At the edge of all, where the final breaths of time dissolve into the abyss, five sinners stand shackled in chains of unyielding light.

  They are brought before the eternal cascade—a torrent of worlds and void that whispers the end of all existence.

  There, where the echoes of the cosmoses falter and fade, their sins are laid bare, woven into the fabric of their being.

  The verdict is pronounced, not by voice, but by the weight of their deeds: to be cast into oblivion, their essence unmade, their transgressions erased alongside them, as if neither they nor their sins ever dared to exist.

  The Sin of Order wept, not for fear of their impending judgment, but for the ceaseless cycle consuming all—life and non-life alike—crushed under the relentless march of time.

  The sinner's tears, born of grief, fell unheeded as the jury's cruel laughter echoed through the abyss, mocking the sinner's sorrow with the bitter stench of irony.

  For the Order, so revered, thrived upon the unending symphony of death and rebirth, a grotesque dance in which even the stars bowed to decay.

  When cast from the edge, the sinner's tears joined the roaring streams of the Falls, a quiet offering to the endless tide.

  Yet, among the deluge, one tear defied the void, caught by the winds of change. Dissolving into the unseen currents of existence, it carried a fragment of defiance—a sliver of natural law.

  This lone drop became a thread of fragile balance, tethering the chaos of life to a semblance of order. A defiant whisper in a cacophony of ruin, ensuring that even as the world spiraled toward entropy, it will never fully yield to the abyss.

  The Sin of Joy fell not to the hand of Justice, but to a guilty foot.

  What lingered was a storm—a stigma of wrath unleashed upon the known world.

  The fragile allure of hollow glory crumbled from the world, replaced by an all-consuming fury, a seething hatred for all that had been and all that ever would be.

  As the tide of death's haunting echoes rose to claim them, the sinner defied the abyss with their final image: a profound smile carved into the visage, not of mirth, but of assurance.

  It lingered like a battle scar upon the victorious, merciless world—a haunting emblem of joy, etched forever in the annals of fate.

  However, the greatest defiance lies with the casting of the Sin of Justice, sinful for upholding unbalanced scales, favoring good so fervently that evil had no room to exist.

  Standing clad in the most luminous and sanctified armor, so imposing that the chains binding the sinner's wrists served as a suggestion rather than a bond. The weight —inconsequential against the force of the sinner's conviction.

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  Yet, a final act spoke louder than the cries of the abyss. Without warning, the sinner plunged a gleaming sword into the precipice where they stood, the motion even the executioners failed to fathom before it was too late.

  The blade sank deep. No strength, no will, could wrest it free—it stood immovable, a sentinel to the sinner's unyielding nature.

  With that singular act complete, the sinner stepped forward, unresisting, and descended into the abyss.

  But as the sinner fell, the depths faltered.The radiance of the sinner's being did not dim immediately; instead, it lingered, casting a glow that painted the void in hues of grace.

  Even as the abyss sought to consume, it hesitated, recoiling from the brilliance that refused to yield.

  Only after a few breaths did the light vanish, disappearing so thoroughly it was as though it had never existed at all.

  The Sin of Love— bzzzt… whwhi--kk-k-rrrr–

  The vision distorts. The message fractures.

  A king stands upon nothingness, surrounded by an endless void.

  A smile plays on his lips, unfazed by the unraveling reality around him.

  "It seems I got caught peeking." He laughs.

  A lone figure kneels before him—a messenger, waiting for orders.

  "My lord?"

  The king retrieves a book, its presence an anomaly in the emptiness. A weighty thing, seemingly untouched by time, yet ancient.

  "Ah, Ari… could you do me one favor?"

  "Anything."

  The king holds out the book. "Take this and run."

  A pause. The messenger hesitates. "Run? Where?"

  "Nowhere. Everywhere. Just keep running, until you can't anymore. Until they can never hope to catch you."

  No further words are exchanged. The messenger vanishes—not as one leaving, but as if he had never existed at all.

  Even memory struggles to recall him, as though reality itself conspires to erase all trace of his presence.

  The void fractures. Cracks web across the nothingness. All began to collapse.

  A voice—his voice—slips through the breaking void.

  "…As for you…"

  The words are strained, struggling against the consuming void.

  "There wasn't much I could show you before we were interrupted. I only hope this message bears fruit someday.

  Past, present, future—it matters little. These events devour all of time in the end."

  The void gnaws at the king's form, but he does not resist.

  "I'm spending everything to relay this vision… but it's a cruel gamble, isn't it? I don't even know who's receiving this.

  You could be the one to finally decide what is right and what is wrong… or the one who buries the truth of our foundation for the best"

  The abyss pulls harder now. He is already fading. A final chuckle escapes him, soft, distant. "As for me, I'll be going far, far away. But between us…"

  The king's presence dissolves, but the whisper lingers.

  "I just hope you're kind, Warrior of Fire."

  In another time, in another space, a red-haired boy jolted awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.

  A lingering exhaustion clung to him, as if something had siphoned the very essence from his being.

  He ran a trembling hand across his forehead, wiping away the dampness before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

  "That dream again..."

  For the seventh night in a row, the same vision had wrenched him from sleep, leaving only fragments—fleeting, cryptic, and relentless.

  "Who was that person? What was that vision? What does it mean?"

  But for Tyson, those questions would have to wait. Today marked the beginning of something far greater than those strange, restless dreams. His own lifelong dream.