Kokabiel's POV

  The world around me burst into unknown colors as I stepped inside the infinite pathway between the worlds.

  It was indescribable yet beautiful. Colors that shouldn't exist, hues that had no place in any spectrum mortal eyes could perceive. Reality itself seemed to fracture and reform with each step, showing me glimpses of infinite possibilities.

  Dimensions layered upon dimensions, worlds nested within worlds, all connected through this vast corridor that existed outside normal space-time.

  The Omniverse and all the worlds within it were connected through this infinite pathway, each door leading to different worlds and multiverses. Branches extended in every direction.

  Some leading to familiar universes, others to realities so alien that even thinking about them too long could damage the regular mind. A perfect balance of darkness and light.

  It was usually restricted to ordinary beings. Even some gods of individual worlds rarely knew this place existed. The pathway operated on principles that transcended conventional understanding—to walk here required existing outside the normal flow of causality.

  But for an Outer God who existed beyond it all, it was nothing. Just another path to walk.

  I moved through the corridor with measured steps, my form barely disturbing the delicate fabric of this space. Around me, I could sense other presences lurking in the darkness between dimensions.

  The other Outer Gods—Cthulhu, Shub-Niggurath, Nyarlathotep, Hastur, and countless others. They prowled these pathways constantly, searching for weaknesses in the barriers that separated them from the Omniverse proper.

  I sensed Hastur's gaze upon me. I need to have a long talk with him later.

  They had gained access to this pathway during the last great war.

  That catastrophic conflict before time existed, when the Outer Gods had attempted to invade the Omniverse in their full conceptual forms. The primordial entities that governed the Omniverse had united against them, a desperate alliance that had never been seen before and would likely never be seen again.

  The war had raged for what could have been eons or mere moments if time existed. balance became a meaningless word during that conflict. In the end, the Outer Gods were somehow banished, forced out and sealed away from entering the Omniverse with their conceptual forms.

  But seals were never perfect. They couldn't be completely contained because they existed outside the rules that governed everything else.

  So instead, they were restricted. Limited to working through corruption, through avatars, through slow infiltration of individual worlds rather than direct manifestation.

  Thus began the cycle of corruption that plagued the Omniverse. The Outer Gods trying to breach through the worlds piece by piece, consuming them to weaken the overall barriers, hoping to eventually break through and return in their true forms to finish what had been started.

  I shook my head, dismissing those dark thoughts.

  I wasn't like them. I'd fought so hard to maintain my sanity, to hold onto the parts of myself that made me more than just a mindless force of consumption and corruption. I had family, friends. People I cared about.

  I wasn't going to become what the others wish for me to become.

  My journey was nearly over. With a flash of movement, I stood in front of the entrance that led to the Lord of Mysteries world.

  I winced mentally immediately.

  The door was damaged from my earlier actions. When I'd used my omniscience to forcibly peer into Klein's world, newly understood emotions running high and control slipping, I'd essentially torn through the protective barriers like they were paper.

  The entrance was wide open now, the dimensional doorway shattered, fragments of it floating in the void like broken glass.

  And already, I could see the consequences.

  Corrupted creatures were rushing toward the opening, drawn like moths to flame. Spawn of other Outer Gods, things that had once been normal beings before corruption twisted them into something unrecognizable. They shrieked and gibbered as they surged forward, driven by base instincts to infect, to corrupt, to consume.

  The Lord of Mysteries world was quite high up in the power scale. Ranked among the more powerful universes in this section of the Omniverse, with multiple Sequence 0 True Gods and ancient mysteries that predated the current epoch. Consuming such a world would elevate any Outer God's power significantly.

  That's why the spawn were so desperate, so eager. They could sense the vulnerability.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. This was my fault somewhat. Time to clean up my mess.

  I walked through casually, my steps silent and light despite the chaos surrounding me.

  But with each step, ripples spread outward, through the fundamental fabric of existence itself. Concentric circles of erasure radiating from where my feet touched the pathway.

