Level 1002: The Cloud kingdom.

  Dante, Bealuna, and a dark raven perched on his shoulder were finishing their ascent up a white spiral staircase that rose from a hole in the ground.

  The stone beneath their feet trembled; the air was so dense it was almost impossible to breathe. Once they reached the top, the opening sealed itself behind them.

  Before their eyes stretched the Surface — the intermediate layer of Nullaria.

  It was the first time Dante had ever come this far, after hundreds of regressions.

  The landscape was desolate.

  A barren mound, lifeless, littered with broken fragments of what had once been temples in the Greek style.

  Collapsed columns, capitals half-buried in the dry earth, and a wind with no direction that raised clouds of dead dust.

  No green. No sign of humanity.

  Only a pale ocean — a sickly salmon hue — surrounding them completely, stretching out to infinity.

  Bealuna gazed at the horizon with a mix of awe and confusion. Dante saw it too: far away, in the middle of that motionless sea, a small golden boat was slowly sailing towards them. A hooded figure in black stood aboard.

  From that death, he had learned the truth: to leave Nullaria, one needed two gold coins — one to board the boat, and another that would be demanded halfway through the journey. Dante and Bealuna had only known of the first.

  The second truth had been hidden from them — devoured by the silence of the crow, their supposed ally.

  He knew it, having read it directly from the ferryman’s mind.

  But he had said nothing.

  Halfway across, the ferryman had killed them both without a word, tossing their bodies into the Luntra Lagoon, where their souls had been lost to that regression.

  Now, in this new life, it was time for Dante to face that wretched bird again…

  And this time, he would think carefully before trusting him.

  How could he ever forget that name: Kar’Nix.

  The memory dissolved slowly, and the vision of the pale ocean cracked apart, giving way to the present.

  Dante’s mind returned to the now — just as the ground beneath his feet turned white and began splitting into floating platforms.

  After defeating Love, the Sixth Terror of Nullaria, the ten survivors had been transported to Level 1002: The Cloud Kingdom.

  Jonathan was the first to notice, his face twisted in disbelief: everything seemed to repeat endlessly, as though the world were reflected over and over in an infinite mirror.

  Countless floating islands hovered above a sea of soft white clouds, linked by swaying bamboo bridges. Each island connected to three identical paths, forming an endless pattern.

  But what was most unsettling was not the vastness… it was the uniformity.

  Every island was an exact copy of the last. At the centre of each, a golden hourglass turned slowly in mid-air. Even the clouds seemed identical — as if time itself had forgotten how to move forward.

  Still silent, Dante glanced sideways at Virellian, who was holding his head in both hands, visibly disturbed a short distance away. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong. He already knew.

  He had been here before, in one of his regressions.

  Here, Virellian would betray him.

  — Damn you, Dante! — shouted Horacio, breaking the silence with a fury that echoed through the clouds —. Because of you, my friends Bebe and Chichila are dead! If you hadn’t followed us into the level of Eternal Party, we’d never have faced the Sixth Terror of Nullaria!

  Bealuna shoved him hard, losing her temper.

  — How dare you say that! — she screamed, her voice trembling with rage —. If anyone’s to blame for those deaths, it’s you!

  Your damned jealousy corrupted the House of Echoes we were in, and your reckless actions destroyed the only entrance to Level 101!

  Now no survivor who falls into Level -1 can ever reach the domains of the Red Wolf faction!

  My friends Peter and May are dead too — because of your stupidity!

  She stepped closer, eyes blazing.

  — So when we return to camp, Matilde will know exactly what you did. And they’ll throw you out of the faction.

  I swear it… I’ll make sure of it myself.

  A harrowing scream cut through their argument.

  All nine turned at once.

  Virellian was running frantically across one of the bridges, clutching his head and muttering incoherently. In his panic, he collided with one of the survivors, knocking him off balance. The boy fell from the edge of the floating island into the void. His body vanished into the clouds — without a single sound.

  — Virellian, wait! — shouted Dante, sprinting after him.

  But it was useless. Virellian was beyond reason.

  There were a few seconds of confusion.

  One of the young survivors — pale-faced, his expression eerily calm — stared into the mist and murmured:

  — I don’t think he’s dead. They say if you fall from here… you can end up in another random level. That’s just how this place works.

  The group fell silent, each processing the thought.

  Then another young man, brown-haired and quiet until now, raised his voice and pointed towards the horizon:

  — I think I see something far away. Looks like a small white palace. It’s got huge windows… just beyond that bridge.

