In the dim, echoing silence of the chamber, Astaroth’s eyes shifted uneasily between Magiaa and Thalor, the weight of unspoken secrets looming heavily in the air. A chill settled over the room as Magiaa finally broke the silence.

“Where is Sane now?” Her voice was as cold as the shadows enveloping them. “Is she dead, Astaroth? And why would the Summoners believe Saturn is dead?”

Astaroth’s jaw clenched, old memories creeping into his weary gaze. He sighed, glancing at Thalor, then back to Magiaa. “I... I wasn’t supposed to be the Chief Summoner,” he began, voice low and burdened with a history Thalor had never known. “That title—it was meant for my younger brother. He was everything I wasn’t: stronger, sharper, and with ties to... realms I could barely grasp. But when he was offered the title, he passed it on to me.

“When Saturn nearly ended me, my rank as Chief was questioned. My brother, however, assured everyone that Saturn had left this universe, claiming him dead. I knew he was lying, but it was the only way to silence the doubts cast upon me. My brother... he had connections with Saturn I never understood.” Astaroth’s eyes grew distant, as if seeing another time, another place. “I asked him once, ‘How do you know Saturn? Who is he, truly?’ He wouldn’t answer. All he’d say is that Saturn had entrusted him with something... something he kept hidden from everyone.”

A faint gasp escaped Thalor’s lips, but he held his silence, caught in the grip of revelations that shattered his world.

“When my brother died,” Astaroth continued, “whatever he knew went with him—or so I thought. It wasn’t until recently that I learned his secret was passed down… to his son… and later his grandson.” His eyes, clouded by regret, drifted toward Thalor. “Your father, Thalor, was a descendant of my brother, and whatever Saturn entrusted to him… was passed to your father as well.”

Thalor’s eyes widened in disbelief, the shock of his father’s hidden past settling into him. “So... you and I…”

“Yes.” Astaroth’s voice softened. “We’re bound by blood. But when your father learned of the burden he carried, he sought out Saturn himself. He was prepared to meet him, planned to reveal himself in the Summoners’ Capital. But I found him first... and he died before he could reach Saturn.”

Thalor was silent, but his expression tightened, a mix of anger and betrayal flashing in his eyes.

A pause settled over the room as Magiaa’s piercing gaze shifted between them. Her mind was a quiet storm, piecing together Saturn’s motives. “Thalor,” she asked, “did your father ever speak of what Saturn was seeking? And if he never met Saturn... why would Saturn have prophesied that you would become the greatest Summoner?”

Thalor’s voice was almost a whisper. “He didn’t tell me much, just that... I had to find Saturn. He told me Saturn knew who I was and… that I was destined for something.” He looked down, a frown tugging at his lips. “He said Saturn could make me… great.”

Magiaa’s gaze narrowed. There was a spark of realization in her dark eyes, though she concealed it well. “And what did he mean by that?” she murmured to herself. Her mind, sharp and restless, drifted to what Saturn’s intentions might truly be.

Astaroth broke the silence, his voice thick with bitterness. “You’re Magiaa, aren’t you?” he asked, searching her face. “A goddess… a member of the Nine Superiors. Why didn’t you stop Saturn when you had the power to do so? Why would a goddess concern herself with a mere Summoner?”

Magiaa: "Saturn…is not simply a summoner. He is the man who once ruled the multiverse—a force that held entire realms at his command, brought worlds to their knees. He ruled as he willed, bound by nothing and no one. To some, he is known as Saturn, but to those who understand his true legacy, he is Rain—the Wind God."

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Astaroth blinked, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what Magiaa had just revealed.

Astaroth: "Lord Rain? The very being of legend? They say his presence alone could bend any being to his will. Even the God of Summoners once bowed to him. What could an entity of such unfathomable power want in a place like the Summoners’ universe?"

Magiaa: "Lord Rain, the Wind God, ruled from a throne that none but he could claim—the Empty Throne of the Infinity Spire, a place beyond any universe, untouched by time or laws of mortal realms. From there, he established the Divine Emperors and forged an elite force. He divided the multiverse into nine vast domains, each containing countless universes, and appointed one of the Nine Superiors over each realm. This order preserved peace, a balance enforced through awe, fear, and his unparalleled will."

Seeing Thalor's confusion, she glanced at him, reading the question in his eyes.

