Holding Fateus by the arm, Luness shifts through time, transporting them both to a secluded moment in the past, away from prying eyes. She turns to him, her voice firm yet laced with concern.

“It’s too dangerous for you to use your power,” she warns. “You’re not ready.”

Fateus clenches his fists, frustration burning in his gaze. “I am ready,” he argues, his voice rising with defiance. Emotion surges through him—anger, desperation, a need to prove himself. A single tear escapes his eye.

Luness gently places a hand on the side of his head, her fingers brushing against the tear. She exhales, almost sorrowful. “This,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is why you’re not ready. If you cannot master yourself, Fateus, your power could destroy you… or worse.”

She steps back, her decision made. “It’s time I showed you something I should have long ago.”

Without another word, she takes his hand. Time bends around them as they travel thousands of years into the past. When the world reforms around them, they are no longer alone.

They stand in the heart of the Red War, a battlefield stretching endlessly in every direction. Tens of thousands of soldiers clash in chaos, their cries lost in the storm of battle. The first angels—primordial and untamed—descend upon the fray, their forms otherworldly, their power undeniable. Among them, monstrous entities known as the Vygors tear through flesh and steel alike.

Luness surveys the carnage, then turns to Fateus. “This war shaped the world you know. Its consequences ripple through time, even now.”

She gestures toward the angels. “You don’t understand the danger they pose. They are ruthless, merciless. If they learn of your power, they will come for you. You must not be seen using it. Not by them. Not by anyone.”

Fateus listens, but his expression remains uncertain. Luness continues, her voice heavy with history. “Do you know where your power comes from? What it was meant for?” As she speaks, the battlefield around them becomes a living vision of the past. The chaos unfolds in raw, violent detail—soldiers slaughtered, landscapes scorched, history written in blood.

Then, the air shifts. A presence looms above.

The sky darkens as something massive prepares to descend. The warriors sense it—fear gripping even the bravest. Fateus watches as unease spreads among them. He takes a step back, his instincts screaming at him to flee.

Luness grabs his arm, keeping him in place. “No,” she says. “You must watch.”

A colossal beam of energy tears through the atmosphere, its descent a blinding pillar of destruction. It strikes the land in the distance, a force beyond comprehension. A shockwave ripples outward, obliterating everything in its path. It rushes toward them, inevitable, unstoppable.

Fateus tenses. The soldiers around him cry out in terror. He wants to run. He needs to run.

Luness remains unmoving.

The explosion washes over them—except it does nothing. It passes through them as if they were mere echoes of the past. Fateus blinks, stunned. He turns to Luness, breathless.

“Nothing happened.”

Luness’s expression darkens. “Nothing happened to you, Fateus. That’s the point.”

Around them, the world begins to wither. Lush forests turn to barren wastelands. Animals collapse into dust. Rivers dry, and entire ecosystems fade into nothingness. The very essence of life is stripped away in moments.