He summoned his Martial Spirits—not with his hands, but with his will.
The Golden Sword ignited first, gleaming with purpose sharp enough to sever fate.
The Reaper's Scythe followed, wrapped in the whisper of those who never got to speak.
The Death Dragon of Infinite Darkness coiled above him, its roar shattering unspoken laws.
And behind them all, threads of Million Miracles danced like fireflies rebelling against night.
"This world isn't yours," Aiden growled.
"You don't belong here."
The Herald raised a hand.
Time halted.
The wind froze mid-scream.
The light bent backward.
Even thoughts became sluggish.
But Aiden… moved.
The seal within him—newly broken—crackled with cosmic defiance.
His blood glowed, swirling with ancient authority.
He stepped through frozen time, space folding around him like pages in a forgotten book.
He appeared above the Herald in a blink.
"I remember now."
His sword descended.
The Herald didn't dodge.
It didn't need to.
