Chapter 66: Recognition

Orson stood motionless before the tall man, who adjusted his posture and held out a hand, his tone firm. "Sir, can I see your ID?"

Orson looked at the officer and forced a faint smile. "Look, officer, I have work to do. Besides, there are dozens of people passing through here right now—why are you singling me out?"

The man didn’t blink. "My spatial perception covers half this entire realm, and you are the only individual here without a single drop of astral energy. That is why. So I’m going to ask you one last time: where is your ID?"

Orson let out a dry sigh. "You know, you’re the second person to ask me that today."

"It’s for your own safety, kid."

"I can protect myself, so don’t worry about it," Orson replied smoothly, shifting his weight.

Without warning, Orson kicked off the ground, springing backward to create distance, fully prepared to bolt into the crowded threshold of the breach.

But the moment his boots left the dirt, the atmosphere shattered.

The pressure radiating off the tall officer transformed instantly. The air within the gateway turned thick, heavy, and suffocating. Orson landed heavily, his chest tightening as he stared up at the man. It no longer felt like he was looking at a human being—it felt as though a primordial beast had unlocked its jaw right in front of him.

The officer’s voice dropped, ringing with a chilling, resonant echo. "Sir, I am afraid you will have to leave the realm. Now."

The weight pressing down on Orson was immense, like a mountain collapsing onto his shoulders. Yet, despite the sheer dominance of the force, there was no active malice or killing intent behind it, which meant no defensive system warnings flashed in his vision.

Orson rapidly calculated his options. He had Flash Step—though he had already used it twice to slip past the outer district officers, depleting a significant portion of his reserves. He had just enough for one more rapid burst. It was a massive gamble, especially with the officer watching his every micro-movement, but he couldn’t afford to be turned back now.

Orson met the man’s gaze. "I’m sorry, officer... but I really have to go."

Flash Step.

Orson’s body blurred, leaving behind a flickering afterimage as he displaced ten feet forward at blinding speed. But before his feet could even plant into the dirt to sprint, a solid wall of iron armor appeared directly in his path.

Orson crashed hard into the man’s chest, the impact bouncing him backward onto the ground. He hit the earth, wincing as he looked up.

The officer stood tall above him, unbothered by the collision. Behind the man, his shadow stretched long, wild, and jagged across the illuminated soil of the breach, writhing like a live thing.

"Wow," the man murmured, a dangerous spark igniting in his eyes. "This is the first time a human has actually dared to try and run from a Saint like me."

Orson froze, stunned into absolute silence.

The man standing in front of him wasn’t just a high-ranking government agent—he was a Saint. A fucking Dawn Saint, Orson thought, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stared up at the man. He knew Lenora had been a former Saint, and he understood just how terrifyingly absurd their strength was. Standing before one now, Orson knew he didn’t stand a chance. He couldn’t even sense the man’s power—only the passive, crushing atmospheric pressure radiating off him.

Before Orson could even try to scramble backward, a sudden shift in the heavens drew both of their eyes upward.

High above, five blazing suns illuminated the Golden Sun Realm. But as they watched, one of the suns abruptly lost its radiance, dimming into a hollow, dead sphere. An oppressive, ancient energy descended from the upper canopy. The weight was so staggering that Orson felt like nothing more than an ant pinned beneath the heel of the cosmos.

Even the Saint’s expression turned dead serious as he tracked the incoming aura.

Then, the sky tore.

A hand—so unimaginably vast it defied scale, as if a dark god were reaching down into the mortal plane—thrust through the clouds. Instantly, crimson system windows flared violently in front of every single individual across the entire realm.

Orson stared at the glowing prompt in horror:

[ ALERT ]

You have all been noticed by a Dark One.

Classification: Indigo-Class Calamity

Entity: The Burning Man

Saint Barnabas looked up, his posture locking into a combat stance.

The colossal hand radiated a thermal wave so intense that a floating island suspended in the upper sky instantly vaporized into ash. In the blink of an eye, before the shockwave could hit the ground, the Saint in front of Orson vanished—leaving behind only a crack of displaced air.

Though the Titan remained high above and its apocalyptic heat had not yet reached the lower ley-lines, the sheer atmospheric pressure knocked Orson flat onto his knees. He couldn’t even comprehend what the massive hand had done before it slowly retracted back into the upper heavens.

A split-second later, a blur materialized beside Orson.

Saint Barnabas reappeared, holding a woman in his arms. Orson blinked in disbelief—he hadn’t even seen the man move.

The woman was drenched, her long hair a tangled mess of deep blue and black clinging to her pale skin. Barnabas gently set her down on the scorched earth.

Orson’s breath hitched in his throat. As his eyes fell upon her face, a jagged, terrifying memory tore through his mind—a memory of his own death, brought about by the very woman lying before him. An unnatural, heavy frequency vibrated between them, humming like an ancient wire pulled taut across their souls.

Orson stared at the drenched woman, his vision swimming. The residual heat of the Indigo Calamity scorched the sky above, but all he could feel was the strange, unmistakable resonance bleeding from her skin.

Slowly, her dark blue and black hair shifted as she gasped for air, pushing herself up from the cracked earth. Her eyes flickered open—hazy at first, then sharpening as she caught the distinct aura radiating off the uncontracted man sitting on the ground before him.

Their eyes locked.

For several agonizing seconds, time seemed to freeze beneath the dimming five suns. The chaos of the realm—the shouting contractors, the soaring shockwaves, the looming threat of the Indigo Titan—faded into a dull, distant murmur.

A sharp, ragged gasp escaped both of their throats simultaneously.

Orson’s mind reeled as he recognized the energy from his past life. He rasped her name, the breath catching hard in his chest:

"Junior sister Rain..."

The woman’s eyes widened in absolute disbelief, her lips trembling as she stared back at him.

"War God Xander..."