  The corrupted creatures didn't even have time to finish their shrieks. The ripples reached them and they simply ceased to exist. Removed so thoroughly that even the concept of them having been there was negated.

  More kept coming, drawn by instincts they couldn't suppress even in the face of annihilation. Each one met the same fate, dissolved into nothing as I walked forward without taking a look at them.

  When I took the final step and entered the world properly, I paused and looked back. The doorway was already stitching itself together like a wound mending. The shattered fragments were being pulled back into place, the dimensional barriers reforming now that my disruptive presence had passed through.

  Good. At least I hadn't permanently damaged Klein's world. The barriers would hold again, protecting this universe from further intrusion.

  Now, time to see what await me in this world. I walked into the light.

  But in my haste, I had forgotten about a certain someone who has been bothering me for a while.

  ****

  Third Person POV

  Unknown to Kokabiel, the Lord of Mysteries world will had witnessed everything and was currently experiencing what could only be described as an existential crisis.

  "What the hell is wrong with that guy!" the world will shouted into the void, its consciousness flickering with agitation and disbelief. "Who—WHO just rips apart a world's barrier like that and casually strolls in like it's a Sunday walk?! There are PROCEDURES! There are PROTOCOLS! You can't just—"

  The world will cut itself off, metaphorically hyperventilating. This was unprecedented. This was insane. This was...

  Actually, this might be an opportunity.

  But first, the world will needed to vent its frustrations. It was already mentally composing a strongly-worded complaint to send to the DxD world will, though even as it drafted the message, it knew nothing would come of it.

  Because DxD world will had been insufferably, unbearably, absolutely SMUG lately.

  The LOTM world will scoffed, the sound reverberating through dimensions. "Like hell that pervert can join the same rank as me just because she was lucky to have an Outer God dropped in her world like a Christmas present! Fuck that!"

  It wasn't fair. It really, genuinely wasn't fair.

  DxD world will kept bragging to other world wills at their gatherings. Talking about how she didn't need to worry about Outer God invasions anymore because she had Kokabiel as a permanent resident. How she was finally going to ascend to rank 1 world will status—the highest tier, reserved only for worlds that had managed to achieve perfect stability and protection.

  "And why," the LOTM world will continued its internal rant, voice rising with indignation, "did the only SANE Outer God end up in HER world? It should have been me, not her! I've been maintaining cosmic balance for EONS! I've earned a vacation!

  But nooo, she gets the functional Outer God who actually HELPS protect things and coordinates with local world authorities, and I get stuck dealing with corruption attempts from the OTHER Outer Gods while my residents constantly plot against each other and try to achieve apotheosis in ways that could destroy everything!"

  The world will paused in its complaining, a thought occurring to it. A devious, desperate, possibly brilliant thought.

  "Wait a minute..." it muttered, consciousness focusing. "Maybe... maybe I can work with this. If I play my cards right..."

  An idea was forming. Terrible, wonderful, absolutely insane, but potentially genius.

  "Muhaha!" The world will laughed, the sound echoing through multiple dimensions simultaneously. "I'll send that crazy stalker of his to his location! If she can actually manage to seduce him and convince him to stay in my world even temporarily, maybe I can get some of the benefits DxD is bragging about!"

  The plan was already taking shape in the world will's mind.

  The Evernight Goddess had been acting strange for centuries—ever since she'd accommodated the Uniqueness and become a True God. There was something about her that wasn't quite right, like two beings occupying the same divine authority.

  And recently, she'd been showing signs of... obsession. With something or someone she claimed to remember from a past that shouldn't exist.

  The world will had dismissed it as divine madness at first. But now, seeing her reaction to Kokabiel's arrival, the way the moon had turned blood red and the stars had practically danced with joy, it was obvious.

  She knew him. Or thought she did. From some past life or alternate timeline or whatever impossible circumstance had created this connection.

