Darkness.


    A void without form, without sound, without time. It was neither warm nor cold, neither empty nor full. Lucan Voss floated within it, his consciousness barely tethered to existence. He did not breathe. He did not see. He simply… was.


    Then, from the abyss, light emerged.


    It did not flicker or flare—it simply became, stretching outward until the darkness receded like a tide. Lucan felt it pull him, not with force, but with inevitability, drawing him toward something far greater than himself.


    And suddenly, he stood.


    The place before him was not of any world he had known. He stood upon an endless floor of polished marble, so perfect it reflected the cosmos above. And the sky—if it could be called that—was an expanse of swirling stars, nebulae, and celestial fire, a tapestry of creation itself.


    And before him sat the Council of Gods.


    Their thrones towered like mountains, vast and adorned with golden etchings of worlds long past and those yet to be. Some of them bore forms akin to men and women, robed in divine cloth, their gazes ancient and knowing. Others had no form at all, existing as shifting constellations, drifting mist, or figures woven from pure radiance.


    Their presence was suffocating, not in malice, but in sheer magnitude. They were not simply watching him—they knew him. Every thought, every triumph, every doubt, and failure.


    One of them, a goddess draped in flowing silver, rose from her seat.


    "Lucan Voss."


    His name was not spoken—it was declared, carried through the space as if it had always been meant to be heard.


    "You have completed your purpose," another voice intoned, deep and resonant, like the weight of eternity itself. "You have fulfilled the task for which you were created."


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    Lucan’s brow furrowed. "Task?"


    The silver-clad goddess stepped forward, her eyes shimmering with untold ages.


    "You are a Fragment of Knowledge—a sliver of divine wisdom, planted into the womb of a mortal woman millions of years ago."


    Lucan’s breath caught in his throat.


    "You have walked countless worlds," another god continued, his form shifting like a nebula in motion. "Born, lived, and died—each time bringing enlightenment, each time solving what was unsolvable, each time lifting civilizations from darkness."


    A sense of vertigo overtook him. Had he truly done this? Had his entire existence been preordained—a mere piece of something far greater?


    "And now," the goddess said, her voice carrying a finality that rang through his soul, "Earth was your final task. The cycle is complete. There is no world left for you to save."


    Lucan swallowed. A great emptiness settled in his chest, heavier than any burden he had carried before.


    "Then… what now? What becomes of me?"


    The gods were silent for a moment, as if weighing his soul upon unseen scales. Then, the goddess spoke again, softer this time.


    "You may return to your original world—the world from which all things began for you."


    A stir of something deep within his being. An old memory, distant and blurred, yet familiar. He had no words for it, only a feeling—home.


    And yet… he hesitated.


    He had seen too much. Learned too much. He did not want to forget.


    Lucan lifted his head. "Then I ask only one thing—I wish to keep my memories. Let me carry the wisdom of my past lives forward."


    A murmur passed through the council, low and uncertain. The silver-clad goddess studied him, her eyes holding both sorrow and understanding.


    "It is not possible," she said gently. "The full weight of your past lives'' knowledge is beyond what any mortal mind can endure. To remember all that you have been would be to unravel yourself."


    Lucan clenched his fists. Even here, among gods, he was limited.


    "But," she continued, "you may retain the memories of your last life—your time on Earth. That knowledge alone is enough to shape the world you return to."


    It was not everything. But it was enough.


    Lucan exhaled, his resolve settling like stone. "Then I accept."


    The goddess raised her hand. The marble beneath him fractured, golden light pouring from the cracks. The very fabric of reality shifted, the stars above rushing downward, consuming him in celestial brilliance.


    The voices of the gods faded into the void, but their final words echoed through his soul.


    "Go forth, Fragment of Knowledge. Shape your world once more."


    And then—


    Lucan Voss was gone.