The streets, once filled with raucous celebration, were now quieter—though remnants of last night’s festivities still lingered in the air. At the city square, Selva stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently.

  As Arden, Leigh, and Dominic finally appeared, she smirked and said, "I never thought Gods loved sleeping so much."

  Arden yawned, stretching his arms. "You try celebrating like a legend, feasting like a king, and still waking up at dawn."

  Leigh shot him a look. "You mean drinking like a fool and passing out in a chair?"

  Dominic chuckled. "To be fair, Selva, we’ve been carrying the fate of an entire world on our backs. A few extra hours of sleep is well deserved."

  Selva smirked. "Right, right. Keep telling yourselves that."

  Arden threw an arm around her shoulder. "Jealous you didn’t get invited to the noble’s private wine stash?"

  Dominic adjusted his cloak, shaking his head with amusement. "Enough teasing. Before we set off, I want to pass by the Arcane Bazaar. We still have unfinished business there."

  Selva rolled her eyes. "Of course, you do. Fine, let’s get moving."

  With that, the group made their way to the Arcane Bazaar.

  They arrived at Master Zellan's shop, where the eccentric merchant welcomed them with a fox-like grin. "Ah, my favorite customers!" He cleared his throat dramatically. "Heroes have returned, bearing both fortune and fame! To what do I owe the pleasure? Perhaps a taste of immortality? A cursed artifact? A relic that will flip Veyne’s auction again?"

  Leigh sighed, rubbing her temples. "We’re here for two reasons, Zellan."

  Dominic stepped forward. "First, any updates on the Indestructible Pages?"

  Zellan chuckled, motioning them toward a private chamber. He unlocked a reinforced safe, revealing three ancient parchment pieces, each radiating a faint golden light.

  "Welcome back, Master."

  The voices of the pages echoed in Dominic’s mind, stirring something deep within him.

  "It seems fortune smiles upon you, my dear magician. Three more pieces have surfaced. Each one was harder to acquire than the last."

  Dominic’s fingers tingled the moment they neared the glowing pages, an unseen force pulling at his very essence. As he grasped them, a surge of raw energy coursed through his veins, his vision blurring as time itself unraveled before him.

  Fragments of lost knowledge flashed in his mind—ancient glyphs forming in the air, runes of forgotten power weaving into existence. He saw visions of a world long before this one, where Arcana Gods stood upon the cosmos, bending reality with nothing but their will. Spells whispered in a language no mortal should remember, yet he understood them perfectly.

  The energy in the air shifted, thick with something ancient, something woven into the very fabric of Laoyon itself. It was not just magic—it was recognition.

  Master Zellan’s voice trembled, his breath uneven, as if saying the words required a strength beyond him. He knelt, his legs buckling, his head bowed, forehead pressed to the floor, unable to meet Dominic's gaze.

  "Y-you…" He swallowed hard, hands shaking as he pressed them against the ground. "You are… our Lord."

  He was filled with awe, disbelief, and sheer reverence. "Our Lord, the Magician." He couldn’t believe he had been interacting with The Great Magician all this time.

  Dominic stiffened. His golden eyes flickered, emotions flashing too fast to name.

  Then Arden, blissfully unfazed by the gravity of the moment, clapped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. "Well, buddy. Looks like you’ve got a fan club."

  Leigh, eyes darting between Zellan kneeling and the sheer reverence in his gaze, took a slow step toward Dominic. Her voice was low, careful. "Dominic… what did you do?"

  Dominic swallowed. "I… don’t know."

  Master Zellan rose, stepping forward, his movements deliberate, measured.

  Then, he bowed deeply. A bow not given to kings. Not to emperors. But to something far beyond mortal sovereignty.

  "Welcome back to Laoyon, my Lord."

  A sudden surge of energy pulsed through the air as Arcane Magnus, Dominic’s ever-loyal staff, trembled in his grasp. A soft glow engulfed it before it shimmered and shifted—taking on its human-like form before kneeling on one knee.

  "Welcome back, Master," Arcane Magnus said, his voice steady yet filled with something unreadable—devotion, nostalgia… and something deeper.

  Then—the memories came.

  Like a flood, flashes of a time long past surged into Dominic’s mind, drowning him in fragments of a life he barely remembered. Fifty thousand years of forgotten echoes—of choices made, paths abandoned, power wielded, and consequences faced.

  Memories clawed their way back, unraveling one after another. A world born from his pride. A challenge he had accepted without realizing the weight of what he had created. A past self who had once held the universe in his palm, weaving its very laws into existence.

  His golden eyes flickered as his grip on Arcane Magnus tightened. His fingers dug into the staff, grounding himself in the present.

  And then—he felt it.

  A presence, unseen yet overwhelming.

