At the age of 5,201, Ian walked across a land where the sky never changed. It was always red, always cracked like dry skin. He felt calm. Behind him, the ground was still broken from the fight. The three Devils didn’t follow.
He found a hill with no name and sat. For three days, he sat without sleep, without food. A soft hum came from his body. His True Paths Devil Ki was growing again. It no longer felt like power. It felt like a part of the world, tied to the wind, the stars, the quiet.
At the age of 5,210, Ian met a girl with no shadow. She said she had lost it while dreaming. He gave her a word, just one, and her shadow came back. She smiled and forgot his name. He smiled too.
At the age of 5,220, the Grand Devil appeared again. She stood in the sky like a moon with no warmth.
"You did well," she said.
"I only walked," Ian replied.
She threw a small cube at him. He caught it. It was cold and empty.
"This is your next path. Open it when you’re alone."
At the age of 5,221, Ian opened the cube. Inside was a single thread of light. It moved like it was alive. It wrapped around his finger, then sunk into his skin.
The thread did not change his ki. It changed his path.
He now saw two roads ahead.
One was full of peace.
He stood between both.
At the age of 5,230, Ian watched Jow, the God of Rubber, fight his first real war. Jow bounced, stretched, and laughed through battle. He was strong, but wild. Ian did not help. That was the rule of Devil Attendants. Only guide. Never interfere.
But when Jow fell, when the sword touched his chest, Ian moved.
In one step, he was there. His palm met the sword and broke it. He did not speak. He only looked at the attacker. The attacker, a new god, froze, then ran.
"You broke the rule," said a voice from the sky.
Ian looked up. "Then make a new one."
The voice said nothing more.
At the age of 5,250, Jow was strong again. He didn’t ask how Ian saved him. He only smiled and said, "Thank you for walking with me."
Then he walked on, alone.
At the age of 5,260, Ian entered a city made of mirrors. In every mirror, he saw a version of himself, some kind, some cruel, some mad. He touched none of them.
Only the last one bowed.
"You’ve changed," it said.
Ian walked past and replied, "That’s the point."
At the age of 5,270, Ian found a tree with black leaves. It stood in a field of white grass, its roots deep under the world. A man sat beneath it, carving a small figure from wood.
"You’re late," the man said, not looking up.
Ian sat beside him. "I didn’t know I was coming."
The man laughed. His hands moved fast, shaping the wood into a bird. "Most don’t."
The wind blew, and the black leaves shook. None fell.
At the age of 5,275, Ian met the bird again. It was real now, flying over a lake of still water. It landed on his shoulder and spoke.
"Turn back," it said.
Ian did not. He walked into the lake. The water did not wet his feet. Below, the sky was reflected, red, cracked, the same as always.
At the age of 5,280, the Grand Devil returned. She stood before him, her eyes dark.
"You saved a god," she said.
"He was my friend," Ian replied.
She studied him. "Friends are heavy. They slow your steps."
Ian looked at his hands. They were the same as they had always been. "Then I will walk slower."
The Grand Devil said nothing. She left him with a new cube. This one was warm.
At the age of 5,281, Ian opened it. Inside was a seed. He planted it in dry earth. The next morning, a flower grew, red like the sky, with petals soft as breath. It died by nightfall.
At the age of 5,290, Ian found a house on a hill. The door was open. Inside, a fire burned, but no one tended it. He sat by the flames.
A voice spoke from the shadows. "Will you stay?"
Ian shook his head. "I have more to see."
At the age of 5,300, Ian stood at the edge of the world. Below him was nothing. Above him was the same. He took a step forward,
The wind, silent for so long, began to sing.
At the age of 5,301, Ian met a child with no face. The child held out a hand. Ian took it.
"Where are we going?" the child asked.
Ian looked ahead. The path was really unclear, but the air was light.
"Wherever the road takes us," he said.
At the age of 5,701, Ian heard of a city in the sky that had fallen overnight. Thousands vanished without a single scream. No gods claimed it, no Devils were blamed. The wind simply carried dust where walls once stood.
At the age of 5,750, whispers spoke of a gate deep under the sea that had opened without a key. Old voices passed through it. Some were songs. Some were screams. Ian listened for a while, then turned away.
At the age of 5,800, news came of a child god who turned his entire realm into glass. By morning, it shattered. He said nothing and went silent ever since.
At the age of 5,850, a True God fell. No war, no fight, no warning. One day he ruled, the next day he was gone. His star blinked out. His name was removed from the records.
At the age of 5,900, Ian sat alone on a mountain that never had snow. He watched three realms pass through the sky above—one made of metal, one of fire, one of old dreams. None noticed him.
At the age of 6,000, a rumor spread of a Devil who walked backward through time. Some said he was mad. Others said he was running from something that hadn’t happened yet.
Ian listened, but said nothing.