pecuniaries."
Alana laughed at the doctor's absurd words, but this had relieved her a bit, distracting her mind from the pain. But even so, she couldn't help but feel frustrated seeing him in that condition, especially his face.
The main wound was his left eye, which had been destroyed as a result of the confrontation in the Palace of the Solar Demon, losing it completely.
This loss was considerably severe and could not be recovered by normal means, especially when the cause was a black astrologer.
But, despite everything, she had achieved some success in suppressing Ducanor's injuries and stabilizing his condition, which meant he would recover, but the same would not happen with his eye.
And then he opened his eyes.
....
In the dome of the Shadow Branch Sect, a new conversation was taking place; this one focused on the events that occurred in the Palace of the Solar Demon.
But not only in that place and time...
"Is the boy still alive?" a severe voice asked.
"Yes," Turin replied with indifference.
"I suppose you know the consequences," said another, more relaxed voice, but still possessing a royal dignity.
The counterpart of those words, surprisingly, was not human.
There were three existences in the room. Three representatives from three different realms. From three worlds and three histories completely alien to one another.
"Yes," Turin replied in a tired tone as he leaned back in his seat. "Time is pressing and the boy is young, very young."
"His destiny is written," replied the first voice. "The founder Jibelr had already dictated it when he created this realm: those whose destiny is divided must separate and reunite again."
"What is divided will reunite, although not everything separated can be returned in good form," said the second voice.
"Could the ancestor have looked so far into the future?" murmured Turin.
"We don't know," the two men replied in unison.
"We are the past and the future, and you are the present. You must be aware of that," they answered.
"While what happened or has already happened is indifferent. How many have risen and fallen, marvelous men have been erected and will be erected, acts of immense cruelty will be committed, and tragedies have been forgotten."
"Such is time, Turin, only you can be the intermediary of those prophecies and decide the now."
"What do you choose?" they both repeated again.
Turin remained silent; his choice had already been made, and he replied:
"He has to know himself before killing him." And with those words, the voices disappeared and silence returned to the tower.
....
Memories were a strange thing. It had been a long time since she had thought of her family beyond a partial memory, mixed and fused images of the past, present, and future.
The image of her sister training peacefully under her guidance, her warm smile filled with sincere and fraternal love.
The image changed to the same face, but now filled with resentment and sadness, as her figure disappeared from her sight.
The vision changed again at this point, but this time to a strange image: she saw her sister crying, for a reason she didn't understand, and in that vision, she seemed much older than before.
"What is happening? This is not a dream... it's..." But before she could fully understand the events, consciousness and clarity suddenly returned to her in a strange way.
But those memories that seemed forgotten resurfaced and threatened her mind; suddenly the image of the man she loved appeared in front of her.
His face, his smile, his promise of love in the shape of a ring.
As well as his death.
"Ducanor," she growled to herself. Even though her mind seemed to try to tell her that it was impossible, her recollections, her memories, were erased once again.
The only thing left was the feeling.
....
The world was a peaceful place, or so Ducanor thought, as he looked at the magazine in his hand.
In it, he could see a good amount of breasts and bottoms in suggestive poses, as well as, of course, the exposed fur and exposed tails of the models.
"They should wear fewer clothes," he murmured as he scratched his head and admired the scene with a strange expression.
"Boring," he muttered as he threw the magazine onto his bed and rolled around on it with sadness.
Yes, the world was peaceful, peaceful enough for erotic images to be printed on paper and sold to horny pups.
"Tsk, I have to admit it's weird, but better than mandatory military service," Ducanor muttered with a slight laugh.
As he stood up and stretched. Life was good, or at least as good as possible...
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on his bedroom door.
Annoyed, he growled: "Who is it? I'm busy."
But without waiting for an answer, the door suddenly opened.
"Stop masturbating and clean your damn room, brat," an annoyed voice suddenly growled, leaving Ducanor stunned. He hurriedly stood up, trying to hide the magazine by sitting on it.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Julia? I told you not to enter my..."
Looking up, he observed the person in front of him. A beauty in every traditional sense of the word, but strangely, an uncomfortable feeling filled Ducanor's mind.
Since he found it strange, as if waking up from a dream.
"What's wrong, Ducanor? You are..."
The girl in front of him, with an athletic body and great beauty, had the head of a wolf.