In the heart of the secluded cave nestled deep within the Jura Forest, Veldora lounged lazily against a wall of glowing crystal, arms crossed and tail swaying in rhythm to his amusement. He had been waiting, though his patience had started to fray.
That is—until the space in front of him warped subtly.
A soft breeze stirred the air. No thunder. No fanfare. Just a shift, like reality sighing.
Varvatos had returned.
He emerged from thin air, not with the intent to impress—but still, his arrival commanded attention. His cloak, rippling with ancient runes, whispered like leaves in the wind. The magicules that clung to him were heavier now. Sharper. His expression remained calm, but there was a certain weight to his gaze—like a sword just returned to its sheath.
Veldora sat up a bit straighter, his grin already forming.
"You're back! I felt a shockwave from here! That was Milim, wasn't it?"
Varvatos nodded once.
"She is powerful. Raw, volatile… but impressive. She's got potential beyond comprehension. But like a storm without direction."
Veldora laughed, his three-stage chuckle exploding into the cavern.
"GAHAHAHA!! That's Milim for you! She's my niece, after all. You didn't kill her, right?"
Varvatos raised a brow, his tone dry.
"If I had, do you think we'd be talking right now?"
Veldora froze for a second, then nodded sheepishly.
"R-Right. Good point…"
Then his curiosity got the better of him.
"So, did she land any hits? Was it flashy? How strong is she compared to Guy?!"
Varvatos stepped forward, lowering himself to a seated position on a smooth, magically conjured rock.
"Milim fights with her heart. Guy fights with his mind. One overwhelms, the other calculates. Both are dangerous in their own right—but neither are in control of their full potential."
Veldora's eyes widened slightly.
"You... analyzed them in the middle of battle?"
Varvatos chuckled softly.
"Of course. Every movement, every flare of magicule, every breath. That's what true combat is. It's not chaos—it's dialogue without words."
Veldora leaned forward, intrigued like a child being told a bedtime story by an ancient warrior.
"So then… what now? You've shown Guy your strength. You've humbled Milim. Who's next?"
Varvatos stood slowly, cloak whispering behind him as he looked to the mouth of the cave—toward the eastern sky now beginning to darken.
"Next…" he said, voice low, "…is Draguel. The Guardian of the Heaven Tower."
Veldora's expression shifted immediately—no longer amused, but serious.
"Draguel?" he echoed, folding his arms. "You don't choose light opponents, do you?"
"He guards the sealed gates to an ancient threat," Varvatos continued. "His brother… Fenn. A being the world has tried to forget."
The name alone sent a shiver through the ambient magic.
Veldora nodded slowly.
"And Draguel," Varvatos said, "was given the task to stand eternal vigil. Not just to guard the seal—but to judge those who approach it."
The tension hung heavy for a moment.
"He's a Demon Lord," Veldora murmured. "But he's older than most. Stronger than nearly all. You'll find no joy in fighting him."
Varvatos closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again—twilight flickering in his pupils.
"I don't seek joy. I seek understanding. Every pillar that holds this world aloft must be tested. Not to destroy it… but to see if it's still strong enough to hold what's coming."
Veldora leaned back, crossing his arms, his smirk returning faintly.
"You're chasing the very foundation of the world. Makes me wonder… are you trying to save it, or remake it?"
Varvatos said nothing for a moment. Then:
"Both."
And with that, the space around him fractured in a silent ripple—ancient glyphs spiraling into the air as he stepped into a portal lined with celestial runes.
"Draguel," he murmured to himself. "Let's see if the tower still stands tall."
As he vanished, Veldora stared into the fading shimmer, brow furrowed.
"He's going to stand before Draguel…" he whispered. "And maybe even Fenn, one day."
He chuckled nervously.
"Heh. This world's about to get a whole lot more interesting."
In the harsh, windswept expanse of the Barren Lands, where the earth cracked underfoot and the skies were often red with dust, Draguel, Demon Lord of the Giants, stood tall upon a plateau of jagged obsidian rock. Even in his resting form, towering above men with a body carved of muscle and might, Draguel emanated a presence that bent the will of the land around him. His three tattoos—teardrop streaks of power and sorrow—glowed faintly in the twilight, resonating with the age-old pact made in the time of gods.