  "And if things work out," the world will continued gleefully, "maybe, just maybe, I can finally go on that vacation I've been dreaming about for eons!"

  The world will wiped an imaginary tear from its nonexistent eyes, already imagining itself lounging on some metaphysical beach somewhere, not having to constantly monitor Sefirot conflicts or mediate disputes between True Gods or worry about Amon's latest scheme to break reality.

  "Yes," it decided firmly. "This is a good plan. This is definitely going to work out perfectly with absolutely no unforeseen consequences whatsoever."

  The world will sent a gentle nudge through its authority, guiding a certain Goddess toward a certain location in Tingen City.

  Meanwhile, across the Lord of Mysteries world, every being with significant power was experiencing various levels of alarm and confusion.

  The Angel of Time, Amon, paused in the middle of his latest elaborate scheme. He'd been in the process of stealing someone's identity as he always did for fun, when suddenly his monocle flickered and his Error pathway began screaming warnings.

  The pathway was showing him that the world itself was an error. Which was... concerning, to put it mildly.

  Amon adjusted his monocle with his characteristic gesture, his crimson eye gleaming with interest rather than fear. Fear was for lesser beings. He was curious.

  "I wonder what kind of amusement you shall provide, traveler," he murmured, already looking through the veil of reality to search for the disturbance.

  His abilities as the Angel of Time and Error allowed him to perceive things others couldn't. To see through deception, to trace causes back to their origins, to understand the underlying truth of situations.

  So naturally, he tried to trace back to the source of this disturbance.

  The moment he did, his instincts exploded with warning.

  Reality twisted violently. Amon suddenly found himself standing in absolute darkness—not merely the absence of light, but the absence of existence itself. Nothing surrounded him. No sound, no sensation, no space, no time. Just pure, endless void.

  "What—" Amon started to say, his usual confidence faltering for the first time in centuries.

  "Do not seek what you have no understanding of, greedy little insect."

  The voice came from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. It wasn't particularly loud, but it made Amon's entire conceptual existence flicker and nearly break.

  His Error pathway, his Angel characteristics, the fundamental essence of what made him Amon, all of it trembled on the verge of dissolution from those words alone.

  Amon wanted to be angry at the insult. He was the Angel of Time! The son of the Ancient Sun God! He was one of the most powerful beings in this entire world, feared even by True Gods!

  But his cunning mind, the very thing that had kept him alive and thriving for thousands of years, immediately overrode his wounded pride.

  Be silent. Be careful. Do not antagonize whatever this is.

  Because whatever this was, it could end him Permanently. With less effort than Amon spent adjusting his monocle.

  Then all his thoughts came to a screeching halt as he looked up and saw a pair of eyes staring down at him from the darkness.

  Amon went pale—an impressive feat for a being of his nature.

  Those ancient eyes regarded him with the same casual attention one might give to an ant on the sidewalk. Boredom and disdain mixed in that gaze, along with something infinitely worse, complete and utter indifference.

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  This being could erase Amon from existence with less thought than a human might give to swatting a fly. And it wouldn't even care enough to remember doing it.

  Amon's pride warred with his survival instinct for perhaps half a second.

  Survival won decisively.

  He bowed deeply—actually bowed, something he hadn't done genuinely since his father's death, forcing himself to show respect he'd never given to anyone willingly.

  "Forgive my disrespect, oh great one," Amon said, each word carefully measured despite the terror clawing at his mind.

  "I wished merely to learn what was causing the disturbance in my world. Your existence is... tearing it apart. If you desire, I can offer all that I possess, just to obtain some of the knowledge you could bestow upon this lowly being."

  The words tasted like ash and humiliation. Amon hated this. Hated admitting inferiority, hated showing weakness, hated begging.

  But even as he spoke, his brilliant mind was already calculating, scheming, searching for angles.

  If he could somehow deceive this being even slightly, if he could gain even a fraction of this power and knowledge through trickery or manipulation... he could achieve everything he'd ever wanted.

