---
There was no fracture in the language, no break in pronunciation, and no ambiguity in meaning.
This was the thing that unsettled Ayes the most.
Because he was certain—he had never known this language before.
And yet, when the two people spoke almost at the same time, their voices reached his ears as if it were a language he had known for a very long time.
"Where is this?"
"What are you trying to do?"
These questions were not merely words.
Each sentence carried emotion with it—fear, caution, the terror of losing one's own existence.
Those emotions shook him the most.
Ayes realized—they did not yet know what was happening, but their intuition was telling them that this place was not normal.
Just then—
Something inside his head suddenly opened.
There was no pain.
No darkness fell over his vision.
Instead—his thoughts stopped for a single moment.
Then—like waves—words began crashing into his mind one after another, complete with meaning, grammar, and history.
It was as if thousands of words were pouring directly into the depths of his consciousness, yet there was no chaos.
Everything settled perfectly into its proper place.
He understood—this was not memorization.
This was not learning.
This was conceptual replacement.
The name of this language was Purin.
But Purin was not just a language.
Every word in it was bound to layers of time.
A word did not merely mean an idea—it carried when that meaning was born, in what context it was used, and on which timeline it had once been forbidden.
Ayes exhaled softly.
Only then did he understand—he was not learning this language.
The violet-gray mist itself was giving it to him.
Because to speak with time,
a language must be perfect.
At this moment, the two people standing before him—
Chiara, the artist.
Fanchi, the scientific, rational thinker.
Both of them were speaking in Purin.
Yet they did not know that this language was not innate to them.
This place itself was changing their language.
Ayes looked at them.
There was no fear in his eyes—only hesitation.
Because inside his mind, two possibilities had become painfully clear.
The first—he could present himself as a fellow victim.
Say that he too had been dragged here.
Gain their trust, observe quietly, and slowly uncover the truth.
The second—he could explain nothing.
Remain mysterious.
Speak little.
Control the situation through measured reactions.
Both paths were dangerous.
On the first path—if he appeared weak,
they might panic and make catastrophic decisions.
On the second—if he remained too mysterious,
they might see him as a threat.
And the most terrifying truth of all—
Even he did not know how much power he actually held in this place.
He only knew this much—
the gray-violet mist was stable in his presence.
And if he lost focus—
this place might collapse again.
Ayes slowly prepared to speak.
For the first time—
he was about to make a conscious decision as an observer.
And that decision would determine—
---
The gray-violet mist swayed silently around them.
It was neither dense nor empty—
as if when you inhaled, your chest filled, yet no air entered.
Ayes did not speak at first.
His lips were slowly drying.
Though he tried to keep his heartbeat steady, a strange pressure gathered deep in his chest—not fear, but an unknown responsibility.
Chiara pulled both hands close to her chest.
Her fingers trembled, though she tried to hide it.
Her eyes were wide and wet—
the eyes of an artist, meant to search for beauty, now trapped in surrounding abnormality.
Fanchi was entirely different.
His jaw was tight. His brows slightly furrowed.
His stance was positioned as if he could retreat at any moment.
He felt fear—but buried it beneath analysis.
Chiara spoke first.
"This place…"
She couldn't finish. Her throat tightened.
She swallowed.
"Am I… unconscious?"
Fanchi narrowed his eyes at the mist.
He reached out and touched the air—
his fingers felt cold, yet there was no source of contact.
---
There was a plea for reassurance in her voice.
Chiara's lips trembled.
Even she did not know whether she was asking a question—or begging for help.
Just then—
Fanchi stared harder into the mist.
His brows knit tightly together.
His scientific mind screamed in discomfort—something was wrong.
Slowly, he extended his hand.
His fingers entered the mist—cold, but not like ice.
Rather, a cold with no origin.
There was touch—but no substance.
Fanchi's breath stopped abruptly.
He realized—
the mist had not touched his hand.
At that exact moment—Chiara's gaze changed.
She blinked.
Once. Twice.
Then an unfamiliar weight sank into her chest.
A massive presence stood before them.
Ayes was still standing in the same place—
the same posture, the same calm face.
But—
The mist around him slowly descended, as if drawing an invisible boundary around him.
Chiara's breathing quickened.
To her eyes, Ayes was no longer a human.
She saw—
a vast figure. Boundless.
Ayes's shadow spread through the mist, unconnected to the ground,
unconnected to the sky.
It was as if he stood while time itself folded beneath his feet.
Chiara's knees weakened.
She felt—
she was not standing before a person.
She was standing before a presence.
