The Old Generation.

Crooked trees, twisted rocks, and cracked logs–a wasteland, the entire forest became; in its depths, eerie wails echoed.

And in the distance, a figure of humanoid shape was sprinting toward it─Fevorey.

That heart of his thumped slower and slower as he approached. The once sunny forest had transformed... into this ghastly abomination, full of danger and unfamiliarity.

Legs begged for permission to flee. His subconscious screamed. The wind, land, and sky warned, but he persisted. Drawing closer and closer and gaining distance; until hallucinations appeared in front of his eyes.

Emanations and phantoms, of illusory, strange semblance, lacking in form and shape; that was what they were...

…. Some appeared as a fusion of 100 animals and 1 man; others mimicked the union of 100 men and 1 animal.

They drummed. They sang. They roared.

Space-time flipped to their tunes; the sky collapsed to the earth; the earth went skyward.

Was it a figment of imagination, or was it a break of reality?

No one knew. Everything had cracked. Hands and legs moved to tunes unknown, dancing and walking to places unseen.

In Fevorey's mind, his emotions, memories, and thoughts swerved out of bounds. Soon, the three collided and imploded into a sea of colors, similar to a drunk artist's canvas.

As all this happened, Fevorey's body merged with the clouds, slowly, and dissolved like butter in a massive vat of acid.

Organs crawled out.

His skin peeled and twisted itself.

His bones stabbed the stubborn two, and crimson blood soared to the earth.

When all seemed bleak and empty, a sliver of consciousness arose in him, shining a light on this eldritch landscape. So, with a deep breath, Fevorey yelled with all his might,

"NOOOOO!!!"

He gritted his teeth, causing them to clank, and sparks emitted rapidly.

His eyes burnt like stars in the sky; his ether, an oven. He roared in his mind, destroying all illusions.

And with a push of his legs, Fevorey escaped, and the apparitions vanished.

Their bodies evaporated, swirling around with a movement akin to a whirlpool. When they disappeared completely, normalcy was restored to the forest.

Looking back in fear and newfound courage, he shook his head and braced himself.

He increased his speed.

A streak of gold light pursued his back.

Fevorey vanished into the inky darkness.

…

…

…

"Lord Yanza…" a white-haired guard muttered as he watched Roman Cedric dash down the stairs–who lost his balance multiple times.

Around the traitorous guard was a transparent barrier, the length of a thread, which no one in the cave noticed.

No answer came as the man called out to his boss.

He waited and watched the visitors pass by him as he lingered.

Soon, a creaking sound arrived and played in the man's head. It was similar to a broken radio signal.

A low-pitched voice came through after 10 seconds.

"Terracotta, report," the voice declared in his mind, filled with authority and duty.

However, as the guard heard the person, he became alert.

'Is this… Saracotta?! You are not Lord Yanza. Give it to him!' he ordered in a shaky tone, now stricken with due vigilance.

He prepared to abandon ship if all went south.

"Lord Yanza is dealing with something–important. Therefore, I will be the one attending to you."

'…'

The spy kept silent. Suspicion clouded his mind. He needed assurance to be convinced.

"TOOT 11–LENNA 10," chanted the person robotically, her speech pattern changing with each letter.

Instantly, realization dawned on the guard, and his attitude changed.

'Understood, supervisor… Roman Cedric has arrived, and Calinar has as well.

'I suspect the White Mask is somewhere around here, but I have not noticed her presence.

'But I can be sure of one thing.' He paused. 'The monoliths are legit. It's what we've been searching for.'

"Continue?"

'Countless guards, sensors, and officials have been dispatched since this event started. Only a ⅛ are here, but they are all… weird.'

The spy turned to look at another guard with pale white skin and a trembling left iris. He nodded his head with disgust before returning to the talk.

"I see…"

There was silence on the other side, but it unexpectedly asked. "Is there anything else you need to report?"

There was a brief pause. The spy then whispered. 'The Inhuman, Revan, is here.'

