For nine years, in stillness deeper than sleep, Jin-Woo rested.
Within the obsidian throne at the highest tower of his Eternal Slumber, the Shadow Monarch drifted beyond time—awaiting the stirrings of galactic tides, awaiting the appointed year: 13,967 Galactic Republic Standard Calendar. The year the Yinchorri Uprising would begin.
But dreams… dreams were not still.
And within the vast, abyssal silence of his slumber, a space unfolded. A realm beyond galaxies, beyond memory. A realm born not of stars—but of division. The sky split.
On one side: black, clear, endless. A perfect canvas of night. The moon above was unmoving, the constellations etched in eternal silence. Beneath it, Jin-Woo stood—his form draped in Sovereign's shadow, the Monarch Blade planted at his side. Behind him: millions of shadows rippled outward in lines—rows of Igris, Beru, Bellion, and countless more. All knelt. All silent. All loyal.
On the opposite sky: brilliant light. Sun blazing, clouds parted, a realm where warmth burned instead of comforted. There, upon glasslike earth, stood Ritsuka Fujimaru.
No. Not Ritsuka. Varhram.
His Chaldea uniform immaculate, trimmed with ancient silver, and on his chest—an emblem not of Earth, but of something deeper. A single pin, black and white, read only:
SCP-05-Council
The Founder.
Behind him moved legions—millions of SCP entities from every sealed reality and lost truth. The unexplainable. The uncontainable. Gods reduced to numbers. Monsters once erased from history. Titans of science, anomalies of belief. All followed him in absolute order.
Not one word passed between the two brothers.
They stood across the split horizon—Jin-Woo cloaked in eternal dusk, Ritsuka beneath a burning day.
Two blades hovered between the skies, crossing in the void. One radiated shadow—the other pulsed with crystalline white data. Neither touched, but both trembled with timeless weight.
And then, the invincible barrier that had separated them— Shattered.
Like glass splitting beneath the pressure of inevitability, the heavens broke. Cracks of light and shadow surged outward.
Ritsuka Fujimaru's eyes flared with Ewigkeit Formula, his pupils tightening like lenses absorbing a billion timelines. His smile curled—crooked, unnerving—like a glitch that had always been there, hiding beneath the guise of humanity.
His right arm transformed, twisting and blooming into Margueritte Bois de Justice— forged in Yetzirah, the second stage of divine creation. The judgment tool of anomalies.
With a whisper that tore through the concept of time, he invoked it:
"Eine Faust Overture."
A Briah. And in the blink of no time, he moved. Faster than speed, faster than narration, faster than the space that tried to hold him back. The force of a million-fold acceleration ripped across existence.
Jin-Woo's expression didn't change.
He raised Ahura Mazda—the original sword, born from the First Throne. A blade that carried the command of creation itself, bound with his Ego so dense, so singular, it warped reality just by being unsheathed.
The instant the two moved— Their armies followed.
Igris. Bellion. Beru. Kaisel. Tens of millions of shadow soldiers.
SCP-682. 173. 096. Abel-class phenomena. K-Class scenario constructs. Endless SCP designates.
Clashed. And as they did— The multiverse Destroyed .
It thinned. It frayed. Planes between dreams and layers of logic collapsed into one another. Fragments of timelines shattered into broken possibility. Reality strained.
—And then,
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Jin-Woo woke up. Darkness surrounded him. His throne—solid beneath him. His breath, calm but deeper than usual.
But his eyes… were narrowed. His mood—darker.
From the foot of the obsidian steps,
Beru emerged in a blink of fluttering wings. "My liege… are you—?"
"I'm fine," Jin-Woo cut in, his voice flat, heavy. "No problem."
Jin-Woo stepped through the dark portal, its surface parting like oil on glass, emerging into the familiar starlit stone of Camelot's throne room.
Morgan rose from her seat with grace as though she had felt his presence the moment he stirred. Her eyes locked onto him—sharp, soft, knowing.
