[The Throne of Origin — Outside of Time]

It was not a place.

It was the point where the concept of place had begun — before the first atom occupied the first space, before anything existed that could be called void because void requires something to surround it. Here there were no walls, no floor, no sky. Only the presence of those who existed before any of those things had names.

Six figures.

And before them, suspended in the air like open windows into the world they had built, dozens of projections of pure energy — each showing a different fragment of what was happening below.

A bearer in a northern forest.

A bearer with an ancient book open on a table.

An inquisitor staring at the ceiling of a cell.

A girl with a nine‑tailed fox asleep in her lap.

And at the center — the largest, occupying the space among all the others as if they were marginal notes to a main text — Alex Carter. Standing at the entrance of a base. Three lights on his chest. Crimson. Violet. Gold.

---

**ORIGIN** had existed longer than the concept of time itself.

He had no fixed form — his presence was shaped by his aura. When he spoke, the others listened not out of hierarchy but because what he said tended to be what was.

He looked at the central projection without expression.

To his right, **TIME** — a thin, still figure, with his eyes almost always closed. When he opened them, it was because he had seen something. When he kept them closed, it was because there was no need. He had spent eons reading the threads of what was to come and rarely needed more than a sentence to say what mattered.

To the left of Origin, **CREATION** — the youngest of the six in terms of temperament, not existence. Restless. His fingers moved slowly, as if he were always building something in the air before him. Enthusiastic with a specific cadence — not that of someone who didn’t understand the danger, but of someone who understood it and decided to proceed anyway.

Behind, **DESTRUCTION** — standing, always standing, with his arms crossed and the posture of someone waiting to be given permission to do the only thing he knew how to do well. He was not impatient. He was precise. The difference between the two was that impatience wants to act regardless of the outcome. Precision wants to act at the exact right moment.

To the far left, **BALANCE** — seated, always seated, with her eyes on the small projections more than on the central one. She read the margins while the others read the main text. She rarely spoke first. When she did, it was because the others had left something unsaid that needed to be said.

And to the far right, **VOID** — the most difficult to place in space, because his presence was that of something that existed between things rather than as a thing in itself. No defined posture. No expression the others could read with certainty. The most ancient aspect after Origin, and the quietest of the six.

---

The central projection showed the plaza.

The cobblestone. The blood. The four souls crossing toward Alex’s open palm in four streams of violet light.

And then — the three lights on his chest. The declaration. The three thousand people on the ground.

Creation was the first to speak.

"Three Fragments." His fingers moved faster.

"In the same bearer. At the same time." A pause.

"When was the last time we saw that?"

"Never," said Balance without looking up from the small projections.

"Exactly." Creation. "Never. In the entire history of the sealing."

Destruction from the back:

"It’s concerning."

"Concerning?" Creation looked at him. "It’s fascinating."

"Those two are not mutually exclusive."

Origin had not said anything yet.

He looked at the central projection with the same expression as always.

---

The projection changed.

Not the plaza anymore. The Circle’s base — the entrance, Alex slowly getting up from the ground, Seraph on the step, the team around him. The audio arrived as it always arrived here: not as sound but as direct comprehension, without distortion, without distance.

*"The Reset is what comes after the plan works."*

Destruction stirred.

"F2’s bearer." His eyes on Seraph. "She knows more than she should."

"She knows a part," said Balance. "She doesn’t know how or when. Only that it’s coming."

"A part is enough for her to act." Destruction. "And she is already acting."

The projection showed Seraph looking at Grim.

"She’s been gathering information for fifteen years." Balance. "That didn’t start today."

"No." Destruction. "But today she has a bearer with three Fragments listening to her."

---

Origin spoke.

"Hmm."

A single sound. But the five looked at him.

"We will have to wait."

Creation frowned.

"Wait?" His fingers stopped for the first time. "The plan is going perfectly. There was a month left. A month, Origin. We were a month away."

"That was when there wasn’t a bearer with three active Fragments simultaneously." Origin without looking up from the projection. "And when F2’s bearer didn’t have anyone who could use what she knows."

"She still doesn’t know when or how—"

"Now she has someone who could stop it if he knows." Origin. "That changes the calculation."

Creation opened his mouth.

He closed it.

He opened it again:

"So what. We let the bearer become stronger? Gather more Fragments while we watch?"

Destruction from the back, without moving:

"I’ll go." He said it with the same cadence he used for everything — direct, without preamble. "I’ll end it once and for all."

Origin looked at him.

For the first time since the conversation had started.

