The first few days of their journey were rather uneventful. Before, when Snuggle attempted to leave Shadow's kingdom, she had to battle powerful Creatures of Corruption — but now that Noctis was with them, the path seemed clear.

That was because the young Transcendent had already scouted out the safest route to the mysterious ruins, learning how to sneak past the most fearsome beings populating the realm. He had also slain a few abominations on his way to challenge Shadow, so now they simply needed to retrace his steps.

Shadow was not worried about stumbling into some ancient horror — he was one such horror himself, after all — but even he felt that avoiding them was a better solution. He had promised Snuggle not to kill anything on their journey, after all. Since he did not know what else to do with Creatures of Corruption, the idea of fighting one made him a little bit uncomfortable.

Noctis had indeed proven to be a convenient guide... however, there was something about him that eluded Shadow's grasp. It was a faint sense of familiarity, as if he had met this human youth already, a long time ago, but couldn't quite remember when.

Well, that wasn't surprising.

First of all, Shadow could very well have met Noctis in one of his countless lives — or even several of them. In fact, he vaguely sensed that if he delved into the memories of those of his lives that had been tainted by insidious madness, he would most likely learn more about the fate of Noctis. However, Shadow didn't particularly want to remember madness, so he did not give in to curiosity.

Secondly, Noctis was a descendant of Beast God. So, the sense of familiarity Shadow sensed could simply be explained by the scent of divine blood flowing through the youth's veins.

However, there was a third reason as well. Shadow learned the last reason after finally surrendering to his curiosity and brushing his ghostly fingers across the thread of the young man's fate. He did not peer into it too deeply, unwilling to learn too much, but what he saw surprised him a great deal.

‘What are the chances?'

Shadow was truly stunned.

As it turned out, there was a connection between him and Noctis.

The young man’s father was a demigod born of a union between the avatar of Beast God and a mortal man. His mother, however, was a princess of a prosperous human kingdom — a stunning beauty with fiery red hair. People with red hair were rumored to be descendants of the Fox Tribe, and the princess was no exception. In fact, her bloodline could be traced to an obscure branch of the Fox Tribe that had vanished a long time ago — it was just that neither the princess nor her royal family knew of that connection.

The princess only knew that a distant ancestor of hers was the heroine of a popular folk song — a great shaman who had slain a powerful beast to protect her people myriad years ago.

That shaman was none other than Tatal, and the obscure branch of the Fox Tribe that had disappeared from history was the nomadic people who would eventually become the Shadow Tribe.

Noctis came from the bloodline of one of Tatal's children who had married into faraway lands.

After realizing that fact, Shadow stared at the youth for a long time.

His gaze, it seemed, made Noctis uncomfortable.

"What?"

Noctis raised his chin slightly and forced out a smile.

“Listen... I know that my beauty is peerless and my face is like jade, worth writing a hundred songs about, but surely an ancient being like you wouldn't be mesmerized by it, as well?"

Shadow stared at him for a few more moments, then turned away and grumbled:

"I wouldn't. Why do foxes always get entangled with wolves?"

Even if that fool was Tatal's descendant, he clearly took after Stone Hand. Otherwise, Shadow couldn't explain where his personality had come from.

‘Beast of Twilight... Beast of Twilight...’

Even though Shadow pulled his consciousness away from the human youth's fate, he could still feel its thread trembling, ringing in the vast expanse of eternity.

And even if he didn't want to remember, visions of the past — of the future — still flooded his mind.

Only, this time, the life he saw was not one he had lived personally. It was also far too long, far too vast to remember it all, split between fate and fatelessness, twisted unnaturally, imbued with a strange and impossible duality...

Fragmented memories flashed past his eyes.

He saw a tranquil temple. He saw human cities drowning in the sea of Corruption. He saw Transcendent champions shining like bright flames in that darkness. He was one of these champions, as well — young, brash, full of brazen determination to reshape the world into a more beautiful form.

But he was also full of keen perception and compassion that he hid behind the mask of carefree shallowness. And the more he saw, the more he witnessed, the deeper his heart was cut by the sharp edges of the world.

He saw it all...

The suffering, the fear, the bitter plight of those who were too weak to push away the darkness on their own.

As well as a different kind of darkness that dwelled in their hearts. There was Corruption, and there was corruption — the more he lived, the less he knew which one was worse.

But he still believed in brighter things. He still had hope.

And then, one day, a shining god had asked him to become a chain that bound hope.

He agreed.

What followed next... was madness.

