When John awoke, he found himself in a strange, ethereal form—his spirit floating above his own physical body, which lay unconscious on the hotel room’s floor. He reached out instinctively to himself, but his hand passed through, intangible as a wisp of smoke.

  Trapped outside of his body, panic flared within him. Was he dead? Had he become a ghost condemned to wander between the realm of the living and the dead, unable to find peace? Suddenly, a chilling memory surfaced—the evil god he had encountered, the god of Unfinished Death, patron of ghosts, lingering spirits, and unresolved fates.

  John shuddered as he realized the terrifying possibility that he might be trapped within this divine enemy’s domain, caught in a liminal space between life and death, struggling to hold on to the faintest thread of hope.

  In his ethereal form, John first explored his hotel room. His gaze fell upon the now-empty vial, and he reached out to grasp it—but his hand passed through it effortlessly, confirming his intangible state. Searching for a hint, a solution, or a path forward, he scanned the room for any clue, but found none.

  Looking out of the window, he saw only the dark veil of night enveloping the city. Without hesitation, he moved toward the door and passed through it in his immaterial form, stepping into the dimly lit aisle. The corridor was quiet and shrouded in shadow under the moon’s pale light entering through some large windows.

  Floating aimlessly, John’s senses suddenly caught the sound of water splashing accompanied by laughter from behind one nearby door. It seemed Eleonor and Isabel were bathing. An impure thought flickered through his mind, but with effort, he resisted the urge, focusing instead on continuing his aimless journey through the fading night.

  As John floated ethereally through the dimly lit aisle, he crossed paths with King Alaric Vallistor, the ruler of Aurelia. The king, engrossed in his own thoughts and duties, did not see John’s ghostly form. John tried to speak, but no sound emerged from his lips—his words falling into the silent void, unheard and unnoticed.

  Realizing that his presence went unnoticed, John thought he needed to seek someone more attuned to the ethereal, someone versed in spirit magic —elves, known for their profound connection to such magic, would be better candidates. But where in the vast city of Celestor were his elf friends staying?

  John did not have to spend much more time reflecting on what to do though as his ethereal form was caught in a sudden swirl as reality twisted, warped and bent around him. In an instant, he found himself transported to the emperor’s chamber, floating close to the ceiling and witnessing a scene he was familiar with—a conversation unfolding among the emperor, Kael, and himself.

  Was he traveling to the past? Or perhaps observing his own memories? Maybe these were the key moments replaying in his mind before death’s final embrace, a crucial recall that held the answers he desperately sought. The boundary between past and present, memory and spirit blurred, leaving John a mere observer in a shadowy realm of his own existence.

  John was already familiar with the events that had unfolded in this chamber, memories replaying with an odd clarity even in his ghostly state. Curiosity and restlessness stirred within him—should he attempt to explore the imperial palace, even in this shadow form? Drifting silently, he rose higher, gliding through the chamber’s upper reaches, beyond the ceiling. Several meters of stone separated him from the world above, a testament to the incredible security around the emperor, but before he could find an exit or glimpse the broader expanse of the imperial estate, reality twisted once more, bending and warping around him.

  He found himself once more within his hotel chamber, the familiar surroundings materializing around his drifting spirit. Yet something was different—his physical body was no longer sprawled lifelessly on the floor. Instead, he saw himself sitting by the window, gazing silently out into the city beyond. As he watched, the quiet was broken by a knock at the door. Moments later, Eleonor entered.

  Once more, time and space distorted, and John found himself transported to the grand arena, where the thunderous clash of dragons filled the air. The spectacle of the battle unfolded before him in vivid detail, yet the divine presences he remembered—the sinister gods and the radiant goddess—were conspicuously absent. The memory seemed to pause at a pivotal moment, just before the gods’ entrance, as if whatever force was guiding his ghostly journey had intentionally omitted this revelation. Was it unwilling to reveal the divine, or simply incapable of doing so? The answer hovered just beyond his grasp, as mysterious as the forces controlling his path.

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  He watched as scenes from his past played out in rapid succession—moments of anguish flared with the memory of Eleonor’s sudden disappearance, followed swiftly by the fierce confrontation with Leona. His journey through Celestor’s dungeon flashed before him, along with the fateful first encounter with Kael. Memories sped by of traveling with elves and dwarves in rumbling carriages, travelling through the roots of the World Tree and then the icy conflict that marked his battle against Isabel the Ice Queen. Each experience unfolded with breathtaking clarity, as if he were a silent observer to the very essence of his former life.

