Five years had passed.
Utopia, once devastated by the battle with the Star Eater, had been completely restored. Under the guidance of the King and the collective effort of its people, they had rebuilt their home stronger than ever. This new Utopia was more advanced, fortified with both cutting-edge technology and powerful magic, ensuring a more secure future.
Drawing from the knowledge gained in battle, the King constructed formidable defense lines to protect against future threats. Even the Abyssal Breaker, the weapon that symbolized Utopia's last stand, had been repaired and redesigned as a monument to the kingdom's unwavering will.
However, no amount of progress could erase the sorrow of those lost in the war. Over the past year, survivors had tirelessly searched for and buried the fallen. Throughout Utopia, unmarked graves were scattered across flower-filled gardens, silent yet eternal reminders of their sacrifice. For the leaders who perished, the King personally saw to their burial in their respective homelands, paying homage to their valor.
Some, however, had no remains left to bury. The Dragon King, Phantom King, Spirit Queen, and their people had given everything to pave the way for a brighter future. In their honor, the King built tombs within Atlantis, placing them among the resting places of past rulers—acknowledging that their sacrifices were as great as those of the sages before them.
To mark this new era, the King declared a day of remembrance—a day to honor the dead and celebrate Utopia's rebirth.
As the sun cast its golden glow upon the kingdom, the King stood atop the palace balcony, watching as the people gathered in the square below, their voices lively and filled with anticipation.
"I can't believe it's been a year already," he murmured. "It feels as if everything just happened yesterday."
"If that were the case, you'd still be bedridden, not standing here," the Queen teased, standing beside him.
He chuckled. "You're right. Now, let's go. Everyone is waiting."
Hand in hand, they walked down a corridor lined with flowers and glowing lanterns. As they reached the grand entrance, two young children awaited them.
"You took too long!"
"The ceremony is about to start!"
Grinning, the children grabbed their parents' hands and led them forward.
"The King and Queen have arrived!" a soldier announced as the massive gates swung open.
The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices echoing across the square as dazzling lights illuminated the royal family's arrival. At the center, the royal shaman stepped forward to begin the ceremony.
The King raised a hand for silence, his expression solemn. "Thank you all for coming. Today, we dedicate this day to those who sacrificed everything in the war against the Star Eater."
A hush fell over the gathering, the weight of loss still heavy in their hearts.
"I know the wounds have yet to fully heal," the King continued, "but today is not just about mourning. It is about remembering them with pride. We must live on, proving that their sacrifice was not in vain."
Slowly, the somber atmosphere lifted. Encouraged by the King's words, the people straightened, their sorrow giving way to quiet determination.
Raising his glass, the King declared, "Let today be filled with joy!"
The people echoed his words, their voices uniting as one. "Utopia is immortal!"
Fireworks burst into the sky, and petals drifted through the air as music filled the streets. The celebration had begun.
But amid the revelry, a whisper slithered through the King's ears.
"It's not over yet."
A shiver crawled down his spine. He scanned the crowd, but no one else seemed to notice. The laughter and cheers continued undisturbed.
"What was that?" he muttered, frowning.
A hand touched his shoulder. "What's wrong? You look unwell," the Queen asked.
"I... I'm fine, just—"
As he turned to her, his breath caught in his throat.
Where her face should have been, a massive, unblinking eye stared back at him.
With a strangled gasp, he recoiled, his heart hammering. But when he looked again, the Queen was there, her usual warm smile in place.
The noise of the festival faded. An unnatural silence settled over the square.
The King turned sharply. The crowd was gone. The vibrant city was empty.
"What is this?" His voice wavered.
The ground beneath him trembled. Buildings flickered between pristine towers and crumbling ruins. The once-familiar streets twisted, becoming an endless void.
"No..." The King staggered back, his body trembling.
From the abyss below, a massive, lifeless eye stared up at him.
Above, a jagged mouth opened wide, ready to consume him.
The King barely had time to scream before the darkness swallowed him whole.
He awoke surrounded by mountains of corpses—fallen warriors, leaders, and innocents alike. Their vacant eyes bore into him. A cold hand gripped his wrist.
Jerking away, he found his own sword clutched in his hand, its blade drenched in blood.
"No..." He dropped it, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The moment the sword hit the ground, his body split in two—then reformed, whole again.
A sickening laugh echoed through the void.
"I have prepared a gift for you, my love."
A deep chill settled in his bones.
He dared not look up, but blood seeped toward his feet, pooling beneath him. Before him sat a table, atop it a blood-stained gift box.
Compelled by some unseen force, he reached for it.
The box burst open. Rotting hands shot out, grabbing him, pulling him into the darkness. He struggled, but their grip was relentless, smearing his body with blood. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came.
Then came the footsteps.
A figure emerged from the shadows—his own reflection, ragged and bloodstained. The copy lunged, driving a blade into his chest.