Harsh breathing came from the telepathic link, "a-ar-are y-you sure?"

'Yes.'

"I shall report it to Lord Yanza! Do not engage! And report to me if you find anything worth telling. Out."

The telepathic link cut off abruptly, leaving the false guard privy to his thoughts.

He continued observing Roman, before shifting his analytical gaze to the enraged Revan.

Revan stopped staring at his enemy and walked back to his family. Upon reaching, he knelt in front of Alistair.

"Sorry, you had to see that, champ." Revan smiled and patted his son's head.

Alistair shook at the touch. His hands trembled and moved up. But then he closed his eyes and dropped his arms.

"No worries… Dad," he said with a laugh and gratitude swelling in his blood-pumper.

Alistair touched his heart, shaken at how close he was to death.

Inside his juvenile mind, a cautious attitude developed: one that would influence his later decisions in life.

"But, dad," he called and looked up.

"Uhmm?"

"Who was that man?" Alistair's voice was filled with interest, as he noticed Revan had a tinge of fury left on his face.

Alistair also noticed Penelope's mouth twitching. He wanted to know what the man did to his parents. What was their history? Their past? They hate…

… Revan repressed his rage, and he said, "A traitor! That is what he is," — his face twisted into a scowl — "a man with no morals, no honor, and no country."

"No country?" Bewilderment struck Alistair. That last word on the list sounded off.

"He is a traitor…" Revan trailed off and nodded. He looked at Alistair's face before gesturing to him with a few twists and turns of his visage.

Alistair had a look of realization. "Ohhh… Arantic?"

"No." Revan shook his head. "Fetarand."

"Ahh… I should have known." Alistair replied. Thus, the father-son conversed with the littlest of words—and the mightiest gestures.

They condensed their complex topic into a mere fifteen words.

After they finished, Alistair swore to kill Roman Cedric when he grew up. It was a petty feeling of wanting to beat your dad at something. The other reason being plain old revenge.

Alistair suddenly remembered something from the affair: 'Now I think about it, father was pretty fast… Too fast. I didn't even see him move, not even a blur.'

He theorized. Because when his dad would train him, there would be an afterimage from each movement, but now, there was none.

Alistair analyzed the mental image of the affair multiple times.

The illusory steps of Revan replayed in his mind, and he watched it with a hawk-like gaze.

Nonetheless, neither his skill nor experience reached the standard to understand it, so Alistair gave up after three minutes.

'I think I'll ask him later–'

A strange phenomenon broke Alistair's train of thought: all the writings on the monoliths beamed up at speeds faster than a writer's quill.

And upon witnessing this otherworldly scenario, the guests became mesmerized by the sudden view.

Shortly after, each rune completed its cycle.

The monoliths cast a luminous ray from its tip that blasted through the ceiling.

It left a trail of dust at its rear, before slowly mingling in the sky like a yin-and-yang diagram.

The underground cave hummed in a symphony, transmitting calming vibrations that coursed through the ground…

… The sound it released was both smooth and heavenly, graceful and temperamental.

The show, the spectacle, and the event put everyone on edge about what would happen next.

They chattered louder, fidgeting as the wait continued.

But they needn't wait longer, for whence a voice came. Their questions disappeared.

"Welcome…" a soothing sound reverberated, pushing forward the purple mist of the cave, obscuring everyone's sight.

No one knew where the voice came from or what was happening. The guests looked right and left in search: but nothing could be observed. But one person saw–Alistair.

With stars in his eyes, he gazed at the sky, and Alistair saw a white haired lady.

As she descended from the mist, her billowing white jacket swayed gently in the breeze, lending her an ethereal quality that was both captivating and otherworldly.

The one golden monocles perched on her nose shone, adding opulence to her appearance. And in her hand, she held a staff that was as dark as the void, seeming to absorb all the light around it.

The Host Of The Event. Potential Head-Master Of The Citadel. The Greatest Researcher Of Her Generation—

—The Arch Witch Lenna.