  Gain all the Worm of Time characteristics scattered across the world. Replace Mr. Door during his apotheosis ritual. Become a True God of the Error pathway. Then accommodate the Door pathway's authority and become a Dual Pathway True God. Maybe even challenge for the position of the Ancient Sun God itself, or attempt to reach Pillar status.

  The possibilities danced through his mind, so tantalizingly close—

  Pain erupted through his entire being.

  Sudden, overwhelming pain as his eyes and ears began bleeding essence. Not blood, the fundamental stuff of his existence leaking out, his Error pathway's protection failing completely against this being's casual attention.

  Before everything went dark, before Amon was forcibly ejected from that space, he heard a single word. Delivered with such contempt that it cut deeper than any physical wound ever could:

  "You aren't worthy, foolish insect."

  And suddenly, Amon was back where he'd left, except he was on his knees now. His monocle had fallen off, lying on the ground beside him—something that never happened, because the monocle was part of his identity, his symbol, maintained by his Error authority.

  His pathway was destabilizing, the entity's words having nearly undone thousands of years of careful cultivation and advancement. Divine essence leaked from his eyes and ears, his conceptual existence struggling to maintain cohesion.

  Amon fell forward. His body usually under perfect control now refusing to respond properly. He twitched, gasping for air, experiencing something close to mortal vulnerability for the first time since ascending to Angel status.

  His last conscious thought escaped his lips as a whisper, carried by breath that shouldn't have been necessary:

  "I want that power."

  Elsewhere in the world, other powerful beings reacted to Kokabiel's presence in their own ways.

  The Hidden Sage, that mysterious and terrifying entity that haunted all who walked the Hermit pathway, paused in its eternal activities. For the first time in centuries, it stopped whispering forbidden knowledge into the minds of its unwilling recipients.

  Those poor souls who were being driven slowly mad by the Sage's constant revelations suddenly found themselves experiencing blessed silence. They wept with relief, not understanding why the torture had stopped.

  "A True God walks among us," the Hidden Sage whispered to itself, its voice carrying through dimensions. "But not of this world. Not of this universe. How interesting. How utterly, fascinatingly impossible."

  For a being that craved knowledge above all else, this was the ultimate mystery. An entity from beyond their reality, beyond their cosmic framework, walking freely in their world.

  The Hidden Sage wanted to know more. Wanted to understand. But even itself in its infinite hunger for knowledge—recognized that some truths were too dangerous to pursue.

  So it simply observed, waited, and wondered.

  In a hidden location in the northern continent, Adam paused.

  The King of Angels and son of the Ancient Sun God, current vessel of the Visionary pathway's authority, perhaps the most powerful being in the world short of the True Gods, was in the middle of one of his countless schemes when he felt it.

  He'd been manipulating events across multiple countries, setting up circumstances that would play out over the next decade according to his carefully laid plans. Moving pieces on a board so vast that most people couldn't even comprehend they were pieces.

  But now, all of that came to a sudden stop.

  "What just happened?" Adam spoke aloud, his perfect angelic face showing actual confusion for perhaps the first time in centuries.

  His golden hair seemed to glow slightly in the dim light of his study. "I sense a power beyond this world. An entity that shouldn't exist within our cosmic framework. But it's not like the corrupted invaders we've fought before."

  This was different. The Outer Gods that occasionally tried to breach into their world were mad, chaotic, driven by hunger and corruption. Their presence felt wrong in a fundamental way, like a disease infecting reality.

  But this... this felt different. Controlled. Sane. Which somehow made it more frightening.

  The essence of the True Creator stirred within Adam, the remnant authority of his father that he carried, waiting for the day he could fully accommodate it and achieve true godhood. That essence was... warning him.

  Adam's eyebrows rose slightly. His father's remnant consciousness rarely communicated so clearly. It usually remained dormant, a source of power and nothing more.

  "So even you are telling me to stay away from that monster?" Adam murmured, a small smile playing at his lips. It was almost amusing, in a dark way.