"Welcome, my husband," she said with the faintest smile. "We were about to wake you. It's time."
Jin-Woo's reply was low, steady. "Thank you, Morgan. But it wasn't necessary."
He turned his head slightly. "Offensive Bias. Status of Daybit?"
The AI's sentinel form shimmered into place near the throne steps, flickering red softly.
"Supreme Executor. Daybit has not made the situation worse. However, his attempt to establish a gateway to Tython is… unconventional. It is better if you hear from him directly."
Jin-Woo narrowed his gaze. "I suppose he's still at Zeta Halo?"
"Affirmative," the AI confirmed.
"Then transport us," Jin-Woo ordered.
Slipspace cracked open around them in an instant. A whirl light swallowed Jin-Woo and Morgan, and within a heartbeat—
—they emerged within Zeta Halo's command platform, where the stars stretched like rivers of fire through the transparent dome overhead.
Ahead of them stood Daybit Sem Void, calm as ever, and beside him—
Tezcatlipoca, still scarred from their last match, held something in his hand.
He ignited it with a smug grin. A green lightsaber snapped to life.
"Look, junior," he said with a toothy grin, spinning it lazily in his palm.
"I'm a Jedi now. Better than your black blade, don't you think?"
Daybit remained seated, sipping a local drink calmly. "We just found the lightsaber," he said without lifting his gaze.
Morgan raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, unimpressed. "You two actually stole from the Jedi Temple?"
Daybit nodded, unapologetic. "Yeah. I was aware you were watching, Morgan. Though I half-expected it'd be Jin-Woo catching us first—not you. Interesting."
Offensive Bias pinged Jin-Woo directly with a secure line of telepathic transmission.
"Supreme Executor," the AI said calmly, "Daybit initiated a Jedi Temple heist within his first thirty days on Coruscant. He utilized his Assassin-class Servant—specifically, the Mayan deity's stealth aptitude—to infiltrate without detection."
Jin-Woo exhaled through his nose. No amusement. No surprise. Only quiet assessment.
"So," "did you go against everything I told you not to do?"
Daybit, as calm as ever, leaned back slightly. "I'm surprised you didn't watch us at all, Jin-Woo. But to simplify things—we did the opposite of your orders, yes… but not in a way that made anything worse."
Tezcatlipoca stretched his arms overhead, still lazily twirling the stolen lightsaber. "I could even beat that old man Sidious, if you just gave me the go. He's a third-rate liar with an ego problem and eyes like rotting plums."
"And that little green alien—Yoda or whatever? I swear, that guy's gone senile. All he does is sit and hum and float. Probably thinks his thoughts are more important than gravity."
"Also, Jedi are basically monks. No wives, no kids, just robes and nonsense. Except that conehead guy, Ki-Adi-Mundi—he gets a pass. But the rest of them? Should shave their heads and join a silent retreat."
Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone flat as he gestured to the sleek vessel behind Daybit. "And that ship… the Personal Luxury Yacht 3000. Is this the second or the third ship you've stolen?"
Daybit gave a casual shrug. "Third. But I actually bought this one."
Morgan folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, sarcasm lacing her voice. "Uh huh. Right. After you blew up the other two? You're not exactly building a great track record. Especially that second ship—the one with stealth class. Scimitar, wasn't it? Maul's personal ship. Sleek, efficient, built for covert ops. Why'd you ditch it?"
Daybit sighed. "Because, while you were watching so intently, you didn't catch the one thing I noticed first. It oozed dark side energy. Stepping into it felt like dipping my face into a vat of Sith soup."
He gestured loosely toward Tezcatlipoca. "I'm not risking my Servant getting into a rage-fit and killing Maul just because we happened to cross paths. That would've made things worse. Would've tanked the entire mission."
Morgan tilted her head, lips twitching with a dry smirk. "So… restraint. From you. That's new."
