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Wes Carter is dying.

A black sword pulses with corruption in his chest, his strength fading as blood seeps into the battlefield. He has no regrets—his people escaped, the war was fought, and he killed the man with void-black eyes.

But it wasn’t enough.

It never was.

As darkness claims him, two figures appear—enigmatic, powerful, and knowing. And with cruel certainty, they reveal a truth that shatters everything Wes believed:

His future was stolen.

Wes remembered that day. The day, as a child, he met the man with void-black eyes. The man who stood before him, bathed in the blood of those Wes cherished. The man who could have killed him but didn’t. Instead, he burned Wes’s soul, severing something deep within him.

That was the day everything changed.

That was the day he became a Null.

He should have been able to claim a Void Crystal, to rise like the others. Instead, he was cut off from that power, forced to forge his own way through Essence alone. And despite that, despite everything, he became peerless, a warrior standing at the edge of the Grand Stage—the universe beyond Earth’s wars.

And then, all these years later, that same man returned.

Not alone.

This time, he led an army—not just soldiers, but Fallen, beings marked by corruption, their eyes the same void-black as his own. They descended upon Wes with overwhelming force, and though he fought, though he killed his greatest enemy, it still wasn’t enough.

More questions than answers. Why had his future been stolen? Why had that man, all those years ago, chosen to cripple him instead of killing him?

Now, as Wes breathes his last, the two figures offer him something impossible:

A second chance.

They will sever the future—a phrase Wes doesn’t yet understand—but before he can question it, they shove a black seed, dark as night, into his chest.

And then—rebirth.

No longer fighting for survival in a dying world, he enters a new era—one where humanity has rebuilt, where Void Crystals, Essence, and Mana-Tech shape civilization, and where the truth of the universe is within reach.

Yet, the past is not erased. The man with void-black eyes may be dead, but the forces behind him still move. The answers he seeks are still out there. And this time, he will find them.

Monsters. Rival races. Forgotten legends. The enemies lurking beyond the void.

This time, Wes Carter will not be denied.

His rise is inevitable.

(NOTE READ AUXILLARY CHAPTER)

Void Tree Chronicles

The laughing bastard was nowhere to be found, and the ancient entity had just confirmed what he'd done.

Her molten gold eyes practically glowed, bright and sharp, with tiny embers sparking in their depths. Her small frame seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy, like a coiled spring ready to snap. She stood on the balls of her feet, her toes curling into the ground as if she were resisting the urge to stomp a hole straight through the earth.

Her long, purple hair whipped around her, as if even the strands of her hair were too agitated to lie still. It framed her heart-shaped face, accentuating the high cheekbones now tinged with a dangerous flush. Her full lips pressed into a thin line, the natural rose of them deepening as she bit down to keep from shouting into the void.

Her fingers flexed at her sides, curling and uncurling, a delicate dance of frustration. She took a deep breath, and her chest rose and fell with the controlled grace of someone used to reigning in their temper—but barely.

If her subjects saw her like this, they'd turn tail and run.

Her heart clenched, a tight, uncomfortable squeeze that she couldn't quite shake. The ache lingered, stubborn and sharp, as if her chest held a tiny thorn that twisted every time she thought of him.

She found his corpse where the void had left it. The bastard was still smiling. Even in death, his lips held that infuriating curve, as if he'd just pulled the world's greatest prank and couldn't wait to see the fallout. He didn't have to look so old. He was powerful enough to maintain a youthful appearance, even at the end of his lifespan. But no—of course, he chose to look ancient, gray and worn, because even his appearance had to be a joke.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, brushing against the note crumpled in his hand. She unfolded it, the paper soft and worn, the handwriting unmistakably his—lazy, looping scrawls that somehow conveyed more charm than care.

"Sorry I broke my promise. But if this works out, maybe I'll get a second chance. By the way, this new life of Wes's isn't exactly a one-person ride, so a double dose of your ideal would be nice. You know, just in case. P.S. I love you too."

Her lips twitched, a hint of a smile battling against her frustration. She let out a breath, a soft huff that almost sounded like a laugh.

Her fingers tightened around the note, crumpling it against her palm. Her molten eyes shimmered, a thin sheen of moisture threatening to spill over, but she blinked it away.

"Stupid, laughing bastard," she muttered, but her voice had softened, the edges worn down by something that felt suspiciously like grief.

She knelt beside him, brushing a lock of his unruly hair away from his forehead. "You always were a terrible gambler," she whispered. "But maybe… just this once… you might win."

Then she looked at his corpse. She should cremate it—it was what the people of his race did.

Then she thought again about it…

No she had a something different in mind since his soul was still alive.

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