Thalor: "If he truly was the king of the multiverse, why would he abandon such power?"

Magiaa sighed, her expression distant, as if peering into a memory far beyond their comprehension.

Magiaa: "Though he was the king, he never ruled directly. His commands were orders, but they were also guidance—directions that held the entire multiverse in alignment. Just the utterance of his name inspired fear and obedience. He saw himself as a force of peace, a hand that could end the endless wars that plagued the realms…but perhaps he came to believe that such power robbed beings of their free will. Peace at the cost of freewill."

Her gaze hardened.

“The strength he wielded back then was nothing compared to the power he possesses now. At that time, with the skills I hold today, I could have defeated him. But now? He has transcended even those legends.”

Thalor, curious about Magiaa's role, ventured to ask: "So…you were one of his ministers?"

Magiaa: "No, I wasn’t even born in that era. I’ve never witnessed the height of his reign firsthand. I am the youngest of the Nine Superiors."

A soft realization touched Astaroth's face, a respect he had never shown before.

Astaroth: "There are tales…of a goddess who fought beside Lord Rain, defying the Nine Superiors in his name. They say she became a Divine Emperor, one who would stand against the world itself. I cannot begin to understand your motives, but tell me, what is it that Lord Rain truly seeks? What is it that you, the Divine Emperors, still seek without him?"

Magiaa’s eyes grew colder, her voice as unyielding as iron.

Magiaa: "Our purpose remains: to enforce peace and order in the multiverse. But without Lord Rain’s guidance, chaos has begun to rise. That’s all you need to understand."

At that moment, a quiet realization dawned upon Astaroth. He understood, in that instant, that his strength, his power—so grand to him—was but a fleeting moment in the endless cycle of the multiverse. He had spent his life in pursuit of greatness, only to now face beings whose very presence dwarfed him.

Wincing from his injuries, Astaroth finally let go, his voice barely a whisper: "End it, Magiaa. I have suffered enough."

Elsewhere, Sane entered the shadowed halls where Magiaa had confined her father. As she drew closer, her heart pounded, dread flooding her veins. Her gaze darted over every corner, every shadow, desperate to find him.

Meanwhile, Magiaa looked down at Astaroth, her expression unreadable. "I considered letting you live, but the blood on your hands cannot be overlooked. You ended Thalor’s father’s life. At the very least, I can give you a death without pain."

Just as she raised her hand, Magiaa’s face suddenly hardened. Her gaze drifted upward, her eyes narrowing in concentration. A faint, lingering presence—a distant aura, unseen yet unmistakable—hovered over them.

Thalor, noticing the shift in Magiaa’s demeanor for the first time, asked quietly: "What’s wrong, Lady Magiaa?"

She quickly dismissed him, her tone sharp: "Nothing. Pay it no mind."

Focusing back on Astaroth, she prepared to bring an end to his suffering. But as her hand began to lower, Sane felt a surge of panic. The fluctuation in Magiaa’s aura was unmistakable—it was the same she had sensed from Saturn before he unleashed his Atomic Disintegration.

Driven by dread, Sane ran, bursting through the chamber doors. Inside, she froze at the sight before her: Magiaa standing with her hand raised, and behind her, her father, broken, chained, his very body seeming to dissipate. Tears filled Sane’s eyes as she rushed forward, her hands trembling as she reached for him.

Sane: "This…this is not how I wanted to see you again."

Magiaa observed the girl, recognizing her: So…this is Sane, the Snow Princess. Astaroth’s daughter. A Divine Warrior. Magiaa felt an unexpected pang of guilt, aware that to her, deaths like these were just fragments of the endless events unfolding across the multiverse.

Magiaa, inwardly reflecting: It’s the Puppet Master. His aura disrupted my focus. I overlooked Sane’s presence. An error unworthy of a Superior.

Meanwhile, Thalor watched, silent and torn, his heart caught between the quiet satisfaction of avenging his father and the sorrow of seeing Sane’s anguish. For her, this was not justice—this was a tragedy.

Sane looked up, her eyes searing with unspoken hatred. She turned on her heel and left without a word, ignoring Magiaa’s attempts to speak. Thalor remained, unsettled, watching Magiaa. He had thought her cold-hearted, above remorse, yet now, seeing her watch Sane’s retreat with a flicker of regret, he wondered…how much more there was to this goddess than he had assumed.