  Everyone turned to where he pointed.

  Virellian was running straight in that direction.

  — I’ve been here before — said another survivor with a calm tone but empty eyes —. This is the Raven’s Level, isn’t it? He lives in that palace. I think his name is Kar’Nix. They say he’s one of the Three Great Mystic Beasts of Nullaria.

  — Three? — asked Bealuna, frowning.

  — Yes. According to what our faction discovered: one of them controls Realities, another controls Time… and Kar’Nix rules over the Mind.

  — I don’t care about any of that — Horacio snapped, turning on his heels. — I’m leaving this place with Jonathan. We’re going to find a safe way out.

  He turned to Dante, hatred gleaming in his eyes.

  — And this time, don’t follow us — he growled.

  Without waiting for a reply, he stormed off across the bridge, Jonathan following close behind.

  Dante sighed, resigned, then approached the remaining four survivors, intending to introduce himself.

  The man who had pointed out the palace was named Harold: grey-haired, broad-shouldered, in his mid-forties. Beside him stood Stefan, a young man around twenty-five, athletic, with shaven blond hair and brown eyes, and Katrina, a woman near forty, sharp-featured and stern-eyed.

  The fourth, standing a little apart, spoke softly — Ajmed, a young man with Arab features also in his twenties.

  None of them knew the man Virellian had accidentally pushed into the void. Harold shrugged, referring to him.

  — I’ve no idea who that lad was — he said calmly. — He wasn’t part of our group.

  He paused, then added, almost to himself:

  — Either way, there’s no need to worry. Falling doesn’t always mean death here. Sometimes they simply… end up in another level. It happens often enough in places like this.

  Dante nodded introducing himself before presenting Bealuna when Harold suddenly interrupted, visibly startled.

  — Dante...? Dante Montenegro...? — he murmured, eyes widening in astonishment.

  Dante gave a small, confused nod. Harold looked at him as though facing a legend.

  — You… you’re the one who defeated Respect, the Seventh Terror. Your name’s known throughout Nullaria.

  Bealuna allowed herself a faint, amused smile.

  — Well… now it’s two Terrors — said Dante, his tone calm yet quietly proud, catching everyone off guard. —

  But I didn’t do it alone. Love demanded three to overcome her trial. When I awoke from the illusion, I saw that Bealuna — he gestured towards her — and Virellian — he glanced towards the bridge the man had fled across — had already broken free.

  I merely fulfilled the final condition of the Terror’s challenge — he concluded humbly.

  The group stared at him in silence, absorbing his words.

  — I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself — Harold added, still astonished. — When I woke from my illusion, the first thing I saw were your three silhouettes. I knew then that you’d defeated Love.

  He paused, thoughtful, then asked:

  — Dante… may I ask what rune you bear?

  — The rune of Language — Dante replied. — It lets me translate strange symbols.

  Harold raised an eyebrow, sceptical.

  — Something that simple? Remarkable. Mine’s the rune of Gravity.

  Katrina spoke quietly.

  — I hold the rune of Sand.

  Stefan smirked faintly.

  — The rune of Bombs. Literally controlled explosions.

  Ajmed lifted a hand, a little shyly.

  — Mine’s the rune of Exchange. I can swap places with another person.

  Bealuna folded her arms proudly.

  — And I have the rune of Good Fortune. So long as we stay together, it doesn’t matter how many Terrors or Nightmares come for us. We’ll be fine.

  Harold shook his head, his expression darkening.

  — It’s good to know… but you’d best stay away from that white palace. Never go near it. Kar’Nix isn’t what he seems. He’s not a simple creature. He’s something ancient… and territorial.

  He hides behind his followers and guards what he calls his own with vicious zeal. According to our findings, he’s hoarded countless relics within that palace.

  Dante studied him closely.

  — How do you know all this? — he asked seriously, though he already suspected the answer. He merely wanted to hear it spoken.

  Harold hesitated, lowering his gaze as though weighing his words. Finally, he replied:

  — We belong to SIEN — the System of Intelligence and Exploration of Nullaria. We operate as an active information network. We collect data, document threats, and assist those who, like you, fall into this hell.

  We know these islands… and what awakens when the sun sets.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Dante was taken aback.

  In his previous regressions, that organisation hadn’t existed yet — it shouldn’t have been mentioned at this point in the spiral.

  Something had changed. Another split in the endless cycle of Nullaria.

  And though Harold was clearly hiding something, Dante already understood the essential truth:

  He could trust them.

  For now.

