Thorns of Chaos

Veyrn stood alone.

His body was dissolving—not because he was dead, but because the world had ceased to recognize his form.

His feet no longer touched the ground, because the ground no longer believed in gravity.

His hand still held the Consciousness Breaker staff, but he couldn't remember where he'd gotten it.

The sun? No. But light came from every direction, like the world was exploding in a whisper too quiet to hear.

Veyrn was not afraid.

But there was one feeling he couldn't deny:

Emptiness.

And that emptiness didn't come from without. But from within. From the knowledge that everything he'd stood for, all the laws, all the sacrifices, all… was in vain.

Not because he'd lost.

But because humanity had chosen destruction as its ultimate form of honesty.

He watched Zeo's shadow—not his body, but the traces of his existence—continue to unravel, like flesh being slowly pulled apart without a knife.

He saw the ancient symbols, which he had learned with blood, turned into childish toys in the hands of those who wanted to summon "truth" through chaos.

And he realized…

Humans were never worthy of magic.

Not because they were evil.

But because they always wanted to be the gods of something they did not even understand.

Veyrn slowly knelt down. The world fell silent. Not because it was quiet.

But because reality itself was giving up.

Then he whispered, one last time:

"I am not a hero. I am not a guardian. I am only… a warning."

"And the world never listened."

In an instant, his body dissolved into symbols, then into smoke, then disappeared completely.

There was no explosion. No light. Only the disappearance of a single voice in a world that had rejected its own existence.

And as Veyrn's last shadow dissolved into the boundary between what "is" and what "was," something whispered from the deepest darkness:

"Magic is not a mistake. You who ask for eyes, but fear sight."

"Now the world will see… but it will never look away again."

Rivan stood in a directionless space.

A step forward felt the same as a step back. Up and down were just illusions of broken gravity. Around him—no color. Only texture.

Like the world was in the process of being compressed into a single moment.

On his body, the symbol of the Book of the Cracked Mirror no longer glowed.

It was no longer a spell.

It was now a hole.

"Is this the final form of the world?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"This is after the world no longer speaks."

The voice did not come from outside. It was inside Rivan.

Like a mind… but older than himself.

Rivan fell silent. His head lowered.

"You want me to close it. To become the final barrier."

"We didn't ask. You chose."

"I don't want to be a hero."

"You're not."

The voice was not angry. Not warm.

Only true.

"Did I save the world?"

Silence.

"DID I SAVE THE WORLD?"

"You slowed down the collapse that had been chosen thousands of years ago. That's all."

Suddenly, the space split.

Not open. But sliced.

And from the gap, something emerged.

Not a form. Not eyes. Not fangs.

Just one shape—vague, like an imperfect human silhouette.

Something that felt like a reflection of collective guilt.

"You… Darzel?"

"I am what remains after human desires have rotted."

"You are not a demon."

"I am nothing. I am a consequence."

"Consequence of what?"

"From the desire to become a god… with no intention of taking responsibility for creation."

Rivan felt his body heavy. But not because of magic.

Because of understanding.

That what he was fighting…

…was not a creature.

Not power.

But the human self that had been rejected for thousands of years.

"If I close you… will humans change?"

"They will forget."

"Then will it open again?"

"Always."

Rivan gritted his teeth.

"Then why should I be the cover?"

"Because every world needs someone… to absorb the sins they can't face."

Silence.

"And you're broken enough… to bear it."

Rivan slowly closed his eyes.

And at that moment, his body began to change.

Not melting.

But merging with the wound itself.

He didn't become God.

He didn't become a hero.

He became an old curtain, placed in front of a mirror, so that humans wouldn't be too afraid when they saw their own reflection.

And when the world started moving again…

No one would remember who saved them.

Because they never deserved to know.