Prologue: Dreams of the Past

He found himself engulfed in mist, the world around him shrouded in shades of gray and white. Through the haze, he could barely make out ancient contours—shapes reminiscent of castles from a forgotten age, yet tinged with the audacity of modern artistry. It seemed that colossal structures were linked together, each crowned with a spire that pierced the heavens, each clad in the same pallid hue as the mist that surrounded them.

His mind was blank.

He could recall nothing, think of nothing, nor understand why he existed in this place.

The enigmatic mist curled at his feet, silent as it rose, clinging to his skin. With every tendril that wrapped around him, his body grew fainter; with every movement of the fog, his thoughts dulled further.

He remained oblivious to it all.

Squinting, he tried to see the scene more clearly, straining to pierce the fog and grasp its entirety.

At last, from the empty depths of his mind, he unearthed a shattered fragment of memory. By then, the gray-white had already crept up to his neck; most of his body was gone, leaving only a solitary head and half of his right arm suspended in air—a truly absurd sight.

"...Su..."

He murmured, raising his lone right hand and pushing forward.

Invisible power surged forth, cleaving through the sea of gray-white. Before him, a lucid pathway opened. On either side, the mist rolled and crashed against unseen barriers, unable to advance, retreating like waves breaking in vain against rocky shores.

His body regained solidity as the gray-white receded from his side. He stepped forward, the fog withdrawing even more swiftly, as if a transparent, terrifying specter stalked the path and frightened even these mindless vapors into retreat.

Now he could finally see.

He stood in the center of a vast open ground, his feet upon a road paved with red bricks, from whose cracks dry, twisted old trees emerged. Their crooked branches interlocked overhead, forming a canopy that shrouded the surroundings.

The vague outlines ahead resolved into reality: seven clock towers, pulsing with a life-like rhythm. Each spire bore a massive clock face, and every sweep of the hands sent a tremor through the structure.

"Click, click, click."

Seven second hands pointed simultaneously to six. The time was 23:59:30—half a minute remained before the end of this day and the birth of the next.

In that moment, seeing this uncanny tableau, his memories returned.

He remembered his name: Gongsun Ce. He had come here with his friends...

The fragments corrupted by the gray fog flashed one after another in his mind. He recalled the origins of this calamity, his memories so tense they nearly trembled.

Time was running out.

Only thirty seconds remained!

"—!"

Suddenly, the ground shook, and light burst forth from the haze.

A giant rose behind the clock towers, towering even higher than the buildings, its radiance dissolving the mist! Yet the light could not conceal the scars of battle—its mighty body was riddled with horrifying wounds, its solemn face marred into a grimace by blade marks... Anyone could see the giant had fought fiercely and was on the verge of collapse, but it staggered from the twisted trees, determined to continue the unfinished battle.

Though massive, the giant moved with unnatural speed. Raising its luminous fist, it struck at the largest clock tower!

Its steel punch, lightning-fast, was halted in mid-air by a rainbow-colored shield.

The recoil knocked the giant backward.

Its iron body crashed onto the red-brick road, sending up a cloud of dust. Its glow faded, leaving only a dim light flickering in its eyes.

The cold mist rolled in once more, and the second hand stubbornly ticked on.

Laughter echoed from the fog—a sound like silver bells, as if a sprite hidden in the mist mocked the futile assault.

The boy loathed that laughter.

He abhorred disparagement and scorn for others' efforts.

Ordinarily, he would have sought out this rude culprit and given them a proper lesson—but now was not the time.

He sprinted forward with all his strength, finally awakened from confusion, recalling what he needed to do!

He crossed a hundred meters in a flash, leaped before the clock tower, heading for the northernmost spire—his closest point, the limits of his power's reach.

"Not over yet!" he shouted, "It's not finished!!"

He stopped restraining the mist, instead reaching toward the ruined giant. Squeezing out every ounce of strength within him, he poured it as fuel to help the giant rise once more.

He pushed his body, summoned his spirit, burned his soul, and if that wasn’t enough, he would surrender his heart as well!

Pain stabbed through his brain, almost forcing a scream from his parched throat, but he could not utter a sound. Powerless, he slid from the tower's peak as the invisible barrier shattered. The mist swept in again like bed curtains, enveloping him, eroding his fragile spirit and slowing his mind.