Daybit didn't bother denying it. "I like my odds better when I'm not dragging a corpse across a political minefield."
He turned toward Jin-Woo, eyes sharpening. "Now, to the main mission you designated for me—establishing a gateway to Tython from Coruscant. To be blunt, it's impossible. At least, impossible by normal means. Nothing on this planet's surface or sublevels can naturally reach it. Not even Force-based power of your current era . unless someone forcibly breaks through."
He paused, then smirked slightly. "But I found a loophole. I used my own world system—leveraging the nature of Servants, Mystery, and collective belief."
Jin-Woo raised a brow as Offensive Bias floated forward. The sentinel activated a projection—Coruscant's local news feed, buzzing with high traffic from all across the Outer Rim.
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A Twi'lek anchor appeared, nervously reporting:
"As of the year 13,967 Galactic Republic Standard Calendar, unprecedented crowds have gathered in the skies of Coruscant. Political figures, religious cults, Force mystics—even Outer Rim warlords—have arrived, all chasing the same rumor:
A cloaked figure has spread an enigmatic prophecy throughout the system, one said to defy galactic logic. The message reads:
He who walks the dark shall break the seal of the Valley of the Dark Lords.
She who holds the balance shall awaken the gates of vast rich landscapes like heaven.
But all others—who stumble without fate, without worth—
Shall open the sky, and call forth the screaming star.
The Mother waits.
Above all, beneath all.
Not to be worshipped… but to be heard.
"We still don't know what this means," the Twi'lek continued, "but galactic leaders are watching Coruscant closely. it's expected to happen this year."
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The feed ended. Jin-Woo's eyes narrowed. "You went to Floor 43.5… the most dangerous level of Coruscant?"
Daybit shrugged. "Yeah. Had to. For a split moment, as the structure shifted—Tezcatlipoca and I both saw her. The one they call 'Mother'."
Tezcatlipoca rubbed his arm and muttered, "She's got way too many teeth, man. Creepiest grin I've seen. But I won't lie… she felt like a god. You sure she isn't one, Jin-Woo?"
Jin-Woo crossed his arms, gaze steady. "Just a crazy lady trapped in a mirror. That's all."
He let that linger a moment before continuing, tone low and measured. "I appreciate that you altered the poem. Changed 'balance shall awaken the gates of vast Force-rich landscapes' to 'rich landscapes like heaven.' That subtle shift avoids pointing toward the Jedi… but the concept of balance is still a problem. I'm more of a dark Force god than some enlightened equalizer. I'm not the 'balance.'"
Daybit tilted his head, almost amused. "Who said it needs to be one person? If a group of Crypter-aligned Servants clash evenly with Jedi and Yinchorri warriors—if they fight each other in what looks like a historic battle—it still fits the poem, right? Balance through chaos. Equal destruction."
Offensive Bias's sentinel form flickered, eyes glowing. "Affirmative. Strategic misdirection successful. I admit… Daybit is unpredictable. He has achieved results through nonstandard methods. Any chance your brain would be available for donation to the Central Core?"
Tezcatlipoca raised one eyebrow, then calmly flipped the hovering sentinel the middle finger.
Offensive Bias went silent. But his targeting light flickered for half a second.
Daybit gave a light sigh. "Jin-Woo, I need to speak with my fellow Crypters. Some have volunteered—but I believe the plan will unfold more smoothly if each Lostbelt deploys its Servants… or its armies."
Morgan immediately stepped forward. "Then I should contribute mine as well, my husband. The Fairy Knights of my England will prove useful. Especially when the proper time comes."
Jin-Woo gave her a short glance and nodded. "Your turn will come when it matters most. I'll brief you. But right now—let Daybit's group lay the groundwork."
Offensive Bias opened a slipspace portal without being asked, its AI intuition honed to the pattern already forming. Daybit stepped into the swirling blue ring without hesitation—destination: Olympus Lostbelt.
The shimmering vortex sealed behind him.