PART I: THE NIGHTMARE OF GRAY AND RED
A cold, dry draft filtered through the cracks of the church, enveloping the dreams of the souls seeking refuge within. But for Wistert, there was no rest. The sound of dragging chains and incessant footsteps fractured his sleep.
"Hey... hey... hey..." distorted laughter and the echo of war horns forced him to open his eyes with a cry of pain.
Wistert woke up agitated. He wasn't in the forest anymore, but in a strange room. On the balcony, a spectral figure watched him in silence.
"You are someone who asks many questions, but finds no answers," the Soul said, without looking away from the horizon.
Wistert, regaining the composure of his lineage, stared back fixedly. "I should be in the Reerkn... Why are you here?" he asked politely. But the Soul did not answer, lost in the march of specters outside the church. "Hey! I asked you politely. Tell me why these souls wander aimlessly!"
As he stood up aggressively, the floor vibrated. In a blink, the surroundings turned gray and then were stained with a violent white and red. Wistert looked out from the balcony, and what he saw defied all logic: the forests filled with screams; the trees and mountains developed human faces that wept and writhed in agony. It was a landscape of pure pain that no mortal imagination could endure.
PART II: THE TIME BOMB
Suddenly, a dull thud shook reality. The Soul fragmented before Wistert's eyes, dropping pieces of memories that sparkled like broken glass.
"Here lie the memories of those who tried to improve the world," a voice said.
The Soul composed itself once more, as if time were rewinding. It took out a rod with a lighter, and upon igniting it, a green smoke spread through the air, returning the world to its normal appearance. The nightmare of faces and screams vanished as if it had never occurred.
"It's rare for a specter to be able to harm a living soul," the Soul murmured, approaching Wistert. "You didn't die, child. You only suffered. They are two different things."
The entity circled Wistert, analyzing the energy emanating from him. "You have access to the Dead Parallel, and you possess a magic I thought was lost in my time. You remind me of someone..." The Soul extended its hand, giving him a small object. "Take this, open it tomorrow. It won't be the last time you see me, but it will be the last time you see this Void in the same way. Consider it a gift from the Ring of the 16th March."
The specter paused before vanishing into the light, leaving one last teaching that would mark Wistert's future:
"Remember this: living beings are not made by strength, but by weapons. In this world, you must survive and dominate those who try to humiliate you. Show them that the weak are not debris, but a time bomb. And when you explode, let there be no one left to forgive."
"Hey, kid..." the Soul hesitated for a second. "When Siert... to you..."
The voice cut off. The specter disappeared completely, leaving Wistert alone with the silence of the church and the weight of a gift that would change his destiny