In less than three seconds, “he” would vanish.

He would melt into this gentle mist, just as everyone else had before, just as the knight who guided him here...

Just like every soul in this city.

He spent one second searching for his final words, realizing even if he thought of something clever, he couldn’t speak.

So he prepared to die quietly.

Then, in the next instant, pain struck.

It felt less like falling into mud, more like crashing against steel.

A giant hand caught his body. With fresh fuel, the giant rose again from the ruins!

Don’t waste time, he thought.

“It’s enough, Ah Ce, trust me.”

Alright.

Let’s go.

"Ah, yes—let's finish this final battle!"

The luminous giant wasted not a single second. It swung its arms, fired beams of light, kicked with battered feet, even used its head as a weapon.

In less than twenty seconds, six spires toppled.

Only one strange clock tower remained. Together, he and the giant roared, striking the last clock face as the final second arrived!

"Boom—"

Three hands neared twelve; the melodious chimes had barely begun when a thunderous crash drowned them out: the giant’s fist struck the clock, halting the last second hand halfway through its movement!

The clock’s surface lost its shine, the instrument inscribed by time shattered beneath spreading cracks.

They thought, in unison, it was over.

As the tower collapsed, the gray mist would dissipate.

The long, painful battle had finally reached its end.

With overwhelming joy and the thrill of having saved the world, the two looked to the clock tower—

The clock was destroyed, but the spire still stood firm.

Beneath the shattered face, a deep darkness—malice incarnate—seethed.

A faint, dim light flickered within the blackness. It burst from the clock like a dagger!

"Cuckoo~"

What they saw was a wooden cuckoo.

The carving was crude, careless—like a student hurriedly finishing a project five minutes before the deadline. Its wings were mere outlines, lacking any mechanism to spread; its beak was flattened, resembling a duck unable to open its mouth; the colors were chaotic—yellow wings, blue body, topped with a red head. It had only one glass eye, making it a blind timekeeper, not endearing but utterly repulsive.

Its size barely fit an ordinary clock, but in the massive face it was nothing but a blemish on white paper.

"Cuckoo~"

Out of place.

Utterly discordant.

It did not belong here.

"Cuckoo~"

That sense of disjunction and absurdity was like a pianist suddenly appearing in a stage play, a juggler standing center stage in a musical, a wooden cot placed in a gladiatorial arena among dueling knights, a clown making a grand entrance amidst the solemn applause of a social gathering—

Like ridicule at the end of a hero's tale.

The luminous giant hurled fists, fired beams, exhausted every means at its disposal, but none of its attacks worked. They simply passed through, unable to affect it in the slightest.

At last, they realized.

That belated awareness chilled their blood, sent their hearts plummeting.

This feeling had never arisen before, but now they understood it instantly—

This indescribable emotion was despair.

"Clang—!"

Deafening chimes rang out, malice-laced laughter mixing in.

The vibration of the bell snapped the cuckoo’s wooden stand.

Unable to flap its unfinished wings or soar, the bird dropped stiffly like a puppet.

It should have fallen into the mist and been devoured. But what unfolded before the boy was entirely different: the gray-white haze parted, leaving only a few strands to cradle it like a nest. Then, the city’s mist spiraled, forming a typhoon with the cuckoo at its heart.

Layer after layer of gray fog wrapped around the wooden bird, sketching out fine scales, condensing into a thick tail, slender limbs, skeletal wings, a barrel-like body, and a tiny head with a single eye—the new body, the true form! The frail figurine was gone, replaced by a vast and terrifying distorted beast!

No mist remained to obscure their sight; the true sky stretched before them.

Tonight, the moon was full—red as blood.

Amidst the ruins, the monstrous creature wailed like a child.

It unfurled its fleshless wings, beat its desiccated limbs, soared over the clock tower, ascending... ascending...

Flying toward the heavens.

Gongsun Ce tried to raise his hands.

He wanted to make one last stand with his power, however faint the hope, unwilling to surrender.

But he failed—simply because humans cannot control limbs that no longer exist. From the moment this entity appeared, Gongsun Ce began to dissolve.