  He decided not to press further. There was no need. The moment was approaching — soon Bealuna would be drawn, unknowingly, towards Eden.

  Barely three seconds later, she uttered the very words that would seal her fate — an innocent phrase, but one her rune would interpret as the echo of her heart’s hidden desire.

  — I know so many people in Eden who’d love this place — she said softly, smiling as she gazed at the floating isles bathed in the sun’s pale glow. — They always said this level was hard to reach… but one of the most beautiful.

  She stepped back, stumbled, and fell sitting. Her hand pressed against a patch of bluish moss that shouldn’t have been there. At that moment, the tattoo of her rune dimmed, responding to her wish. It was the gift and curse of her power — the rune listened to Bealuna’s heart… and obeyed.

  She looked up at Dante. For an instant, panic flashed in her eyes. She understood — just before it happened.

  — Shiiit, Dant—! — she cried, but her voice broke in the air.

  A blink.

  And she was gone.

  As if reality itself had swallowed her whole.

  Katrina stepped forward, alarmed.

  — What just happened? — she asked tensely.

  Dante didn’t answer. He already knew what was coming.

  And, just as he expected, Stefan spoke.

  — I think she touched something… and got pulled into another level — he said, pointing at the fading blue moss.

  Ajmed gave a dry, bitter laugh.

  — So, I guess this is how our Good Fortune end.

  Harold sighed, turning his back to the scene.

  — If you’re going after your friends in that palace, I won’t stop you — he said firmly. — But we must return to our base. We need to report what happened with the Sixth Terror. We were dragged into its trial and survived. That won’t go unnoticed.

  Dante nodded calmly.

  — I understand — he replied. — I’ll stay and do some scouting. Afterwards… I’ll look for the others.

  Harold gave a faint nod, his tone emotionless.

  — Do what you must. But stay on the islands once the sun goes down. The bridges aren’t safe after dark.

  Dante didn’t need the warning. He already knew.

  When the light faded, the Smilers began to patrol the bridges.

  Harold’s group left without another word, crossing the bridge opposite the palace.

  Dante turned the other way.

  He walked a few paces, then stopped, gazing at the horizon. In the far distance, he could just make out the tiny figures of Horacio and Jonathan moving between the bridges, following the same path they had always taken.

  In this regression, everything repeated itself with exact precision — the same mistakes, the same choices.

  Those fools were heading straight for the palace, just like every time before.

  He couldn’t help but smile faintly, half in amusement, half in resignation, before continuing on his way.

  After crossing three floating isles, the white palace began to dominate the skyline.

  Its structure wasn’t colossal, but it was profoundly strange: five storeys tall, spiralling upward like the shell of a sea snail — completely white, covered in windows and crystal panes that caught the light with a near-sacred purity.

  Jonathan walked with his hands laced behind his neck, sweating and exhausted.

  About five hundred metres ahead, Virellian trudged on alone.

  — He’s still walking like a zombie — Jonathan muttered, frowning. — Keeps clutching his head every so often. Think he’s all right?

  — I’ve no idea — Horacio grunted, visibly weary. — Not my problem. We’re just heading in the same direction because there’s nothing else around. Honestly, I don’t care. We’ll stop on the next island — the heat’s killing me.

  He wiped his forehead. — I don’t even know how that weirdo is still on his feet.

  When they reached the fourth island, they took refuge beneath the only structure offering any shade: a gigantic hourglass suspended directly above them. It was entirely made of glass, with no visible frame or supports.

  The shadow it cast didn’t come from its structure, but from the dense mass of sand gathered in the lower chamber. Only a few grains remained in the upper one, falling slowly in a spiral — as if time itself was dissolving with them.

  Jonathan dropped to the ground, stretching his legs with a groan.

  — There’s no shade anywhere — he complained. — This sun’s unbearable. How long are those bridges? Feels like we’ve walked five kilometres on each one! We’re roasting out here! The light keeps getting stronger… must be midday by now?

  Horacio sat beside him, staring in disbelief as Virellian kept walking — hunched, relentless, completely oblivious to the heat.

  In the distance, the air shimmered above the bridges, bending the horizon’s lines as though the world itself were melting in silence.

  A faint, unseen mist rose from the surfaces, warping everything in the distance.

  Then it happened.

  A low hum swelled from the sky — deep, hollow — vibrating through the air, rattling their bones just as the last grain of sand slipped into the lower chamber.

  A sharp click sealed the moment.

  The hourglass turned.

  And the world changed.

  Light vanished, as though someone had flipped a switch in the heavens.

