Silence.
A silence so profound it pressed against Raiyo's ears like the weight of the ocean. No wind. No voice. No echo. Nothing.
"…"
His words hung unanswered in the vastness of the Archive of Eternity, swallowed whole by its infinite walls of light, ink, and time. Raiyo stood frozen, his breath steadying but shallow. The vision still clung to his mind—blurry now, but haunting. The entity… that being. Neither angel nor demon. Alone. With those glowing eyes that held both death and salvation.
But the more he tried to recall the figure's face, the more it slipped from his memory like sand through trembling fingers.
"I can't remember…"
His lips didn't move, but the thought echoed inside him like thunder.
He clenched his fists, staring at the ground as celestial runes flickered beneath his feet, slowly dimming now that the magic had calmed. He searched the haze of his thoughts for the image—those eyes, that presence—but only fragments remained.
A silhouette.
A feeling.
The pressure of an existence far beyond his comprehension.
Why did I see that? What was it trying to show me?
His thoughts swirled into chaos until something—something—caught the edge of his vision.
A glint.
A shimmer of ink still wet.
He turned.
Among the countless tome and floating scrolls that danced around him, one book lay perfectly still. It didn't float. It didn't hum. It simply sat on a pedestal of silver roots that twisted out of the marble floor like veins reaching for light.
Every book in this place looked unique. Ancient. Sacred. But this one…
This one looked recent.
Almost too recent.
Its black leather cover pulsed faintly with mana, and across its surface, a title shimmered in a language Raiyo had never seen before. Curves, strokes, symbols that should've meant nothing. And yet—
He understood them.
"Forgotten World."
His breath caught.
With slow, cautious steps, Raiyo approached. The pedestal did not react. The air remained still.
He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and opened the book.
Klak.
The sound echoed across the library like a lock being broken. A warm breeze brushed his face—unnatural, like the breath of the book itself. His eyes dropped to the first page.
A single sentence.
Only one.
Clear, elegant, and carved with purpose.
He flipped to the next page.
Again, just one sentence.
Then the next.
Then the next.
Time blurred. Raiyo didn't count the pages, nor the minutes. He didn't speak. He didn't blink. He read—devoured—each word with the hunger of a man starved of meaning.
One hour passed.
And by the end…
He understood.
Where he was.
Who had brought him here.
Why everything—everything—had changed.
His hands trembled as he closed the final page. The book sealed shut with a hiss, mana fading from the cover. He stepped back slowly, his heart racing. Not with fear… but revelation.
"This world…"
He whispered it like a confession.
"It's not Earth."
He looked around the Archive—at its floating constellations, its impossible scope, its otherworldly calm.
It was never Earth.
He wasn't dreaming. He hadn't died. He hadn't glitched through a fantasy or woken up in a simulation.
He had been teleported.
Here.
To the Forgotten World.
A world hidden between realms. A world neither angel nor demon remembered. A world born from catastrophe.
The book spoke of the war…
A war older than any history he had ever known. Five centuries of bloodshed between the celestial and the damned. Twelve Archangels. Twelve Demon Kings. Their hatred had fractured the sky itself. Their power, unleashed without restraint, tore the fabric of reality.
And from that broken fabric—this world was born.
The Forgotten World.
Unmarked on any map.
Unknown to its creators.
And within it, two lands were carved by the raw energies of that ancient war:
Yomimori — the Forest of the Abyss.
Harikiru — the Plain of Life.
Light and shadow…Yin and Yang.
Separated by purpose.
Bound by creation.
And Raiyo?
He wasn't here by accident.
Only those who possess pure Yin and Yang mana could step foot in this realm. Not diluted. Not trained. Innate. A balance so rare, even the heavens feared it.
And I… have it.
A new truth crushed his chest like a falling star.
That's why they brought me here.
But not even the book explained who had done it.
Or why.
The closest it offered was a final, dreadful sentence on the last page:
"To leave the Prison of the Forgotten, thou must erase every living creature that breathes in Yomimori and Harikiru."
Raiyo stared at that line for what felt like hours.
Fifteen thousand.
That's what the book claimed.
Fifteen thousand unique beings.
Creatures born from chaos and harmony alike. Spirits, monsters, beasts, abominations. Every soul in this realm—both predator and prey—had to die.
Only then would the gate home open.
This isn't salvation…
His hands dropped to his sides.
It's a trial.
His legs shook. His body screamed to rest. But his mind—his soul—felt heavier than any wound.
A test of carnage.
A task not of survival…
…but of extermination.
And so, after a long moment, Raiyo exhaled, slow and steady. He took a seat near the pedestal. He reached into the torn fabric of his coat and pulled out what little remained of the biscuit he had saved during his frantic escape hours ago.
A single bite.
That's all he had left.
He chewed without joy. Without thought. Just movement.
The rest of the food, dropped and forgotten in the forest during his first run, was now long gone.
He reached for his canteen and drank the water he had gathered from the shimmering lake earlier. Its taste was sweet, unnaturally pure. He remembered how it had healed him. It had saved him.
But would it save him again?
He didn't know.
After finishing his last crumb, Raiyo rose slowly and wandered the aisles of the Archive once more. His fingers brushed past countless books. Each seemed to hum, breathe, whisper secrets in languages he could almost—but not quite—understand.
Until one drew his attention.
A book not about the world, nor its history, but about something deeper.
"Mana and Tao"
The cover pulsed with a golden glow.
He opened it.
And for the first time, he read not with confusion—but with clarity.
It spoke of the Dantian—a core of energy within the body, resting at the navel.
It spoke of circulation, of breath, of stillness.
It spoke of communion—not with the outer world, but with the self.
He closed the book gently, sat cross-legged in the center of the Archive, and placed his hands on his knees. His breaths slowed. His thoughts fell silent.
And then…
He began to meditate.
The light dimmed.
The Archive responded.
The runes beneath him began to glow softly once more—not wild or chaotic, but calm and rhythmic. The light bathed him like morning sun through stained glass. His heart no longer raced. His mind no longer screamed.
There was only warmth.
Time passed unnoticed.
One hour.
Two.
Maybe more.
His consciousness drifted, not into sleep, but into depth. He felt his soul expand. His breath sink. The mana around him—in him—began to move.
It wasn't violent.
It wasn't forceful.
It was like water tracing its path down a mountain, pooling gently at its base.
And within him, at the center of his being, just below his navel, he felt something begin to form.
A spark.
Then a ripple.
Then a glow.
Tiny at first, almost imperceptible. But it grew. Warmer. Brighter. Heavier.
Hours passed.
And as his body floated slightly off the ground, eyes closed, body still, the golden light within him coalesced into something tangible.
A sphere.
Small.
Perfect.
Radiant.
A mana seed made up of pure Yang
A golden core.
And as it formed, a single thought echoed deep within Raiyo's being—not from a voice, not from a book, but from his own soul:
"This is only the beginning."
To be continued...