  A sudden realization struck him. "Wait," he thought, "why haven’t I seen any memory of the elven kingdom? The dark crystal and the World Tree were pivotal moments—undeniably important parts of my journey." The absence of these memories unsettled him, their significance too great to be overlooked or forgotten.

  He watched as he faced a seemingly endless horde—ten thousand ravenous beasts in the arena of Aurelia. The scene shifted, and he relived his capture by the black tigers, their iron grip sealing his fate. In the cold gloom of captivity, he glimpsed himself sharing the prison with Klara and Shira.

  He next witnessed himself standing before the formidable trial of the totem, heart pounding as the weight of foreign tradition and expectation pressed upon him. John hoped to discover what had happened at the end, how was he freed from the trial after he had sacrificed himself to free the dragon but that part was left out as well, the last thing he saw was himself encased in the castle’s stone.

  The scene shifted again, carrying him back to his days at the encampment of the white weretigresses—a place both wild and familiar. Among the faces there, Kana stood out with a clarity that warmed him. Was she truly his only friend close to his own age, a rare companion in the tapestry of his journey? The question lingered in his thoughts, tender and unresolved.

  He found himself once again in the Orange Zone, moving alongside Eleonor in the bright, volatile landscape, and then within the mystical halls of the Mage's Enclave. These moments unfolded with a familiar tenderness, echoing the stories he and Eleonor had reminisced about earlier that very afternoon, just before he had swallowed the contents of the fateful vial. Each memory carried a weight and warmth, looping him deeper into the tapestry of his own past.

  He saw himself dancing clumsily with Eleonor on the evening of her fifteenth birthday, the world dissolving around them in a golden blur of music and laughter. The scene shifted, and the presence of the Montclair family patriarch returned for an instant, a silent observer beneath flickering lights. Then, darkness loomed, and he faced Umbraxis—the monstrous adversary from that fateful night. He watched as Shira, Nyssara, and he fought side by side, struggling desperately to free Elyndra from the creature’s menacing grip, every heartbeat echoing the gravity of the battle.

  He witnessed himself being bitten by one of Umbraxis’ minions—a moment fraught with peril and consequence. But once again, something was wrong. The bite should have spelled his demise or transformed him into a vampire, yet his destiny had shifted thanks to the miraculous power of the oceanic crystal. Strangely, just as with the dark crystal in the elven kingdom, the memory of the oceanic crystal had been omitted from these visions. He realized these weren’t the only omissions: both of his ascension trials, defining chapters in his journey, had been skipped entirely. Instead, the next vision showed a younger version of himself wandering the corridors of the Mage’s Enclave, leaving unanswered questions and absent memories swirling in his mind.

  He then observed himself fleeing through darkened forest paths, heart pounding as he escaped from Umbraxis. In the shadows behind him, Elyndra faced the monstrous creature alone, her fierce determination matching Umbraxis blow for blow. He knew this was the moment that would lead to her imprisonment—a grim sacrifice replaying once more, heavy with regret and longing.

  John then glimpsed at his life in Stonebridge, sharing days of camaraderie with his friend Marek, attending the town’s humble school and practicing swordplay under the patient guidance of his instructor who had gifted him his first sword. A pang of regret stirred in his chest—perhaps he should have sought out Marek and his father again; he wondered now how his old friend’s path had unfolded. The memories kept flowing, and John soon found himself alongside Master Orven, Arlen, Brag, and Mira, reliving the journeys and lessons that shaped the foundations of his adventure while travelling with their caravan.

  He watched as his younger self plunged through the shimmering blue depths, the accidental slaying of a massive, already dying fifty-meter-long shark unfolding in murky silence. The memory pulled him upward, and soon he stood on the windswept summit of the Bluecrag Mountains, gazing out at the endless ocean stretching beyond the horizon with waves which could kill titans. Yet once again, the critical moment—his first encounter with the oceanic crystal—was glaringly absent, as if carefully edited out of the tapestry of his memories that were allowed to be displayed.

  John longed to witness once more the Iridescent Starbloom, that mystical flower which had granted him the power to brew his unique potion. Yet, much like other vital fragments of his past, this too was conspicuously absent from his resurfacing memories. Instead, he found himself alone, standing deep within a quiet forest. Before him lay motionless a massive wounded white tiger. He knew, it was Shira, a future guardian in his journey.

  John revisited the harsh moment of Matrin's accusation, the weight of betrayal and misunderstanding heavy in the air. The scene shifted, taking him to the solitude of his life in Cloudroot—a time marked by a lack of perspectives for the future, where loneliness was both a burden too heavy for the seven year old boy. The memories unfolded quietly, steeped in stillness and the stark reality of being alone with his thoughts.