At first, there was only one person.
An old carpenter was found standing in the middle of the road, carving something into his chest with the tip of a chisel. When the villagers stopped him, he said only one sentence:
"I have to open a way inside."
At first, they thought he was possessed. But when they looked closer at the wound on his chest, the shape of the carving was not random.
It was part of a distorted spiral symbol—the same one used in Zeo and Rivan's magical duel.
Then the children began to talk to themselves in their sleep. Strange sentences. Not their language. Not spells. But sequences of words that could only appear if someone was exposed to the magical space for too long.
Some of the villagers' dreams began to connect. They saw the same place: a narrow hallway, full of whispers, and at the end were two figures.
One with glowing eyes. The other had no face.
They didn't know it was Rivan and Zeo yet.
But reality began to set in: this conflict was no longer a personal duel.
Zeo sat behind his house. He stared at his magical web, which was now starting to make noise. The more nodes broken, the more "leaks." And the leaks of magic… invite mental chaos.
But instead of panicking, Zeo seemed satisfied.
"Finally," he said, "people are beginning to feel the true shape of the world."
Meanwhile, Rivan began to realize the effects of his backlash. He had no intention of hurting the people. But the magic he was using was no ordinary magic—it was suppressing reality. And suppressed reality… always seeks a way out.
He wrote a note to himself:
"If I continue this, the village could be destroyed before Zeo is even fully opened. But if I stop… he wins. And Darzel will come out completely."
The choice hung before Rivan.
Meanwhile, in the shadows in the sky—the clouds began to swirl, forming a faint symbol.
And all the people began to see the same thing: the shadow of a door… in the air.
Zeo stood in the middle of the empty village hall.
He stared at the cracked wooden floor, then touched it lightly. Beneath the planks, he had planted a suffocating spell weeks ago. Every step, every drop of blood, every small death… was stored.
Now it was time to break the first seal.
He placed a nail clipping—from the carpenter who had carved it himself—into the center of the circle of symbols, then began to recite a spell in a language he had not been taught, only "heard" in whispers in his dreams.
The spell was not loud. Not grand.
But when it was finished, the village hall began to breathe.
The walls moved slowly, like a human chest. The floor grew warm. And in the air… the smell of iron and wet earth.
That night, the villagers had the same dream.
They were all in a small room, naked, and the floor was soaked with a liquid they did not recognize. Voices whispered from behind the walls:
"One must be opened. Two must be paid. Three must be destroyed."
The next morning, five people were found hanging. But not ordinary suicides.
They were sitting. Their necks were hanging with ropes, but their faces were smiling.
And beneath their bodies, there was a pattern—blood forming circles. Not handmade. But… the result of suppressed magic exploding through the human body.
Zeo stared from a distance, eyes calm. This was not murder. This was not a crime.
This was fuel.
"Thank you," he whispered, "you helped open the way."
Rivan knew this was Zeo's work. But what disturbed him more was not his actions—it was the response to reality. Because that night, he felt the ground shift. As if part of the village began to beat… not with time, but with another rhythm.
And from the book still embedded in his body, a new symbol emerged.
A symbol he had never seen before.
A symbol that meant:
"The portal is half open."