"Be my guest." A pause. "But if you end up causing your own extinction at the hands of the Grim Reaper — even an incomplete version — that’s your problem."

Destruction did not answer immediately.

He looked at the central projection.

Alex Carter with the three lights on his chest. Nineteen thousand HP. The blood still on the cobblestone.

"He has nineteen thousand HP," said Destruction.

"Today." Balance without looking up. "Today he has nineteen thousand HP."

Destruction said nothing more.

"You know perfectly well that once he learns to control his power," he paused, "or worse, if the corruption consumes him completely, statistics stop mattering."

He crossed his arms again.

---

Creation looked at the small projections.

F6’s bearer somewhere in the north.

F7’s bearer — still unconfirmed, the thread too diffuse to read clearly. The anchors, still there, ready to boost the bearers, waiting.

"If we stay and wait —" Creation, "— we just let the bearer become stronger. Or let him gather more Fragments and anchors." His fingers moved again. "Either scenario is worse than acting now."

"I didn’t say we would do nothing." Origin.

The five looked at him.

Origin did not speak immediately.

He looked at Time — who had been silent throughout the conversation with his eyes closed, still, the thin figure not moving since the projections had shown the plaza.

"Time." Origin. "What do you see?"

Time did not open his eyes immediately.

When he did, what was in them was not the usual certainty — the clear reading of threads he had always been able to follow forward and backward with equal ease.

It was something else.

"Nothing." He said it slowly. As if the word were new. "Since the bearer acquired the three Fragments —" a pause, "— I see nothing. Before, I could see his path. That’s how I set the pieces to stop him — the Heralds, the Temple, the corrupted bearers." His eyes on the central projection.

"Now it’s blank. There is no way to see what will happen."

The silence of the six.

Origin processed that for a moment.

"That is more concerning than everything else," he said.

---

No one spoke for several seconds.

Void from the far right — without moving, without a readable expression — said one thing:

"The Grim Reaper was always impossible to read."

Time looked at him.

"Yes." A pause. "But before, the Fragments were separate. Now three are together, and the channel between them is open." His eyes on Origin. "If he gathers all seven before the Reset—"

"He won’t gather them," said Origin. "Because we’re going to send someone."

Creation: "Who?"

Origin looked at the projections.

All of them. Not just the central one — the small ones too, the scattered bearers, the still‑sealed Fragment, the complete map of what was in motion below.

"Someone who has been wanting to come back for a very long time."

---

The central projection closed.

In its place — something different. Not the world below. A place between that world and this one. A space that was neither the Throne of Origin nor the earth nor any plane for which mortals had a name.

An exile.

The figure in it was neither standing nor sitting. He existed in the space with the posture of someone who had spent long enough in the void. His wings — or what remained of them — folded against his back. Not broken. Folded.

Still.

Origin spoke directly toward the projection.

"Enough time has passed."

The figure in exile did not answer immediately.

"Is that an opinion or an offer?" The voice came from the projection.

"An offer." Origin. "You return. Not just to the heavens — to the new world we will build. A position among our trusted commanders."

Silence from the projection.

"In exchange for what."

Origin extended his hand.

The projection split — the exile on the left, and on the right four new images. Alex Carter. Raven. Seraph. Jessica.

"In exchange for this." Origin. "Four targets. The first and most urgent —" Alex’s image enlarged, the three lights on his chest visible even from here, "— is the bearer of the three Fragments."

The figure in exile looked at the four images.

He looked at Alex for a moment longer than the other three.

"And does he agree?" The voice from the exile. "The one who guards the heavens. Does he know?"

Origin did not hesitate.

"He will know. And he will agree." A pause. "He also participated in the Fragmentation. He also knows what will happen if the seven Fragments unite and the Grim Reaper returns whole." Another pause.

"The new world has room for those who chose the right side."

The figure in exile did not answer immediately.

He looked at the four images.

At Seraph — F2’s bearer, who had spent fifteen years searching for exactly what she had just found.

At Jessica — with her notebook open, taking notes.

At Raven — F3’s green eyes looking somewhere outside the projection.

And again at Alex. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

The three lights.

The nineteen thousand HP.

The smile he had worn in front of Agustín in the plaza.

"When?" said the figure.

Origin looked at the five.

Creation nodded.

Destruction said nothing, which was his way of nodding.

Balance had her eyes on the small projections — the other bearers, the sealed Fragments, the map.

Void did not move.

Time had his eyes closed again.

Origin turned back toward the exile’s projection.

"Soon."