Dreams come by, flashes of regrets, signs of vivid images of a woman singing in a melodic voice, reached through Olen as he travels distance throughout from his own consciousness.

Time, a clock you might say, just like a moment of passing death, looming as time stops, as regrets appear like a hailing storm. However,

As Olen thought, an absurd idea struck his mind: "I can think?" he said, while maintaining his composure.

Feeling his feet, he found out that he can't feel anything but somehow felt like he was walking on something. It felt like he was stepping in a fog, a white space filled with invisible pressure, as if he was restrained in some kind of force.

He was sure that he was dead, but he didn't believe in anything that is so-called heaven, and so he made an assumption.

"Samsara? a test of soul, where deeds and faults are judged? If so, where is the adjudicator?"

"I don't believe I came here just to be trapped in an endless blank space," Olen said, appearing like he was assured.

As he looked through the midst of the fog, Olen took a step forward. but while looking back at the endless void, he was not sure if he could find anyone that might answer his question...

Endless steps have begun since Olen woke up. Finding no path, no cross, no signs had emerged ever since he walked this path alone.

His steps started with a transparent floor before him. What’s waiting for him on the other side is unknown, with no floors to warn him of what’s come. Each step took a risk without a premonition to choose from, and only to be felt relieved that aside from the void at least he was taking the right step.

There were screams and malice followed him as he walks through the blind alley, nothing but pain and the endless void around him. Hatred, unwillingness, continuously torturing him as he took the step towards a path that he has named out of desperation, the spirit road.

He doubted his resilience. Loneliness took over him as he murmured words—infused with tiredness, regrets, hatred. But he didn't stop believing in something, even though it was already gone, along with his death as a mortal.

He didn't know how much time had passed without the knowledge of time to tell whether it was already noon or morning. He hesitated... As he felt tiredness crumbling his determination. And for someone without the restraints of flesh, Olen didn't feel any tiredness but felt his own will start to crumble.

Doubts came in like a tide, pushing him in a brim of insanity. His resilience wavered him, but Olen's determination continued to pave his will, unwilling to bend down in the face of destiny.

Olen stretched his hand, trying to grasp at something he could find at least in his heart—something that he can call a hope.

He said: “Shilla” thus within that moment, Olen voiced echo to the deepest abyss, as his eyes shone and brimmed with anger and hope.

Olen's momentum grew and assured, each step followed by the pain from the day he received when he lost his own self from his illness, it brought madness, an endless obsession to retake what he should deserve.

As Olen's madness took shape, the souls that once took the path of darkness, the sheer instinct that was left behind in defiance against the light responded to him. And like a sponge, Olen's aura rose to unprecedented will, as swirling of madness took over him, carrying the countless souls seeking redemption merged within his will.

His eyes like a slumbering dragon turned into red carving echoes of a howling beast that soon will destroy everything in its path.

In a split second, Olen saw something in his vision. A memory of a young man, whose pressure brought alarm and fear to its enemies, depicting an aura of a valiant man holding a sword that can slash any god anything seen from his eyes.

Time seemed to stop from that moment on, as if capturing the domineering aura incoming from the young man. Soon, the hand of the young man reached for the hilt of the sword, pointing it to the skies. And from it rose a rebellious aura as if it was reaching it to the sky, declaring that it would soon meet its demise.

Anger, hatred, vengeance, emotions that seem to fill the bottomless pit of an ocean made from bitterness, unwillingness, sorrow. Filling him with endless rage as he looks through the sky.

The young man slowly opened his mouth, and turned his head facing towards Olen, and said in a calm tone:

“Defy, unruly, thus righteous. To defy fate, gods must be abolished”

Carrying the momentum, Olen raise his sword to the sky and said:

"Fin dragonne fen soon reach fin skidro ahrk reign over fin endlesse skidro!"

“FUS KOH DAH!!!”

[You have awakened a fragment of a spirit living from the Gate of Souls]