Chapter 56: Home sweet home..

Under Heaven

The world rewound.

Time itself curled backward, folding and unraveling as reality reassembled itself piece by piece. The scars of destruction vanished, the cracked land reknitting as if it had never been broken. The moon, once shattered, realigned itself in the sky, whole once more. The cities, the mountains, the oceans—all of them restored to the moment before the calamity had reshaped them. Every soul returned, their lives rewound to the point before oblivion had claimed them. It was as if nothing had ever happened. And yet, I knew.

I remembered.

The power of the Murmux lingered within me, a silent testament to the battle that had unfolded. The weight of a hundred million souls still pulsed through my veins, the echoes of their last moments forever etched into the fabric of my existence. This was not a second chance for me—only for them.

As the last remnants of temporal distortion faded, Crown's voice broke the silence, its ever-calm tone filling my mind.

"King of a kingless world, Lance of Velrage is—"

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "Crown, you don't have to call me that anymore." The title—once fitting, once true—no longer mattered. I was still here. The world had been restored. But I was not the ruler of an empty throne. Not anymore. "And what did you want to say?" I asked, reminding Crown that now, finally, later had come.

"Lance of Velrage, since being linked to me, has become a conceptual weapon," Crown answered, its tone flat, as if what it had just said was not monumental.

That made sense.

Weapons of steel and sorcery were finite. They existed within limits, within rules. But conceptual weapons? They were beyond that. They did not simply cut flesh or shatter armor. They cut through meaning, through existence itself.

I tapped the armrest of my throne absentmindedly. "Well, you are one of the Seven Treasures, so it makes sense."

Crown gave no response. It never did when the truth was too obvious to argue.

I stood, walking through the grand halls of my castle, my steps echoing against the vast marble floors. The air was heavy with familiarity, with the weight of a past I had long since abandoned. The throne room stood just as I had left it—untouched, undisturbed, a relic of another time.

I ascended the steps to my throne, the seat of a ruler with no kingdom, a god with no worshippers. The golden frame gleamed in the light, the fabric beneath me molding perfectly to my form as I sat down. I leaned back, staring at the high ceiling, the vastness of the room stretching endlessly above me.

"Throughout heaven and earth…" I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

I closed my eyes.

"I alone am the honored one."

And with that, I let sleep claim me.

Yet my consciousness did not rest.

As my body remained upon the throne, my will drifted beyond the physical, beyond the known. My astral form slipped into the Veil of Reverie, the space between reality and dream, the place where gods and monsters alike whispered truths unseen by mortal eyes.

And he was waiting.

Mister Omniscient and Omnipresent.

His smirk was as infuriating as ever, the amusement never quite leaving his face. His red eyes gleamed with endless knowledge, a depth that no one—perhaps not even himself—could fully comprehend. His black suit, always pristine, always untouched by the dust of existence, clung to him like the very concept of order itself.

He had never changed.

And neither had my exhaustion in dealing with him.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temples. "Oh hey, God. Fancy meeting you here…" My voice was flat, utterly devoid of enthusiasm.

Lucius—or Mavros, or whatever he decided to call himself today—chuckled. "Yeah, it's only been, what? Five chapters since I was 'gone'? Hah. So," he gestured vaguely, "you've grown stronger. Unsurprisingly. But tell me—if I could grant you any one wish, what would it be?"

I barely hesitated.

"For you to let me sleep," I deadpanned, crossing my arms.

Lucius laughed. "I'm serious, Sylas."

"So am I."

His smirk twitched, amusement sparking in his eyes. "Alright, fine. Play it your way. But seriously—if you had to choose?"

I sighed, tilting my head back. "Endless information."

Lucius hummed, considering my words. "Well, you do already have Fog and Crown for that, don't you?"

Damn it. He had a point.

I turned inward, shifting my focus. "Fog," I called, my voice an unspoken command within the depths of my mind. "How much stronger have I gotten since we last talked?"

The response was immediate, cold, and indifferent. "Ninety-nine percent stronger."

Good.

Lucius watched me, his smirk unwavering. I met his gaze, my expression unreadable. "Lucius, or Mister Mavros, or whatever name you're using today," I started, my tone measured, "since you're omniscient—even though you won't tell me—will I kill the Demon King of Salvation?"

Lucius' grin widened.

"Ha," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Like I always say, Mister Sylas—allow yourself to be surprised."

And then—

The Veil of Reverie shattered.

And I was back.

The throne room greeted me once more, the familiar weight of reality settling around me like a heavy cloak. The distant echoes of time's reversal still whispered at the edges of my mind, but the present was clear.

The battle had been won.

The world had been restored.

But something lingered.

A question unanswered. A fate unwritten.

The Demon King of Salvation.

Lucius had refused to confirm.

Which meant—

The true battle had yet to begin.