Pain seared through him. He gasped, collapsing to his knees.
A mirror materialized before him.
The reflection that stared back was no longer his own.
Tears of blood streamed down his face.
But then a warm hand touched his cheek.
His trembling stopped. The darkness receded.
And then his whole body gradually recovered its original appearance.
That hand then slowly withdrew.
As if not wanting to lose that warmth again, the King raised his head and reached out to grab that hand.
But what he saw was the silhouette of a girl with her back to the light and standing very far away from him.
The King wanted to stand up but couldn't, all he could do was follow that silhouette.
But she was not alone—countless souls surrounded her, laughing, speaking, alive.
The King felt at peace at that sight.
Unconsciously, his feet suddenly stood up and walked towards those figures.
Seeing the King gradually approaching him, the girl's figure also approached him, until the two stood in front of each other.
When they got closer like this, the King realized how small the figure was.
He and the figure reached out to touch each other.
It was so warm.
And then the figure looked up at him.
Her lips began to move.
Although it was very small, the King could hear very clearly what the figure was saying.
"Thank you… and goodbye, Father."
His eyes widened.
He reached out, but the girl gently pushed him back.
Light consumed him.
"Wait!" The King bolted upright, panting.
Beside him, the Queen stirred, her voice laced with sleep. "What happened?"
"A nightmare... but it felt so real."
She pulled him into a comforting embrace. "You're exhausted. You need rest."
He exhaled shakily, unsure if it was just fatigue—or a warning.
The Queen chuckled suddenly. "You dreamt of a girl calling you 'Father.' Perhaps you secretly want a daughter?"
Under her amused gaze, the King remained silent.
She smirked. "Maybe we should name her Lily? Or Erica? Or—"
Her musings continued late into the night.
Beyond the sky, the shattered remnants of the Star Eater stirred.
Waiting.
Planning.
Ready to return.
The next morning, the King woke up feeling exhausted, while his wife slept soundly beside him, murmuring softly in her dreams.
"I really give up on you," he muttered with a weary smile.
Careful not to wake her, he slipped out of bed, changed into his royal attire, and made his way to the door. As he opened it, a group of servants stood waiting in the hallway.
"Let her sleep," he instructed.
They nodded in silent acknowledgment, and with that, the King strode past them, his mind already preoccupied with the nightmare that had haunted him through the night. He wasn't one to dwell on dreams, but this one had been different—too vivid, too real. Even if it was nothing more than a figment of his subconscious, he couldn't ignore the unease settling in his chest. It was better to be cautious than regretful.
A Few Hours Later.
The throne room was filled with rulers and high-ranking officials, yet the chamber felt empty. Rows of vacant chairs, once occupied by leaders who had perished in past battles, stood as silent reminders of all they had lost.
A heavy silence loomed over the gathering, a shared grief none dared to voice.
The King, unwilling to let the weight of sorrow stall the meeting, broke the silence. Without hesitation, he recounted his nightmare, detailing the horrors he had witnessed within it.
His words held an eerie power, as if he were not merely describing a dream but reliving it before their very eyes. When he finished, an uneasy murmur spread among the leaders.
"Are you certain this is more than just a dream?" the Elf King finally asked.
"I swear on my crown," the King replied firmly. "What I saw and experienced felt real."
"This is troubling," the Dwarf King muttered, rubbing his beard in thought. "If such a catastrophe truly awaits us, what should we do?"
The King sighed. "That is why I called you all here. We need a countermeasure—something to prevent this future from coming to pass."
"But we have nothing to go on," the Deep Sea King pointed out. "Just a nightmare, no evidence."
A heavy sigh rippled through the room. Doubt lingered, but so did fear.
Then, the Dwarf King's eyes widened with realization. "Wait a moment," he said. "Your Majesty, you mentioned that in the nightmare, you lived through five years of that world's knowledge and technology. What if we use that information to rebuild Utopia?"
A hush fell over the room. The idea was bold—yet undeniably logical.
If they reconstructed Utopia based on the knowledge the King had gained, they could not only restore their civilization but also study the events of that world. Perhaps, in doing so, they could uncover a way to prevent the impending disaster.
The King considered it carefully before nodding. "Then that will be our course. We will rebuild Utopia while seeking answers."
With unanimous agreement, the plan was set in motion. The King began documenting everything he had learned—architecture, technology, military strategies—merging it with the knowledge of their world. The process consumed him, but this time, he did not shy away from his responsibilities.
The Queen watched it all unfold. Though she knew he was once again burying himself in work, she also saw a difference. He was no longer running from his duties—he was embracing them, not just as a King, but as a husband determined to protect their future.
That was enough to bring her peace.
So, she chose to stand by his side, silently supporting him, ready to be there whenever he needed her.
Five Years Later.
The time of destiny had come.