A truth that made one want to lower their head,
not from fear—
but from the weight of existence itself.
"Mister…"
Chiara's voice dried.
"You… look."
Fanchi slowly raised his head.
And in that moment—
all color drained from his face.
His logic, his calculations, his familiar reality—
all became meaningless in a single second.
Layers of time were visible around Ayes.
Some moving forward.
Some retreating.
Some collapsing—within his shadow itself.
Fanchi's hand dropped without him realizing it.
No sound came from his throat.
Because his mind understood—
This presence was not displaying power.
It was not issuing commands.
Ayes still had not moved.
His eyes were calm.
There was no arrogance on his brow.
No triumph.
Instead—
a trace of confusion.
As if even he did not understand
why the mist was bowing around him.
Chiara whispered, her voice trembling,
"Are we… standing before a god?"
That word—god—spread through the mist.
And the mist responded.
The layers descended together.
Time halted for the span of a single breath.
Ayes lowered his gaze.
The word reached his ears.
Inwardly, he repeated it—god.
A faint pressure formed deep in his chest.
"I am not a god,"
he said calmly.
And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
Because the mist did not correct him.
The two of them understood—
He did not think of himself as a god.
But the mist was presenting him as one.
"Sir… who are you?" Chiara asked firmly.
A silent stillness descended on the purple mist for a few moments.
The silence was heavy—soundless, yet filled with a subdued pulsation.
Then Ayes smiled softly to himself. His voice was calm, restrained. Not deep, yet there was a weight to it, as if a passerby were politely answering a greeting—but he
An attempt…?
The words echoed in Chiara Hood's mind.
She stared at the mysterious being shrouded in the purple mist. Her feelings tangled together—irrational, comical, frightening, and strange.
A moment ago, she had been in her study. Spreading paint on the canvas, shaping imagination with the strokes of her brush.
And now—in this empty yet boundless space.
At first, panic gripped her.
But gradually she understood—this huge shadow was neither harming them nor protecting them.
It was just there.
This realization reassured her.
At least—for now—this place was safe for her.
It was incredible. Unreal. Yet real.
Chiara took a deep breath. A gentle, restrained smile involuntarily spread across her lips. Hiding her concern, she asked,
"What's going on?"
Then, in a slightly trembling voice, she added,
"Sir… is this effort over? Can we go back now?"
Standing next to her, Funch Abysson said nothing.
Only a moment ago, he had been in the family mansion—and now here. Yet the weight of many experiences held him in check. He had suppressed his emotions, his gaze steady, just observing.
Ayes looked at the questioner.
Through the mist, he could see—a tall young woman, with soft reddish hair, but her face was not clear. As if the mist had deliberately covered the lines.
He did not answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze shifted to the other side.
The man standing there had dark black hair, unkempt—like seaweed in the sea. His body was long, his build strong. He looked like a warrior from an ancient era, forgotten by time.
At that moment, a strange realization dawned on Ayes.
If he went further.
If he could understand this purple-clad world more deeply—
then perhaps he could see their faces clearly through the mist.
They were guests.And I—the host of this place. But… how did I draw them here?
With this thought, his vision immediately became more precise.
He noticed—the girl and the man were not just people. They were like two pale stars floating on a purple mist, painted with yellow-white light.
The stars he had touched before. Just as he had returned to his own world after touching them.
It was an invisible bond of purple cloth with him. Formless, soundless—but clearly felt. If the bond was broken—the projection would disappear. And the stars would return.
Ayes unconsciously nodded. He looked at the red-haired girl and smiled lightly.
"Of course. You can go back now if you want."
Chiara's chest lightened.
There was no hostility in his words—she felt that. If someone so powerful made a promise, there was no reason to think that he would break it.
He was no longer in a hurry.
Her green eyes darted around, shimmering strangely in the foggy light. The fear was still there, but with it came curiosity—and a kind of excitement.
"This is… extraordinary," she whispered.
"I've always loved to let my imagination run wild. The unknown, the miraculous—those things draw me."
She didn't stop. The words seemed to come out of nowhere.
"Your Majesty… what do I have to do to become an Ascendant?"
Her sentences were slightly jumbled in her excitement. The stories she'd heard as a child—unknown powers, hidden truths—all seemed to suddenly become real.
Within a few words, her previous fear had almost vanished.
Good question… I want to know too.Ayes mocked himself inwardly.
A vague smile played at the corner of his lips—a smile that only the fog could understand.
"ls this place… an ancient site?"Chiara .At once, the phrase ancient site stirred Ayes's mind.From those words, the image of an ancient palace.