Stell stood there in silence, the echoes of the girls footsteps long gone.
He shook his head slowly, as if the motion alone could force the confusion out of his mind. The air felt real—too real. Cool against his skin, heavy with the scent of earth and old stone. He drew a deep breath, steadying himself, and finally allowed his eyes to wander.
The ruined castle loomed around him, its once-proud towers fractured and hollow, walls devoured by time and creeping vines. This place had known grandeur once—he could feel it, even if the memory did not belong solely to him. Beyond the broken arches stood the Tree of Life, its massive trunk rooted deep into the earth, its crimson leaves glowing faintly beneath the moonlight like embers refusing to die.
As he stared at it, fragments of memories stirred within him.
Not just the memories of a king but something else layered atop them. A story, a legend, Five heroes who had once walked this land, whose faces were eerily familiar. Too familiar.
He turned slowly, his gaze drifting to the statues encircling the tree.
Ken, Josh, Justin and Pablo.
Their stone faces were unmistakable. The resemblance was impossible to deny. They were the same faces he had known from another life, members of a group he had watched, listened to, admired. And yet here they were, immortalized as heroes of a fallen kingdom where some of them had different names.
"And Stell…" he whispered.
There was no statue bearing that name anymore.
The realization settled heavily in his chest. The memories he carried, the story of sacrifice, corruption, the Tree of Life, weren't just fragments of myth. They were this world's history. And the name he now bore… proved it.
"I really did reincarnate," he murmured. "Into this."
His gaze returned to the Tree of Life, drawn by an instinct he could not explain. As he stepped closer, something among the glowing leaves caught his attention.
There, hanging low from one of the branches was a single fruit.
It was crimson red, shaped almost like a heart, its surface pulsing faintly as if alive. Warm light seeped from it, rhythmic and slow, like a living thing breathing.
"A fruit?" Stell said softly.
He reached up and plucked it from the branch. The moment it left the tree, warmth spread through his palm, sending a strange shiver up his arm. He turned it over in his hand, curiosity and caution warring within him.
'Should he eat it?'
The thought barely formed before the sound of hurried footsteps broke the stillness.
Stell stiffened and turned.
The girl had returned but she was no longer alone.
Behind her came several figures, men and women bearing dark markings across their skin. Eldranis touched by remnants of the old curse. Their expressions ranged from fear to awe. At her side walked an elderly man clad in worn robes, his body leaning heavily on a cane.
Yet despite his age, his eyes shone brightly the moment they landed on Stell.
Hope, shock and reverence.
The old man's breath trembled as he whispered, almost afraid to believe it.
"…It really is the king."
The old man stepped forward, his cane tapping softly against the stone, then lowered himself onto one knee. One by one, the others followed, kneeling in solemn unison.
The elder bowed his head.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty."
The words echoed through the ruins, heavy with meaning.
______
The throne room of Eldrinor stood in solemn silence as Stell was escorted inside.
The doors, once grand and imposing, groaned softly as they opened, revealing a vast hall bathed in dim moonlight filtering through cracked stained-glass windows. Stell was guided forward, his steps echoing against the worn marble floor, until he was gently urged toward the throne.
He sat.
The moment he did, a strange sensation settled over him, familiar, yet deeply unfamiliar. It felt as though his body remembered this place even if his mind hesitated to accept it. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable beneath an invisible weight.
His eyes wandered across the hall.
The room was clean, meticulously cared for despite its abandonment, yet age clung to every surface. Cracks traced the stone walls like old scars. The banners that once adorned the pillars were gone, leaving behind only faded outlines where color and pride had once hung. No decorations. No symbols of royalty.
Only echoes of what had been.
In front of him stood Irene, Damir, and the other Eldranis marked by faint traces of the old curse. They watched him with a mixture of awe, fear, and fragile hope.
"So you're telling me…" Stell began, rubbing his temple, "…that fifty years have passed since I turned into stone?"
Damir, the elderly man in robes, nodded solemnly. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Stell exhaled slowly. "And right now, the kingdom is gone. The tribes are scattered all over Eldoria."
Damir nodded again. "There is no central rule and no unity. Only remnants of what once was."
Stell leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting the information sink in.
Fifty years.
A lifetime gone in the blink of an eye.
Based on everything Damir had told him, his suspicions were no longer doubts. They were facts. The memories implanted within him, the story of sacrifice and corruption, the Tree of Life blooming at the cost of five lives—it all matched.
His story… was the same as the one told in the music video of SB19's DAM.
Only now, it wasn't a story. It was history.
And this world… was not just some random fantasy realm.
"This is Encantadia," Stell muttered under his breath.
A land where gods walked among mortals. Where magic shaped bloodlines. Where diwatas, warriors, monsters, and legends coexisted beneath the gaze of the Bathalas. A world of breathtaking beauty and relentless danger.
And with his current position, with the blood of a lost king and the legacy of a fallen hero…
He wasn't just part of the world.
He was standing at its center once more.
Stell lowered his hand and straightened on the throne, his gaze sharpening as he looked at those gathered before him.
"…This is troublesome ," he said quietly.