He stood still, eyes locked onto the void above—the endless skies of Nowhere shifting in hues he no longer paid attention to.
"Time," he muttered, his voice quiet yet absolute.
He sat down cross-legged at the heart of the island—the origin point. Where his journey had begun. The air stilled around him, as if even the wind respected the moment.
A question with too many answers. Was it motion? Change? Memory?
Or was it the rhythm of existence itself?
He closed his eyes and reached out—not with his hand, but with his understanding.
Moments. Sequences. Decay. Growth. Cause and effect.
All the things that happened.
He sat there for what felt like hours... days... or seconds.
A pulse beneath everything. A silent ticking. Not a sound, but a pattern.
The Law of Time was not loud.
He reached deeper—further than ever before—and something clicked.
His heartbeat aligned with the rhythm.
His breathing matched the tempo.
And suddenly... he saw it.
The past—his first steps in Nowhere.
The present—him, sitting motionless in a sea of silence.
The future—countless branching paths, most of them fading into mist.
He opened his eyes, now shimmering faintly with silver-gold rings within the purple.
"...So this is time," he whispered. "It doesn’t move... we do."
He could feel it now. A faint stream, quieter than breath. It lingered around him, barely there, like the dying echo of a heartbeat in an infinite chamber.
Compared to the robust flow of space essence he had come to master, time was like mist—untouchable, fragile. But it was there. That was enough.
He sat still in the center of his meditation chamber, now elevated above the surface of his island, suspended by a ring of law circles etched in light and shadow. His skin shimmered with runic flickers. Energy pulsed gently around him.
"Let’s try this again..."
Space twisted. Time bent. The island shivered.
And then—just like before...
No breach. No slip through the veil. No touch on the wall of reality.
He opened his eyes. His irises flared with streaks of time-light.
"Why...?" he murmured. "Why am I still trapped?"
The scene slowed—days passed in hours as he ran every simulation. Every ritual. Every law combination. Space, Time, Soul, Mind, Null. Everything he had—thrown at the boundary. And still...
He couldn’t go through.
It was like a pane of glass—so thin, so deceptively reachable—and yet, untouchable.
That awful, hollow sensation.
When he had no body. No voice. No power.
When he was just a spark in the dark.
"...I’m not real," he whispered, stunned.
He wasn’t real enough.
He had formed body, will, creation, law, identity... but not reality itself.
He wasn’t grounded in truth.
That thought hit like a divine strike. He stood slowly, trembling not from fear, but revelation.
"...It’s not the laws I’m missing. It’s the root of all of them."
He turned toward the edge of the island—the furthest cliff that stared into the Void. Beyond it, the Boundary. Beyond that, the Multiverse. He walked, not ran. Each step echoed like fate.
He sat at the very edge. Legs crossed. Hands open. Eyes closed.
His voice came quiet, pained, curious.
"Was I real when I was just a human back on Earth? Weak. Insignificant. Forgotten?"
"Was I real when I was deleted? When no system or being acknowledged my existence?"
"Or is this—Nowhere, this infinite blank—my reality?"
His body dimmed. Energy stopped flowing. Even Null, ever-present, silenced itself.
He surrendered to thought.
"What makes a thing real? Perception? Presence? Proof?"
"If I control the laws... if I create life... if I will myself into being..."
"Am I not already reality?"
He sat there for minutes. Hours. Days. He no longer knew. He no longer cared.
Then, his eyes opened.
Silver. Blinding silver.
Prism light spiraled in his gaze. Red. Blue. Violet. Black. Gold. Every color of magic, law, energy and creation danced in his irises like cosmic flame.
And he spoke—not as a human. Not as a wanderer.
As someone who had found the key.
"Null and Martial Essence—my body and my anchor."
"The Laws of Space and Time—to shape the path forward."
"Soulforce and Mindforce—to carry my existence between all."
He stood, rising slowly into the air, floating above his island—hands glowing with the fusion of every force he had ever mastered.
"The Law of Reality—to make me real... in every world, in every timeline, across all that is."
White drowned the world.
The island screamed with energy.
Boundary of the Multiverse
There was no air. No ground. No horizon. Only existence itself.
He appeared slowly, surrounded by silence.
The wall. The boundary. The veil.
The Prism Curtain—a massive, endless mosaic of mirrored hexagonal panels, glowing and reflecting the countless universes they sealed within.
Each piece shimmered with entire realities—some pulsing in rhythm, others spinning violently, like unstable atoms. Worlds stacked upon worlds. Universes inside universes.
And he stood before it. For the first time.
He looked at his hand. Flexed it.
"I’m here," he whispered. "I made it."
Tears gathered in his eyes—born not of sadness, but of disbelief. Years—centuries of isolation, of growth, of mastery. Finally... rewarded.
He reached toward the Prism Wall.
Its light reflected in his silver-prism gaze.
"The door has appeared."
"Now... I choose where to go."