His body melted like wax, his mind dissipating. His empty sleeves hung limp, filled only with viscous mud.

Recognizing his impotence, despair gripped what little remained of his heart.

Wrong. He thought. All wrong.

They had mistaken the true enemy from the start.

Now it was too late; the villain’s purpose was fulfilled.

What he saw was a life beyond human reach—a foe fundamentally divorced from reason. Those with gifts might accomplish miracles, but could still communicate, be understood. This, however, was different. It transcended both communication and comprehension; nothing nurtured in nature, nothing alive, nothing knowable could touch it.

This was not a difference in form—it was alien from the world’s origins, thus invincible, thus mighty...

Thus unstoppable.

Disaster had come.

The dragon had arrived.

"It’s not over yet."

Did he still have a neck? He wasn't sure; perhaps he controlled only the mud that retained some sensation.

Gongsun Ce “looked” at the giant’s head, hoping his companion had a solution.

The giant remained motionless.

It was another’s voice.

Soft, gentle—the voice of a woman.

Though her words carried force, she sounded as if she might burst into tears.

"It’s not over yet..."

"So don’t give up..."

"So, don’t die!"

He finally saw it—a golden streak at the edge of his vision.

The streak was a girl with short golden hair.

She wore shining silver armor, with a pale gold wreath embossed on her chestplate. Her armguards, legplates, and back each bore golden wing motifs, six in total, arrayed around a circular emblem, gleaming ever brighter as she moved.

In her right hand was a giant sword so heavy it hardly seemed a weapon—just its rough outline was longer than the girl herself. The blade was wholly silver-white, but a black line ran down its center. The hilt was wrapped with blood-colored cloth, and its pommel bore three uneven spikes, like a twisted cross hammered into place.

The golden-haired knight ran on her own feet, with uncanny speed. In a single instant, she surpassed the two immobilized companions and faced the enigmatic dragon head-on.

Gongsun Ce caught only her profile.

The tears streaming down her cheeks spoke of pain and sorrow.

Even now—why keep fighting?

He screamed silently.

Don’t go.

Come back.

You can’t wield that sword.

No one can do it alone.

"…"

His voiceless cry could not reach her, lacking the organs to produce sound.

He could only watch helplessly, seeing her advance in tears, hearing her mournful sobs.

"I refuse to accept, I reject..."

"I will not accept this reality."

The knight raised her sword, pointing at the dragon.

"Come, Dragon of the Netherworld!"

He heard her declaration.

He saw the evil dragon howl in response.

Twisting mist spewed from the dragon’s jaws.

Her left fingers danced, sketching symbols in the air; as the haze touched them, it vanished as if it were illusion.

Then, he realized everything was changing—the dissolving world seemed to revert, his fading consciousness solidified once more, the desolate ruins and the pristine city overlapped before his eyes, creating an unprecedented sense of surreal dissonance.

He remembered.

It was a different power from theirs—a force apart.

"Dragon-slaying technique, Law of Impermanence."

He acknowledged his powerlessness, understood the gulf between his desire and reality.

Still, she pressed forward, reaching out despite everything.

Thus she built a foundation of emptiness, thus she birthed a unique delusion.

With spiritual strength, she stepped into a domain unreachable by humanity—a technique forged solely to drive away calamity.

"Aspect of Disaster: World Creation—"

Through the persistence of one, she created the world she desired.

Thus she fulfilled her sole wish.

Thus she achieved the miracle that transcended possibility.

"Heaven’s Wheel Reversal: Falling Arc Light!"

She swung the giant sword, slashing at the dragon beneath the moon.

The blade pierced the evil dragon’s mist.

At its tip, a cross-shaped starburst flared.

The light was warm and gentle, shrouding the dragon’s form, dimming even the blood-red moon.

In his world, only the cross-shaped starlight remained.

He heard her voice from nowhere:

"I will restore everything... to how it was before."

…

"!"

After that, Gongsun Ce jolted awake from the nightmare.

He pressed his hand to his forehead, gasping for breath.

Someone’s cries echoed in his mind—the lingering resonance of a dream not yet faded.

Having removed his glasses before sleep, his vision was blurred—

Just as if he were still in the mist.

As if the shadows from three years ago lingered even now.