  Even the Ancient Sun God's remnant, one of the most powerful divine authorities in existence, was cautious of this entity.

  Adam walked to a window and looked up at the night sky, something he rarely did anymore. "It's been a while since I looked at the sky like this," he said quietly. "The stars shine rather brightly tonight. Even the darkness feels... joyful?"

  That was strange. The conceptual authority of Evernight shouldn't feel emotions like joy. It was an abstract force, a fundamental law of reality.

  Unless...

  As if responding to his observation, the moon suddenly turned blood red. The stars flickered and pulsed with unusual intensity, their light dancing in patterns that shouldn't be possible.

  Adam's eyebrow rose higher. "What got her so excited?"

  He didn't need to specify who "her" was. There was only one deity associated with the night, stars, and moon who would react so strongly.

  "The Evernight Goddess," Adam said quietly, his brilliant mind already working through implications. "Interesting. Very interesting indeed."

  He made a mental note to monitor the situation but not interfere. Whatever was happening, it involved powers beyond even his ability to manipulate.

  Sometimes, the wisest course was to simply observe and wait for opportunities to present themselves.

  In the Astral World, in an ancient castle that existed suspended in the eternal darkness of Tenebrous Heaven, an intense wave of emotions was emanating from the throne room.

  The castle itself was magnificent beyond mortal comprehension. Constructed from materials that predated the current epoch, filled with treasures and secrets that would drive ordinary Beyonders mad with desire.

  It existed in a pocket of space where the normal laws of reality didn't fully apply, accessible only to those with divine authority.

  And it was almost always empty, save for a single occupant.

  The Evernight Goddess sat on her throne of black stone and starlight—or rather, had been sitting until a moment ago.

  Now she stood, having jumped to her feet so suddenly that divine power rippled through the entire castle. The eternal darkness of her domain shuddered, responding to her emotional state in a way it never had before.

  "He is truly here!" she actually squealed, in a tone completely at odds with her usual divine dignity and cold authority. "I have been waiting for you for so long!"

  If any of her followers had witnessed this moment, they would have been utterly shocked.

  The Evernight Goddess was supposed to be calm, mysterious, impassive. A being of absolute authority who moved through the world with calculated purpose.

  Not... this. Not jumping up and down like an excited teenage girl who'd just seen her crush.

  She jumped down from her throne with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, her black robes—woven from literal darkness and starlight—billowing around her dramatically. Her mind was racing, thoughts fragmenting and reforming rapidly.

  The events in Tingen City had concluded just a day ago. Her followers, some of her Nighthawk team had been killed. Even that fellow reincarnator, the one who'd been causing interesting waves unknowingly, had apparently lost his physical body in the confrontation with the Child of the True Creator.

  She'd watched it all happen with detached interest, not interfering because the outcome hadn't mattered to her larger plans. The death of a few followers was regrettable. Even the potential destabilization from the Child of the True Creator's manifestation had been manageable.

  But she had never expected THIS. Never thought that HE would actually arrive in this world.

  After so long. After so many centuries of waiting, of hoping, of maintaining her position as a True God specifically so she'd have the power to find him again...

  He was here.

  The Evernight Goddess conjured a mirror in front of her with a wave of her hand, suddenly concerned about her appearance in a way that was completely foreign to her divine nature.

  She lifted her veil with trembling fingers, which would have shocked anyone who knew her—and examined her reflection critically.

  A magnificent beauty stared back at her. Perfect features that transcended mortal comprehension, that would make even other gods pause in admiration.

  Long black hair that seemed to contain actual fragments of the night sky, with stars twinkling within it. Crimson eyes that glowed with divine power, capable of seeing through any deception or illusion. Skin as pale and perfect as moonlight, unmarred by any flaw.

  She knew she was beautiful. She'd been beautiful in every sense the mind could perceive.

  But was it enough? Would he remember ? Would he even recognize her?