  The blinding glare was replaced by a sudden twilight.

  Dark clouds gathered in seconds, swallowing the white layer beneath the bridges.

  Every so often, a silent flash of lightning split the clouds open.

  — Uhmm… did the day just end? — muttered Horacio, standing slowly with a tense expression.

  Then they saw them.

  Hovering above each bridge — at least ten dark, motionless figures.

  They had no faces.

  Only demonic smiles and eyes glowing yellow with animal intensity.

  Slitted pupils — feline, unblinking — fixed upon them.

  The Smilers.

  A shiver ran down Jonathan’s spine.

  — What the hell are those things…? — he whispered, his heart racing.

  The Nightmares of that level looked as if they’d been carved from solid mist, their outlines rippling and shifting constantly. Some hung upside down, others rotated silently in the air.

  Where a mouth should have been, a long glowing slit stretched far too wide.

  Where eyes should have been, two yellow irises floated freely — no sockets, no lids — watching.

  Sometimes they flickered, like broken projections. And every time lightning tore through the clouds, their smiles seemed to stretch wider… as if they enjoyed the chaos.

  The Smilers

  Two of them noticed the men.

  In an instant, they glided to the edge of the bridge, halting just before the island.

  Jonathan held his breath.

  — They don’t step onto the island… — he whispered.

  — They stay on the bridges… — Horacio added, uneasy, with his eyes locked on them. — But… why aren’t they attacking Virellian? — he asked, lifting his gaze towards the horizon.

  Then, a crimson flash tore through the darkness.

  On Virellian’s left shoulder, a faint light flickered.

  It was the symbol of Omega — the same one Dante had noticed the first time he met him.

  From that distance, the exact shape was impossible to discern, but the glow was unmistakable.

  Virellian kept walking. No hesitation. No glance back.

  — There’s something… glowing — Jonathan whispered, swallowing hard. — On his shoulder. You see it?

  — Yeah… — murmured Horacio. — Think that’s why those things are letting him through?

  Silence settled once more.

  The Smilers remained still on the edges of the bridge, their impossible grins fixed in place, watching as Virellian continued towards the white palace — utterly unaware, or perhaps simply beyond fear.

  Far away, on another island, Dante sat motionless beneath the vast hourglass.

  He watched the Smilers in silence — the kind of silence of someone who has seen too much.

  He knew exactly what it meant. The hourglass had turned. Daylight was dead.

  And with it began the five hours of perpetual dusk.

  It was not an ordinary night.

  As the hours advanced, the darkness would grow colder, thicker, heavier — until even the islands themselves would seem to dissolve into the void.

  He remembered everything.

  Every regression had etched the lesson deep into him: the Smilers never stepped onto the islands.

  No one knew why.

  But as long as you stayed there, you were safe.

  The bridges, however… were their domain.

  On the bridges, they hunted.

  And now… he was trapped.

  He stared towards the next island — just one more. One single island away.

  And on that island, he knew, lay the Blessed Relic of this level.

  He clenched his jaw.

  — Damn it… — he hissed through his teeth. — Just one more island.

  But all he could do now was wait for dawn.

  In the far distance, beyond the suspended horizon, another story was already unfolding beneath the same dark sky.

  After nearly four hours walking through perpetual twilight, Virellian crossed the threshold of the palace.

  The enormous white doors opened on their own with a metallic whisper — as if the structure recognised him.

  Inside, the air felt reverent, almost sacred.

  Ten human figures, cloaked in brown robes and completely silent, formed a semicircle around a colossal raven with opaque black feathers.

  Its eyes were crimson spheres, glowing like burning coals.

  Kar’Nix.

  The raven saw him enter but offered no greeting. It was busy.

  Before it, a disciple writhed in agony, clutching his head with both hands.

  He fell to his knees, crawling and convulsing.

  Kar’Nix was torturing him — not with talons, but with his mind.

  The others did not react. They merely whispered his name over and over, like a mantra:

  — Kar’Nix… Kar’Nix… Kar’Nix…

  The creature rested upon an elevated platform — something between an altar and a nest carved directly into the palace’s very structure.

  From that point, the architecture spiralled upward, like an endless funnel that defied reason, stretching far beyond what the exterior should allow.

  Everything inside was white — the floor, the curved columns, the walls — except for the two massive fountains on each side, filled with a liquid that shimmered like galaxies.

  Star Water.

  It hid portals to other levels.

  The tortured disciple finally stilled.

  — I’ll deal with you later, — said Kar’Nix in a deep voice that did not come from its beak, but imprinted itself directly in the minds of all present.