  Recognition.

  From Laoyon itself. The world he created fifty thousand years ago.

  Dominic gasped as the weight of fifty thousand years crashed down on him. His vision blurred, flickering between the present and the past—faces, voices, battles, betrayals. Memories he had long since abandoned now clawed at the edges of his mind.

  His chest heaved, his breaths shallow and uneven, as if the very air around him had become too heavy to bear. His fingers curled into a trembling fist, nails digging into his palm.

  Hatred surged within him. Not for Laoyon—not for this world that had flourished in his absence—but for the memories that came with it. For the betrayal. For the ones who had turned against him.

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  "Traitors…"

  The word left his lips like a curse, barely above a whisper, yet it echoed through the silent shop like the crack of thunder.

  Arden and Leigh stiffened at the raw emotion behind that single word.

  Dominic stood frozen, golden eyes distant, body tense, caught between the past and the present. His whole form trembled with unspoken rage, grief, and a sorrow so deep it felt like an abyss.

  Then, as if breaking free from the chains of time itself, he turned to them.

  His gaze, once burning with anger, softened—only to be replaced by something far more painful.

  He saw them not as they were now, but as they were then.

  The Fool. The Star.

  His vision blurred again, and for the first time in all their travels, Dominic Felicio—the ever-confident, ever-smirking Magician—let his tears fall.

  His voice cracked.

  "Fool… Star…"

  Leigh’s breath hitched, her heart clenching at the brokenness in his tone.

  Arden’s usual smirk faded. His expression turned uncharacteristically serious as he stepped closer. "Dom…?"

  Dominic clenched his jaw, fighting against the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. His lips trembled; his fists still tight at his sides as he tried—failed—to contain the storm within him.

  Then, his knees nearly buckled.

  "I’m sorry…" His voice shook, his tears now falling freely. "I’m so sorry… for what happened fifty thousand years ago."

  For the first time, Dominic wasn’t speaking as their friend. He was speaking as The Great Magician.

  As the one who had once stood beside The Fool and The Star.

  As the one who had lost them.

  After the dramatic welcome, Dominic called Zellan’s attention. "Tell me, Zellan. Why did I end up finding a page of the Codex of Creation in a temple filled with undead in the Southern Plains?"

  Zellan’s eyes widened. "The… Codex of Creation?" He looked at the ancient parchment, his fingers trembling slightly. "Is that what this truly is?"

  Dominic nodded, his golden eyes glinting with realization. "This is no ordinary indestructible page. These are fragments of my Spell Book—the Codex of Creation itself."

  Zellan's face paled as the weight of the revelation settled in. He took a shaky step back, his usual confident demeanor faltering. "The Codex of Creation…" he whispered, his hands tightening into fists. "If I had known…" His voice trailed off, filled with a mixture of awe and dread.

  His gaze flickered to the reinforced safe where the pages had been stored. A cold sweat ran down his temple. "Had I realized what they truly were, I would have never dared display them for sale. By the Gods… I might have been playing with forces far beyond my understanding."

  Zellan took a deep breath, recollecting himself. "If this is indeed part of the Codex of Creation, then I can only assume a dark mage got their hands on it and attempted to decode it within the temple."

  Leigh frowned. "And failed?"

  Zellan gave a solemn nod. "Either they failed, or they perished in the attempt. If they truly understood its value, they wouldn't have simply left it behind. This means something stopped them." He looked at Dominic with newfound concern. "And if that is the case… then whoever was after this page may not have given up."

  “And what about the other pages?” Dominic asked.

  Zellan took a deep breath before answering. “Ten of the pages are kept in the Magic Academy of Ravenloch. The Archmage, Randolf Eldenhardt, has safeguarded them as part of the legacy passed down through 22 generations of Archmages. Our ancestors hoped that one day, the next generation would be able to decode the mystery of your Spell Book.”

  Dominic’s gaze darkened with intrigue. “Then I want them brought to me.”

  Without hesitation, Zellan nodded and reached out through telepathic magic. The connection was instant. Within minutes, swirling teleportation portals began manifesting inside the Arcane Bazaar. One after another, the glowing rifts opened, causing a wave of panic among the scholars, mages, and customers inside the shop as the sheer magnitude of magical power flooded the air.

  The room buzzed with anxious murmurs as the space distorted, heralding the arrival of something—or someone—far greater.

  Mages from Magic Shops all over Laoyon teleported into the Arcane Bazaar, their sudden arrival sending waves of energy through the air. The moment they set foot outside the VIP Room, they dropped to their knees in one after the other, pressing their foreheads to the ground in deep reverence. Their robes fluttered from the residual magic, yet none dared to lift their heads, overwhelmed by the presence they had come to acknowledge.