  She smoothed her hair anxiously, checking for any imperfection. Adjusted her robes to fall just right. Made sure every detail was absolutely flawless.

  Then she paused, staring at her own reflection. A smile spread across her face—beautiful, radiant, divine...

  And just slightly deranged.

  "I won't let you run away from me ever again," she whispered to her reflection, her voice carrying layers of obsession and longing that would have terrified anyone who heard it. "My beautiful Eternal Night. You will always belong to me... Arthur..."

  The name hung in the air, heavy with impossible meaning. A name or existencethat shouldn't be known to a being like her . A name from a life that according to all the laws of reality, had been dead.

  But she remembered. She would never forget her regret, losing the thing most precious to her.

  She vanished in a flash of darkness and starlight, divine authority bending space itself as she teleported directly to the material world. Heading toward Tingen City.

  Heading toward her fateful meeting that had been long, long overdue.

  *****

  Kokabiel's POV

  I appeared in an empty alleyway in Tingen City.

  The transition from the infinite pathway to the material world was always jarring. Going from that space of impossible colors and infinite dimensions to the mundane reality of brick walls and cobblestone streets required a moment of mental adjustment for my sealed form.

  It had been about a day since Klein's death. Time flowed strangely between dimensions, I'd needed to deal with some complications before I could come here properly, and what felt like a moment to me had been a full day here.

  I'd also had to deal with that greedy guy who'd tried to reach out to me the moment I arrived. Amon—the world will had helpfully provided his name after he'd attempted to perceive my true nature. Thinking he could somehow scam or manipulate me into sharing power or knowledge.

  How foolish. I'd sent him a very clear message about attempting to perceive things beyond his understanding.

  But that was handled now. I was here for Klein, to check on him and help him properly resurrect. After that, I'd return to my world and spend time with my siblings like I'd promised Gabriel. I had no interest in this world's internal politics or power struggles.

  I stepped out of the alleyway and looked around with genuine curiosity.

  Tingen City was fascinating in its mundanity. It looked like something pulled directly from Earth's Victorian era, complete with all the hallmarks of early industrial revolution.

  Steam-powered machinery mixed awkwardly with horse-drawn carriages. Gas lamps stood alongside newer electric lights that flickered uncertainly. Factories belched dark smoke into the morning sky while older guild halls maintained their medieval architecture stubbornly.

  People moved through the streets with the peculiar energy of those who'd survived something terrible without quite understanding what had happened.

  They knew there'd been danger—evacuations, explosions, deaths among the city guard and mysterious "gas leaks" in certain districts that still had areas cordoned off.

  But they didn't know the truth. Would never know that Klein Moretti and Dunn Smith had died stopping an evil god's offspring from destroying everything they'd ever known.

  I watched people beginning their day with a mix of sadness and acceptance. Shop owners opening their businesses, calling out early greetings to regular customers. Workers heading to factories, lunch pails in hand, complaining about the early hour. Street vendors setting up their stalls, arranging goods for the day's trade.

  Life continuing because Klein had given his life to preserve it.

  The thought made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. I'd failed to look after him. Failed to even notice he was in danger until it was too late, until his soul had already been separated from his body and pulled into the Sefirah Castle. Specially after he said he trusted me to watch over them.

  I sighed and started walking through the streets toward the cemetery, where I could feel lingering spiritual energy from the recent deaths. I should pay my respects before seeking out Klein's soul. A light rain was pouring, as if mourning the tragedy.

  The walk through Tingen was enlightening in its own way. The damage from the spiritual battle was subtle but present if you knew what to look for.

  Certain buildings had hairline cracks in their foundations that hadn't been there before, stress damage from spiritual energy warping the physical structure. Some streets had slight depressions where reality itself had been temporarily weakened.

  A few areas felt "wrong" in ways normal people couldn't articulate but unconsciously avoided, crossing the street to walk on the other side without knowing why.

  The cemetery came into view, and I was surprised by how many people were gathered there.