  The young man dragged himself back into the semicircle and resumed the chant:

  — Kar’Nix… Kar’Nix…

  Virellian knelt silently, head bowed.

  The raven regarded him with cold detachment.

  — What have you discovered about the Divine Stones?

  — I saw one with my own eyes — Virellian replied, his voice weak, trembling. — I couldn’t take it. I fell under the influence of the Sixth Terror… and I couldn’t move.

  A faint tremor rippled through the air.

  Even the murmurers fell silent for a heartbeat.

  — You saw it? — asked Kar’Nix, his mental tone suddenly sharpened.

  — Yes… but I wasn’t the only one. Someone else was there. He took the stone. I saw it clearly. And… he already had another one. I could feel it — somehow — as if something inside me knew it.

  The silence grew heavier.

  — Who... was that person? — The word hit like a resonant gong.

  — Dante Montenegro.

  The name hung in the air like venom.

  Kar’Nix’s wings flared wide, sending an icy gust through the hall.

  — So the rumours are true? He defeated the Seventh… and now the Sixth Terror of Nullaria?

  — I saw it with my own eyes — Virellian murmured —. There’s no doubt.

  The disciples resumed their chanting, but the rhythm had changed — faster, uneasy, trembling.

  Each of them bore the same mark upon the left shoulder: the symbol of Omega, burned or inked into flesh.

  And as Dante’s name echoed among the white columns, somewhere in that same realm of clouds, the name itself stirred its owner awake.

  He opened his eyes sharply, drenched in sweat, muscles stiff and heavy.

  He had barely slept a few hours.

  Turning his head with effort, he scanned the floating island around him, watching distant flashes of lightning illuminate the clouds below.

  Then he felt it — something heavier in his pocket.

  Reaching in, he pulled out the Red Divine Stone — the one he had claimed after defeating Love.

  He held it up before his eyes.

  A glowing description projected directly onto his retina:

  [Red Divine Stone: Fragment of Amor, Sixth Terror of Nullaria]

  Grants its bearer the ability to see through Intense Light.

  Usage: Place it at the centre of your waist to activate.

  Dante closed his fingers slowly around the glowing stone, exhaling deeply — as though steadying his resolve.

  He was getting closer.

  To something.

  To everything.

  And also… being watched.

  He knew the cycle well. Each time he defeated a Terror and claimed its fragment — a Divine Stone — he had to absorb it, carving it into his soul.

  Then, part of the Mystic Armour would manifest, fusing with him.

  It wasn’t physical armour, but spiritual — a gleaming aura of living metal and pure energy.

  Each stone granted new abilities, vital for survival in Nullaria.

  But with every regression, the powers shifted.

  Nothing stayed the same.

  He just hoped that this time… he would gain something truly useful.

  Without another thought, he stood up and pressed the Red Divine Stone against the centre of his waist.

  A golden radiance flared around him.

  From the light, a thick, luminous belt materialised — forged of solid light and celestial metal.

  Seven circular slots gleamed along its length, aligned like points in a constellation.

  Moments later, the Violet and Red Divine Stones appeared at either end of the belt, locking perfectly into place.

  The metal pulsed with energy.

  He could feel it.

  The power.

  Five fragments still missing.

  Another glowing description projected directly into his retina:

  [Rainbow Aura Belt with two Divine Stones — Category: Divine]

  Grants its bearer: Vision through Intense Light.

  +20% resistance to Poison, Fire, Ice, Lightning, Light, Darkness, Curses, and Physical Attacks. +10% Luck bonus.

  ? Protective Aura: Generates a spiritual shield proportional to the number of active fragments.

  ? Cumulative Spiritual Force: Attack power increases progressively with each inserted Stone.

  Synced Fragments: 2 / 7

  Special reward upon completion of the Mystical Set: [???]

  Dante frowned.

  He didn’t remember it like this.

  Not in any of the regressions.

  The Protective Aura shimmered around him — hues of red and violet intertwining.

  Without thinking, the Sword of Light manifested in his hand with a sharp flash.

  But it wasn’t the same sword.

  The hilt had changed — sleeker, more refined, and the Violet Divine Stone was no longer embedded.

  The blade formed like a tear in the air — pure light, silent and perfect.

  Dante stood frozen, bewildered; not only had his weapon evolved — but his energy felt different.

  Lighter. Faster.

  And that Luck bonus… that was new.

  He gripped the sword with both hands, stepped towards the edge of the bridge, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused as the Smilers stared from afar.