Return to Earth: A Decade in the Void, Six Months at Home

The multiverse was vast—limitless, infinite, stretching beyond mortal comprehension. I had walked its endless paths, fought its monsters, destroyed worlds, and reshaped time itself. But now, after everything—after war, after gods, after death itself—I was coming home.

To Earth.

To peace.

To my parents.

The moment I stepped through the final dimensional fold, the familiar pull of Earth's gravity embraced me, steady and unchanging. The sky above stretched in soft hues of blue and gold, the air carried the scent of home—moist soil, fresh grass, and the lingering aroma of a civilization so fragile compared to the cosmic horrors I had faced. And yet, in its fragility, it was unchanged. The same wind. The same sky. The same quiet hum of life continuing, unaware of the forces that had threatened to erase it all.

I stood before my childhood home, a sight both familiar and distant. The walls bore the faint marks of time, though clearly well-maintained. The stone path leading to the front entrance was clean, the garden on either side thriving with vibrant green life. And then—I noticed it.

The old Gate.

The last time I had seen it, it had been in disrepair, its frame rusted, the intricate engravings barely visible beneath the wear of time. But now—fixed. Reforged. The metal gleamed under the sunlight, the runes upon its archway glowing faintly with the magic that my father had undoubtedly infused into them.

It was such a small thing. A simple restoration. And yet, it struck me harder than I had expected.

Because it meant they had waited.

My father had repaired the gate. My mother had maintained the home. They had carried on, despite my absence. Despite not knowing if I would ever return.

Time flowed differently across the multiverse.

Here on Earth—six months had passed.

For me?

A decade.

Ten years of endless war. Of battles that shattered planets. Of facing beings so powerful that entire civilizations whispered their names in fear. Ten years of watching time collapse, of wielding destruction so vast that history itself rewrote around me.

And yet, here—only six months.

I stood there for a moment longer, exhaling softly before stepping forward. My boots clicked against the stone path, a strangely grounding sensation, reminding me that I was back. That I was home.

I raised a hand, curling my fingers into a fist, and knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly.

And there she was.

My mother.

Ariella Arctanis.

Her golden eyes, so much like my own, widened in shock before softening in an instant. And then—without hesitation—she pulled me into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around me as if she could physically anchor me back to where I belonged.

"My son," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You're home."

I closed my eyes, allowing myself—for the first time in years—to relax.

For a moment, I was not the one who had shattered mountains with a single strike.

I was not the one who had erased a monster larger than the sun.

I was not the one who had fought gods and turned back time.

I was simply—Sylas.

And I was home.

We talked.

She guided me inside, her presence warm and familiar, filling the space with an ease that only a mother could provide. The interior of the house had remained largely the same—the wooden floors polished, the furniture neatly arranged, the scent of freshly brewed tea lingering in the air.

She told me how life had been in my absence. The small things. The little moments. The way the seasons had changed. The way the town had grown. The way my father had spent countless hours in the forge, hammering away at metal like he always did, as if his work could somehow fill the silence I had left behind.

Of course.

Tiberius Arctanis.

A blacksmith to the core.

As if summoned by my very thoughts, the rhythmic clang of metal against metal rang from the forge outside—steady, controlled, powerful. The sound was unmistakable. A beat that had existed for as long as I could remember, the very rhythm of my childhood.

"He's still working, I see," I murmured, glancing toward the back of the house.

Ariella smiled softly, amusement flickering in her golden eyes. "Did you really expect anything else?"

Of course not.

Stepping out into the forge, the heat wrapped around me instantly, the scent of molten metal and burning coal thick in the air. The workshop was just as I remembered—organized chaos. Tools lined the walls, various weapons and armor pieces resting upon workbenches in different stages of completion. And at the center of it all—

My father.

Tiberius Arctanis.

Broad-shouldered, clad in a simple smithing apron, his silver hair tied back to keep from falling into his work. His hands, rough and calloused from years of labor, gripped a hammer with practiced ease.

He had not changed.

And yet—he had.

There was something in the way he moved, a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. Something unspoken. Something restrained.

He did not pause in his work. Did not look up.

Clang.

The hammer fell against the heated metal. Sparks scattered.

Clang.

Again, precise, controlled.

And then—finally—he stopped.

He set the hammer down with deliberate care before exhaling slowly. And then, at last, he turned.

Our eyes met.

A moment of silence stretched between us.

And then—

"You're late," he muttered.

I huffed a short laugh. "Sorry about that."

Tiberius studied me for a moment longer, his gaze sharp—assessing. There was no grand reunion, no overwhelming display of emotion. He was not the kind of man to express himself in such ways like my mother. But there was something in the way his gaze softened ever so slightly. Something in the way he reached for a cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow, as if giving himself a reason to pause, to take in the fact that I was actually here.

And then, in the way only my father could—

"Hungry?"

A simple question.

But beneath it, a thousand unspoken words.

And so, I answered, just as simply—

"Yeah."

Because in the end—

I was home.