  Families of the Nighthawk members and people who died. Colleagues paying their respects. Even random citizens who'd heard about the "gas explosion tragedy" and wanted to lay flowers or offer prayers.

  I stood at the cemetery's edge, observing them grieve for losses they didn't fully understand.

  Then, with barely a thought, a bouquet of white roses appeared in my hand. Perfect specimens, each one pristine and carrying a faint divine blessing woven subtly into their petals.

  Nothing too overt, just enough that the flowers wouldn't wilt, that they'd bring a small measure of comfort to those who saw them.

  Then I released them from my hand.

  A gust of wind swept through the cemetery—gentle but firm, carrying the roses toward the graves with precision. The people closed their eyes instinctively against the wind and the slight chill that came with it, pulling their coats tighter.

  When they opened their eyes again, they found the light drizzle that had been falling had stopped completely. The clouds parted. The sun peeked out for the first time that morning, sending golden rays across the cemetery and illuminating the graves.

  And on each grave, every single one without exception, rested a single white rose.

  Perfect. Pristine. Impossible.

  Shocked silence fell over the gathered mourners. Then whispers began spreading like wildfire.

  "A miracle..."

  "The Goddess's blessing..."

  "They're watching over us from ..."

  I watched their reactions with a small, sad smile. Let them have this comfort. Let them believe their loved ones were acknowledged by something greater, that their sacrifice had divine meaning.

  In a way, it was true. Klein and the others had died as true heroes, and heroes deserved to be remembered as such.

  A woman stood quietly in front of one particular grave, seemingly unaffected by the sudden gust of wind. She was different from the others. I could sense the Medium pathway's authority within her, the spiritual power that marked her as a Beyonder. A Spirit Medium, if I recalled this world's power system correctly.

  She'd likely sensed something more than wind in that gust. Felt the divine authority woven into it.

  As the first ray of sunlight fell directly upon her, she squinted against the brightness. When she opened her eyes fully, they immediately found the white rose on the grave before her, water droplets from the rain still clinging to its petals and reflecting the sunlight like tiny diamonds.

  Something broke inside her.

  The composure she'd been desperately maintaining, the strong facade she'd been wearing for the sake of others, shattered completely.

  Daly fell to her knees, her hands pressed against the cold stone of the grave marker. Sobs wracked her body, tears streaming down her face unchecked as she finally allowed herself to truly grieve.

  For Dunn, who'd been like family. For Klein, the promising young man who'd died too soon. For Old Neil, the kind mentor who'd always had a terrible joke ready. For everyone they'd lost.

  Her shoulders shook as she cried, years of suppressed emotion finally finding release.

  She didn't notice that the grave beside the one she wept at also had a rose.

  But this one was different—black as the night itself, so dark it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

  Yet if someone looked very carefully, leaned in close and really examined it, they'd see tiny pinpricks of light within the black petals. Like stars flickering in an endless void.

  Klein's grave. Or rather, the cenotaph erected for him, since there'd been no body to bury. Just ash that had scattered in the wind.

  I turned away, giving Daly and the others their privacy to grieve. My work here was done, a small gesture, but hopefully a meaningful one.

  Now it was time for the real reason I'd come.

  Time to meet my friend, who must be feeling rather lonely in that castle of his. Suspended between existence and non-existence in the Sefirah Castle, probably thinking he was dead and gone forever, that his sacrifice had been his end.

  Time to prove him wrong.

  Klein Moretti wasn't gone. Not yet.

  I just needed to figure out how to reach him without destabilizing the entire Fool pathway in the process. This is where his journey truly begins. And I would never hinder it.

  I walked away from the cemetery, already sensing toward the spiritual disturbance that marked the Sefirah Castle's location in this dimensional space.

  And tried very hard to ignore the presence that was rapidly approaching my location with divine speed and what felt disturbingly like excited anticipation.

  Why did I get the feeling things were about to get complicated?