  — Let’s see if this regression was worth it…

  Like a meteor slicing through a moonless sky, the cut of light tore the air apart with divine fury.

  The hanging bridge, filled with the manic laughter of the Smilers, was suddenly bathed in a burning beam.

  In a blink, they were all obliterated.

  The impact shook the structure, and a blinding white flare shot in a straight line towards the next floating island.

  A dull explosion echoed in the distance.

  Dante stared in disbelief.

  — Incredible… — he murmured, gazing at his sword.

  The strike had travelled far beyond the bridge — across the void — and shattered the central hourglass of the next platform.

  — I’ve definitely gained more power in this regression, — he whispered, half amazed, half cautious.

  Without hesitation, he began to run.

  The residual glow of the cut still lingered in the air, stretching like a crack of light through the clouds.

  Its brilliance had not only torn the bridge apart — it had been seen from afar.

  The sharp flash of the sword’s edge caught Kar’Nix’s attention.

  The raven noticed the flare slashing through the heavens, visible from one of the palace windows.

  — Quite the lightning strike… — he muttered, feigning indifference, turning his gaze back to Virellian.

  — You’ve done well, — Kar’Nix continued, his hollow voice resonating, scarlet eyes glinting. — But I want those Divine Stones. Bring that person to me.

  Virellian bowed deeply.

  — I’ve gained his trust. I showed my worth using the Compass rune. Dante believes he can rely on me. I’m sure he’ll come… to rescue me.

  Kar’Nix tilted his head, the wet folds of his neck trembling with a low, unsettling laugh.

  — Dante Montenegro… is in my dominion?

  The traitor nodded.

  The raven’s eyes narrowed; his curved beak formed the faintest hint of a smile.

  — Perfect, — he whispered with dark delight. — Then we shall wait… until dawn.

  Meanwhile, far from the palace, Dante reached the next floating island, his heartbeat still pounding in his chest.

  His boots sank slightly into the scorched ground — black ash mixed with shimmering sand.

  The strike from his sword had done more than destroy his enemies; it had revealed something else.

  His power was growing.

  Too fast.

  The moment he crossed the bridge, new shapes began to form in the air.

  The Smilers.

  He wasn’t surprised; he had been expecting them.

  That was why he had hurried.

  Turning towards the island’s centre, he found the shattered remains of the hourglass — reduced to crystalline fragments and golden dust.

  He advanced without fear, brushed the debris aside with his foot, and knelt among the ruins.

  Something metallic gleamed within the sand.

  He reached for it.

  A familiar glow flickered across his retina:

  [Angelic Ring of the Seventh Heaven – Blessed Relic]

  Grants +70% resistance to Curses, Psychic and Magical Attacks.

  It was a finely crafted silver ring, two intertwined serpents forming its band.

  Tiny stones gleamed in their eyes — one blue, one red.

  The design was ancient. Sacred. Untouched by time.

  He had no idea what “Seventh Heaven” referred to.

  Perhaps it was a place somewhere in Nullaria.

  He didn’t let the thought cloud his relief.

  Without hesitation, he slid the ring onto his finger.

  Through his regressions, he had learned — though not yet measured precisely — that his immunity to curses, psychic, and magical attacks was now near total.

  That included Kar’Nix’s mind control.

  His mind cleared, as if a veil had been lifted.

  His soul felt anchored. Solid. Present.

  He knew that to face Kar’Nix, he’d need this — not just strength or skill, but a pure will strong enough to resist him.

  That was what made that raven truly dangerous.

  And yet…

  Something deep inside whispered that he shouldn’t grow overconfident.

  The Smilers began to surround the floating island like flies over rotten flesh.

  He could feel their hunger.

  Their impatience.

  Dante didn’t move.

  He wouldn’t waste energy.

  Not this time.

  The sky began to pale.

  The edges of the horizon turned faintly violet.

  Soon, the hourglasses would flip again.

  And dawn would rise.

  Dante closed his eyes.

  Inhaled slowly.

  Almost time to go after that treacherous bird.

  End of Chapter Twelve.

  Nullaria finally speaks.

  Kar’Nix has revealed himself not through strength, but through control — a creature who understands that the mind is far easier to bend than the body.

  And now, Dante stands one step closer to that truth.

  Divine Stones continue to awaken, forming a pattern that refuses to be ignored.

  A constellation is taking shape — one that might open a path forward… or seal it forever.

  And more importantly — who do you believe truly holds control in Nullaria: the runes, the entities, the will, or the mind itself?

  — Alberto Báez