Michael stands and walks forward, moving through scattered trash and broken remnants left behind by past chaos. His clothes are torn and patched with new bandages. They are worn and damaged, but still usable. He takes them anyway, wrapping them around himself. They do not smell rotten yet. They still serve their purpose.
He carefully covers the long, heavy sword with cloth, hiding its glow. He straps it behind his back like a simple pack. The weight is immense, but to him it feels natural, almost familiar.
As he walks, he thinks.
When I kill demons and their lord Malakor, I do not feel sad. I do not feel guilt. I feel satisfied. Not because I end their lives, but because I stop them from continuing what they were created to do.
I know there are still more demons. Many of them exist in other continuum realms, far beyond this one.
And as a Sentinel, I will do what I must. I will not force the world to bend. Every action has its result, and I will accept that.
Elsewhere, far away.
The Kingdom of Aldervain.
King Baldrick rests on his bed, sitting upright. His chest is wrapped in thick bandages beneath a dark robe. His long hair flows past his shoulders, silver mixed with black. His beard is well kept. Though he is over one hundred and twenty years old, his body still looks strong, like a man in his forties.
He speaks to his generals, his voice calm but heavy.
"It is impossible. We witnessed demons lying across the land. Every one of them destroyed. Deep cuts carved into the ground itself, so deep they looked like an abyss."
One of the generals steps forward.
"I believe someone else was responsible. Someone far more powerful than any nation. Our kingdom has always stood above others in war against demons, but this was beyond us."
Baldrick closes his eyes for a moment.
"Even so, we owe that being our gratitude. Because of him, the Vastyrion Realm continuum is safe. This infinite realm can breathe again. But we must not grow complacent. We know this peace will not last forever."
Elsewhere again.
Michael walks alone, the sword hidden on his back. It is heavy, yet he feels no strain. He walks barefoot, his feet dirty from the soil and stone beneath him.
He passes through a simple nation, not the land ruled by King Baldrick.
Light rain falls gently. Farmers work their fields despite it. Children laugh as they play and swim in a shallow river. Families gather near small stores, sharing food and conversation. The wind is clean. The air feels alive.
Michael watches quietly.
"I still lack coordination," he says softly to himself. "If I am to protect them, I must learn more."
He continues walking forward, blending into the world he has sworn to defend.