He was mad for a long, long time. Far longer than any mortal was supposed to live. And in his madness, he always asked himself — what was it that the shining god truly expected of him?

Was he supposed to hold hope captive?

Or had he always been meant to set hope free?

The longer he carried out his maddening duty, the better human lives in distant realms seemed to become. The world was not as harsh anymore. There was less suffering, less bitterness, and less fear. It was a different age — a golden age... an age where the darkness of Corruption did not torment humans anymore, leaving them to deal with only human darkness.

He wanted to break the chains of hope and set her — and himself — free. But he was also afraid of what would come next.

He feared that the world would come undone if he did.

But he was mad, after all.

So what did he care about all that? So, in the end, he decided to act.

And he made a deal with a daemon.

"Really, damn it all, by the Moon! How... how did it come to this?!"

Donning a black mantle and a black mask, he stared at his own reflection in dismay. That dastardly daemon!

Why did all these things have to be black? Did daemons have no taste?

He shook his head and groaned. The world had not even ended yet, but the worst possible things were already happening.

His face was hidden behind the mask, and he did not even have his name anymore. That was because his original fate had been discarded, replaced by another, stolen one — the fate that could allow him to die, but also demanded that he live a little bit longer.

“Alright. Let's have fun with all of this, at least..."

He became the High Priest of the Nightmare Spell — a heretic pursued by everyone who worshipped the great gods.

It took a lot of talent and tenacity to stay alive, and it took even more to accomplish his mission. Slowly but surely, his followers spread across existence, carrying the Nightmare Spell with them. He had become Supreme, and just in time as well — before he could even blink, the Doom War was upon them, and existence trembled as countless people were destroyed.

“What a mess..."

It was as if the madness he had kept contained for a thousand years exploded outward, consuming every realm. Hope proved to be quite dangerous, indeed...

As the fires of war consumed more and more people, spreading the faith in the Nightmare Spell became easier and easier. Desperate people were far easier to convince, after all, and he was a very convincing man.

But everything had to come to an end. Eventually, the world itself came to an end, as well.

Myriad people died, and those who survived were being swiftly consumed by Corruption. Even the gods died... even the daemons.

Even the scoundrel who had roped him into wearing all black was gone.

But, funnily enough, even though he wasn't immortal anymore, he still lived.

His spirit had sustained dreadful wounds, and his Domain had been annihilated. His followers had all scattered or perished. His body was ready to crumble, and his soul was tired...

But he was still alive, for now.

He didn't really know what to do.

There was nothing really left to do, anyway. So, out of habit, he decided to set out on one last journey. He decided to bring the Nightmare Spell to those few who were yet to perish on the ruins of the destroyed world.

His feet eventually carried him to a land that was consumed by eternal darkness. There was no sun here, no stars... there was no moon.

He missed the moon the most.

All light was gone, but people still persisted in the darkness, refusing to die. Just like him. So, he helped them fight the terrifying creatures that dwelled in the darkness, offering those who were willing to become carriers of the Nightmare Spell.

Fighting against the darkness to help humans survive...

Ah. It reminded him of his youth.

Only, in the end, the very people he had tried to save betrayed him.

Taking advantage of his weakened state, they imprisoned him in a small cell under a magnificent cathedral, bound him with powerful sorcery, and closed the door shut. He was a heretic, after all, so they did not trust him.

That was why he spent quite a long time in that cell.

It was terribly boring.

Even knowing that he would die here, he didn't mind.

He had lived a long life, after all, a glorious life.

A life full of brightness and splendor.

It was just that...

“That damn daemon... I was fooled in the end, wasn't I?"

He had always considered himself a peerless scoundrel, but that daemon! That knave had truly been without a rival, as far as lies and deception were concerned.

Eventually, he felt seeds of Corruption blooming in his soul. Corruption was everywhere now, and all things fell to it... he was not going to be an exception. However...

"No, no. That just won't do."

He had already been forced to wear all black — that horrible, drab color! — and now, even his soul would become impenetrably dark? How tasteless was that!

Sealed in the darkness, he laughed.

Then, straining his broken body, he traced a few words in the dust.

His final farewell...

Hail Weaver

Demon of Fate

Fistborn of the Forgotten God!

Looking at that final message with satisfaction, he remembered his life.

He remembered the many battles he thought... the many friends he had made along the way, then lost.

The countless pleasures of life that he had experienced.

The beauty of it all.

A sigh escaped from beneath the fearsome mask.

"Ah... I really didn't do too bad, did I?"

This life...

It had been everything he had hoped for.

"Farewell."

With that, he shattered his spirit and extinguished his soul.

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