"Tomorrow? That sounds like an excellent time for a fall, provided it’s not too strenuous," Jaka whispered back, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming lethargy.The ache in his limbs, which had been a jagged, white-hot agony only seconds ago, seemed to melt into a dull, manageable throb. It was as if his very nervous system had decided that being in pain was too much work and had opted for a temporary sabbatical.Above him, the heavy thumping of boots resonated against the stone stairs. A squad of three temple guards, their armor gleaming with the polished arrogance of state-sponsored enforcers, descended the steps. They had been sent to ensure the 'heretic' was thoroughly incapacitated—or, in the standard parlance of the High Priest, 'cleansed' from the temple’s view."Look at him," the lead guard spat, his voice dripping with condescension. "Still twitching. The trash doesn’t know when to stay down."Jaka didn't turn his head. He remained face-down in the dirt, his cheek press

The unnatural, violet-tinted lethargy swept through the capital like a contagion, but at the gates of the Grand Temple, it met an immovable wall of golden, shimmering light.Ratna stood firm, the silver pauldrons of her armor humming with the rhythmic, jagged pulse of the God of Diligence. While the guards around her swayed, their spears clattering to the floor as their eyelids grew heavy with a weight that defied mortality, Ratna bit her tongue. The sharp, metallic tang of blood filled her mouth, the pain anchoring her consciousness to the physical realm."Pathetic," Ratna spat, her voice trembling with righteous fury. She adjusted her grip on the holy banner she carried, its fabric woven with the thread of infinite labor. "Sleep is a symptom of weakness. And I am the cure."With a swift, practiced motion, she adjusted the silver buckles on her vambraces. She had been sent to the outcasts’ slum to investigate the reports of the 'Sleeping Sickness,' a plague that threatened the produc

"It shall be done," the mechanical bird chirped in the spy's hand, its metallic beak clicking with a synthetic, distorted cadence. "The High Priest is already aligning the meridian. The target is vulnerable. Initiate the final phase."The spy vanished into the dark, leaving no trace, just as Jaka—blissfully unaware of the celestial crosshairs fixed upon his back—finally managed to find a soft patch of moss inside the crumbling shrine of the First God. The stone altar felt cold, but the exhaustion was warm, deep, and heavy. He curled his knees to his chest, his breathing slowing until it matched the rhythmic hum of the ancient, decaying ruins.Then, the world tilted.Instead of the dark, silent abyss of sleep, Jaka found himself standing in a vast, ethereal field of nebulae. The stars weren't distant points of light here; they were glowing embers drifting through an endless expanse of indigo velvet. Before him sat a man—no, a titan—draped in robes that shimmered like a dying galaxy. Hi

The shadows in the corner of the ruined shrine seemed to detach themselves from the crumbling stone, flowing across the floor like liquid ink. They did not obey the natural laws of light or perspective; they coiled, pooled, and finally solidified into the silhouette of a man.The Unseen stepped into the center of the sanctum, his boots making no sound against the dust. Beneath his black, featureless mask, his breath was controlled, steady, and entirely devoid of heat. He was the Pantheon’s ultimate solution to problems that were too loud, too persistent, or too powerful. He did not believe in divine miracles, and he certainly did not believe in the legend of a boy who could freeze time with a yawn.He stared at the figure of Jaka, who was curled up on the altar, fast asleep, with his back resting against the frozen, golden rod of the High Priest’s failed solar strike. The Unseen drew a blade made of distilled darkness—a weapon forged specifically to sever the connection between a god’

Ratna watched his retreating back, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Jaka! If you walk through those gates, you are not just a target—you are the catalyst for the end of everything!"Jaka did not stop, nor did he look over his shoulder. Each step he took felt like a seismic shift, the ground beneath his boots groaning in protest. "Everything is already ending, Ratna. They just haven't realized it yet because they’re too busy pretending to be important."As he stepped beyond the perimeter of the ruined shrine, the air grew unnaturally cold. The sky above the capital city, once a brilliant, aggressive gold, began to curdle. Dark clouds, thick and suffocating, drifted in from the horizon, swirling into a vortex that looked suspiciously like a closing eyelid.By the time he reached the great iron-wrought gates of the capital, the scene was one of staged, militaristic brutality. Ten thousand Holy Soldiers stood in perfect formation, their armor gleaming with the re