Weaving the Past, Present, and Future

"My lord, how are we supposed to get down?" Isidore's tone had calmed significantly; the myriad bizarre souls encountered along the way had forced the Southerner, who had never before touched the mysterious atmosphere of the Sorrow Mountains, to learn how to adapt.

Iron sand permeated the air, whipped about by the wind, while thick, impenetrable fog shrouded the surroundings. The gray, somber aura completely drowned out the starlight and moonlight of the night, coating the naked eye in an intangible haze.

A stifling, wall-like pressure weighed upon the heart. At the edge of his vision, wisps of black-red blood light rose from the windblown sand—the spirits of the most terrifying warriors of the Black Ember Tribe.

"Don't be nervous..." Kas looked around. His state as a wandering soul meant his thoughts were no longer restricted by a physical body, and he could feel countless inspirations flashing through his mind.

The power he possessed was limited to two things: his strong, capable arms and Sacred Number Theory.

"Did you bring your blade?"

"I did." Isidore drew his short blade. This knife, barely thirty centimeters long, was his final shred of dignity.

"Cut your finger and, following my instructions, press ten points onto the other side of the Soul-Calling Banner...

The first row, one; the second row, two; the third row, three; the fourth row, four."

Isidore quickly used his blood to draw a neat isosceles triangle. He said, somewhat puzzled, "To be able to see points, lines, planes, and columns simultaneously... this pattern is quite interesting."

"Naturally... but let us leave now, my Soul Caller."

Isidore might not understand the significant meaning of a Soul Caller to the Rishiman People, but Kas knew he had to start showing respect to this slave.

The Soul-Calling Banner swayed. The Golden-Branch Giant Antlered Deer on the front dispelled the malice that feared the clan's name, while the Sacred Number Theory symbols on the back constructed a giant web of order derived from sublime thought.

Man and ghost walked toward the foot of the mountain. The Soul-Calling Banner and the Mask of the Departed ignited without fire, turning into dust and vanishing into the pervasive iron sand.

They walked with their backs to the moonlight, holding high the banners of mystery and order, and no one dared to approach...

Within the flickering shadows, heavy footsteps echoed from the impenetrable haze, accompanied by the harsh, grating noise of sharp iron scraping against rock.

A young man, holding a tower shield and a battle axe, outlined a heavy, ferocious silhouette against the half-shrouded shadows.

He wore no helmet. His slightly bearded face was full of confidence, and a flame brand was tattooed from his forehead to his temple.

His phantom body, lacking feet, stepped upon the hard rock just as Kas did; he, too, was a wandering soul.

"Kas of the Zagwell Clan." It was the young man's first time seeing Kas, yet his tone was already one of absolute certainty.

Xipel Blackheart...

Kas recognized the identity of the wandering soul at a glance. He stared at Blackheart's young, rugged face, his thoughts sinking deep.

If the environment I am in is nothing more than a dream to the Blackheart before me, yet I can clearly know that this is reality...

Then what of Seneya and Luna, whom I saw in the dream?

As this thought arose, he suddenly felt a wave of intense suffocation rise from his lungs to his throat.

Blackheart raised his battle axe and arched a brow, looking at the grimacing Kas with a light, mocking chuckle:

"Hey, don't be so somber. We both know a glorious slaughter witnessed by the gods is about to unfold. If you wear such a bitter face before you die, even if you are fortunate enough to enter the halls of Vagha, the gods will mock your dullness."

"What do you want, Blackheart?"

Kas stood in front of Isidore; he wanted to confirm a few things.

"Me?" Xipel smiled, shrugging his shoulders with indifference:

"I saw a dream. I saw that I would have two lovely, well-behaved daughters. They respected me and followed the path of honor I taught them from the bottom of their hearts. This is truly a thing worth rejoicing over.

Can you understand? Seeing those two little darlings lying on me, calling out to me in their childish voices—they were like gloves for my hands when I held my axe, shielding the softest part of my heart."

"Yes, I understand... I would kill anyone who threatened them." Kas nodded. Even if he had only seen the daughters in a dream, he would still do everything necessary for Luna.

"Then that is good..." Xipel Blackheart's smile faded, and he stared at Kas expressionlessly:

"I saw their deaths. I saw the decisiveness with which they plunged daggers into their own throats. Tina and Delin followed the path of honor I taught them, upholding the last remaining dignity of their bloodline.

And as their father, I must do something..."

He tilted his head to gaze at the peak of Iron Peak Mountain, shrouded under thick clouds and illuminated by only a sliver of moonlight, his tone silent:

"Such as an honor killing."

"Even if those two unborn daughters, and I myself, are merely a dream to you, you still choose to kill me?"

"A dream?" Xipel shook his head, denying the claim:

"This is a divine oracle. Everything I have seen will come to pass."

Knowing the battle was unavoidable, Kas still offered one final warning:

"Your wandering soul has appeared here. If you lose, you will never be able to wake up...

You need not take such a great risk for a false dream. All of this seems far too chaotic, rendering everything devoid of meaning."

Blackheart suddenly burst into laughter. The sound pierced through the thick fog of iron sand, passed through the shadows of death and torment, and reached the ears of those far away.

He gripped his weapon tighter, the war tattoo on his forehead making his eyes burn like fire:

"I know. I cannot judge why I saw this dream. It leaves me feeling lost, like a grain of iron sand dropped into a furnace, with no way of knowing whether it will turn into slag or be tempered into black steel.

I fear the arrival of this fate. I feel as though I have contracted a terrible mental illness, fearing that this pollution which brings hysteria will drive me mad.

But since the gods have revealed this to me, all this chaos must have their profound intent. I can only follow the demands of the gods and do what must be done!"

Blackheart leveled his battle-axe at Kas, and a murderous atmosphere descended instantly:

"Draw your sword. I have been meaning to cross blades with your father, Malik Axe-Breaker, to see just how much skill the world-renowned Zagwell Clan truly possesses!"

"My lord..." Isidore stepped forward, leaning in to reveal a corner of the Soul-Calling Banner, believing this flag would surely dispel the persistent Xipel Blackheart.

"Stand down, Isidore... This is a matter for the Rishiman People."

Kas sighed; dreams were truly a tormenting thing. A barbarian might attribute everything he saw to divine oracles, but he... could not.

He spread his weaponless hands and roared at the empty mountain ridge:

"Does the son of the Larona Clan not even deserve a weapon while witnessing a battle observed by the gods themselves!"

Old battle-axes, swords, and spears, stained with blood and runes, were thrown from all corners of Iron Peak Mountain to Kas's side, as every spirit silently watched this utterly absurd duel.

Kas did not choose any of the legendary weapons surrounding him; he opened his right hand and softly whispered that gentle name.

"Luna..."

He leveled his arm, gripped the battle-axe in his hand, and stood face-to-face with Xipel Blackheart, feeling the absurdity of it all deepening within his heart.

A man from the past, fighting his present self to defend a daughter from the future.