  It wasn’t forced. No command was issued, no divine decree given—just an undeniable presence, a force older than time itself, sweeping through the shop like an unshakable truth. It was instinctive, primal. Some fell to their knees before their minds could even process why, their bodies surrendering to something greater. Others trembled violently, as though standing on the precipice of revelation, their lips parting in silent awe. They did not bow out of obligation or fear—but because in that moment, they understood they were in the presence of something beyond mortal comprehension.

  The energy in the air shifted, thick with something ancient, something woven into the very fabric of Laoyon itself. It was not just magic—it was recognition.

  Arden pushed open the door to step outside the VIP Room—only to freeze mid-step. The entire store was on their knees.

  He blinked. Then blinked again. "Huh."

  Slowly, he nudged Leigh with his elbow, his voice low and amused. "Okay. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never made an entire shop bow the second I walked in."

  Leigh, still staring at the scene before her, shook her head in disbelief. "What… is happening?"

  Selva swallowed hard, taking in the overwhelming display of reverence. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Well… a rightful bow for the second coming of a lost god."

  The Archmage, Randolf Eldenhardt, arrived, his robes billowing with an air of authority and reverence. Without hesitation, he strode toward the VIP Room and fell to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor in absolute submission. With both hands, he carefully lifted a reinforced safe, its surface adorned with intricate arcane sigils, within which rested the remaining ten pages of the Codex of Creation. His voice, though steady, carried the weight of something far greater than mere reverence.

  "Welcome back, Lord Great Magician."

  Dominic stepped forward, his golden eyes unreadable as Zellan gestured him toward the waiting Archmage. The moment he crossed the threshold, an unseen force rippled through the room. The air grew heavy, charged with raw power.

  Then—without a single word spoken—everyone was lifted into the air, suspended by an overwhelming presence beyond mortal comprehension. The reinforced safe floated toward Dominic, its sigils glowing as a deep, resonant voice echoed from within.

  "Welcome back, Master."

  Arcane Magnus materialized beside him, extending a hand toward the box. With a flicker of ancient magic, the locks unsealed, and the safe burst open. The ten pages inside shot into the air, spreading like a fan of cards before Dominic, their golden inscriptions pulsing with power.

  A sudden shimmer in the space around him signaled the arrival of three more pages, emerging from his personal subspace, as if drawn by an unseen force. They seamlessly joined the others, forming a complete set of thirteen pages of the Codex of Creation.

  Then—BOOM!

  A wave of overwhelming energy exploded outward from Dominic’s body, sending a shockwave rippling through the Arcane Bazaar. The floating bystanders were forcefully pushed back, tumbling through the air before landing at a safe distance. Only Dominic and his companions remained untouched, standing firm before the entrance of the VIP Room, as the air around them crackled with raw, unfathomable power.

  “Unbelievable…” Zellan whispered in awe. “A Spirit Awakening in real time?” The air split open, revealing an ethereal expanse beyond the visible world. Leigh’s breath hitched. The Spirit Realm.

  A space beyond mortality—where one’s true potential was unveiled. From within the golden vortex, shadows and memories took form. Images flickered around Dominic—visions of his past, his triumphs, his losses. A younger version of himself, holding the universe in his palm, his cloak billowing as he commanded his very creations.

  Dominic clenched his fists, golden flames coiling around his arms as he seized the fragments of power that had once been his. Bahani Realm—Beginning Stage (The Spirit Realm). A realm where one gathers the lost pieces of themselves—hidden strengths, resilience, and the essence of what they once were. And Dominic was reclaiming everything.

  BOOM!

  A final burst of golden light erupted into the heavens, spiraling like a pillar of divine magic. Runes on the Bazaar’s walls burned with blinding radiance, as if acknowledging their master’s rebirth.

  Then—silence.

  The light faded. The Arcane Bazaar trembled in the aftermath, residual magic crackling in the air. A stunned silence hung over the onlookers, their eyes wide with disbelief.

  Dominic stood at the center, his breathing ragged, his eyes twin blazing suns—vast, ancient, and terrifyingly powerful. The weight of history settled upon his shoulders, but there was no hesitation, no doubt. Only certainty.

  Across Laoyon, mages, scholars, and even ancient beings paused—sensing the return of a force that had once shaped their world.

  Dominic exhaled slowly, steadying himself. A smirk ghosted across his lips as he lifted a hand, golden embers still swirling around his fingertips. With a single flick, the magic dissipated, but its presence lingered—an undeniable testament to his awakening.

  His voice was quiet, yet carried the weight of a ruler reclaiming his throne.

  “Well then,” he whispered, his golden gaze burning with power.

  He looked back at Arden and Leigh with a smirk. "Looks like I’m back."