Behind him stood his brother Glassord, silent and observant, his eyes scanning the expanse as the wind howled like a warning. Below, in the deep valleys carved between ruined cliffs, Dagura, Liura, and Debura—Draguel's sons—were engaged in brutal training. Glassord had been assigned to push them to their limits.
"Make them stronger, Glassord," Draguel said, voice like distant thunder. "Stronger than I ever was. The world will not remain still for long."
Glassord nodded once, his expression unreadable. "You speak as if the storm is already at the gate."
Draguel turned his gaze toward the Heaven Tower, the sacred spire of stone and seal rising like a jagged sword from the earth in the far distance.
"Something ancient stirs beneath the roots of the world. The winds change, not from time, but from presence. Someone is moving across the lands—unseen, unknown, yet… undeniable."
As if in response to his words, the world paused. The air grew still. The ground beneath their feet stopped vibrating. A soundless shift cracked the boundary of the space around them—and a man appeared, standing atop the high ridge with them as if he'd always been there.
He wasn't giant, nor dragon, nor spirit. He wore a cloak woven from a night that shimmered, and his eyes… they didn't gleam with magic. They burned with knowing.
Glassord stepped forward instinctively, power flaring, but Draguel raised a hand.
"Don't." His tone wasn't fearful. It was curious.
The stranger inclined his head with a faint, respectful nod. "So this is the land of the fallen giant turned guardian. The sentinel of Heaven Tower."
Draguel narrowed his eyes. "You know of my burden. But not my name, I presume."
"I don't need to," the man replied, his voice calm but resonating. "The essence of your being echoes far louder than a title ever could."
Draguel studied him. "Then allow me to return the curiosity. I don't recognize you. I've never heard of you. Not in the whispers of the Demon Lords, not even in the shadows of ancient prophecy."
The stranger smirked faintly, unfazed. "Then it is a pleasure to be the first."
Glassord narrowed his eyes. "Who are you, really?"
"Varvatos," he said simply.
The name meant nothing to either of them—and yet both felt the weight of it.
Draguel's aura flared slightly, his battle instincts testing the air. It wasn't a challenge. It was a gauge. But the moment his senses brushed against Varvatos' presence, Draguel's pupils narrowed, and his body tensed.
"That power…" he said slowly. "You walk the earth as if you own it… and even the sky does not resist you."
Varvatos stepped closer, each movement calm, each breath deliberate. "If I wished to tear down this land, I would've done so. But I did not come to challenge you."
Draguel crossed his arms, towering like a mountain. "Then speak. What is your purpose in coming here?"
Varvatos looked to the horizon—the sealed Heaven Tower looming like a forgotten spear.
"I wished to see the giant who was once a demon of chaos… now reborn as a guardian. I wanted to see if the tales were true."
"And what do you see?" Draguel asked.
Varvatos looked him dead in the eye. "I see someone who made a choice… and continues to make it, every day. A burden of strength and guilt… balanced on honor."
Draguel was quiet, his expression unreadable.
Glassord finally spoke. "If you did not come to fight, then what? A warning? A test? A message?"
"All of them," Varvatos said, gaze still locked with Draguel's. "The world you protect will soon bleed. Fenn's seal may not be the only one at risk. I am moving across the land… and those who claim the mantle of Demon Lord must be seen."
Draguel exhaled, his aura quieting. "Then you have seen. And I have seen enough to know… fighting you would not preserve this land."
Varvatos smiled. "Wise and powerful. Just as Veldanava believed."
Draguel's eyes flickered with surprise at the name, but he said nothing.
With a shimmer of silver mist, Varvatos began to fade into the wind, his presence unraveling like starlight in water.
As silence returned and the dust settled, Draguel looked toward his sons below—still training, still rising.
He murmured, more to himself than anyone else:
"I don't know who you are, Varvatos… but you're not just a shadow passing through."
Glassord stepped beside him. "The world trembles when men like that walk it."
Draguel nodded.
"And tremble it will. We must be ready."