IBHJ 1390

A wave of dizziness washed over him—then nothing but darkness.

"Master! Master, wake up! Please, wake up!"

A voice, trembling with panic, pierced the darkness. Small hands shook his shoulders, insistent and desperate.

Shirou stirred. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open to a face twisted with worry.

"Tiamat...?"

Her breath hitched with relief. "You're awake! Thank goodness. Life signs are stable, soul resonance is back to normal... I didn’t know what happened. You just collapsed!"

He blinked, the haze slowly lifting. "Back... to reality?"

Pushing himself up, a metallic clang echoed as something rolled from his abdomen and clattered to the floor beside him.

He turned—there, lying at his side, was the Akasha Arrow. But its glow was gone. What had once pulsed with otherworldly light now looked like an ordinary, dull gold shaft.

Shirou picked it up. The Mortal Vortex within his soul had also calmed—stable, quiet.

"That vision just now... was that... a memory of the Root?”

He wasn’t sure. The idea left him uneasy.

"Master?" Tiamat waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out for a second."

He got to his feet, dusted himself off, and took in his surroundings. Darkness loomed around them, but he could make out rough stone walls and uneven steps beneath his feet. Far ahead, those steps led upward—toward a dim, flickering light.

"Where are we?" he asked.

She shook her head, brows furrowed. "I don’t know. This place isn’t in any of our records. But based on the scans, it looks like… the interior of a planet. We must've arrived here right after passing through the stargate."

He frowned. “That door... was it a teleportation array?”

“It seems likely,” she replied. “But I don’t know who created it—or why.”

He looked down at the arrow resting in his palm. Its once-luminous surface reflected only the faintest glimmer of light now.

What are you trying to show me? Why bring me here?

He slid the arrow back into his jacket and turned his eyes to the stone steps vanishing into the dark above. “Let’s check it out, Tiamat.”

“Understood, Master.”

He’d meant to fly—would’ve saved time—but the moment he reached for that skill, something resisted. The air itself pressed down, heavy and strange. Whatever bounded field blanketed this place, it wasn’t created from Earth’s thaumaturgy. Even the corruption of 【Evil】 couldn’t erode it.

No flight, then.

With no better option, they began the climb, foot by foot.

But the moment Shirou’s sole touched the first step, his body jolted.

The Vortex deep within him spasmed, twisting violently. His blood surged in reverse, magical energy splintered into chaos, and a cold, unnatural tremor gripped his heart.

He winced and clutched his chest.

“Master?” Tiamat’s tone sharpened, her hand reaching for his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine.” He forced a breath through gritted teeth and shook his head. “Let’s keep going.”

She hesitated but gave a silent nod.

As they ascended, Shirou kept one hand on the rough stone wall, steadying himself while his eyes scanned the terrain. The deeper they moved into the mountain’s bowels, the more surreal the environment became.

Tiamat was right—this had to be the interior of a planet. But unlike Earth’s Inner Sea, this place felt... abandoned. Hollow. Like something long dead and left to rot.

No life. No ambient mana. Just stone, silence, and a pressure.

What disturbed him most was the sensation intensifying with every step. The higher he climbed, the stronger the pulse in his chest became, as if his heart were echoing the rhythmic churn of the Vortex deep within his soul.

The vortex spun faster. Unstable. Wild. Alive.

And with that pressure, something else clawed at the edge of his consciousness—fragments of the Root memory he’d glimpsed before.

That man.

He wasn't a transmigrator like Shirou, but the spark of awakening burned in him all the same. He had the potential to become enlightened, like Shakyamuni—just without the strength of a true transcendent.

So he reached out. Petitioned the Root. Offered everything.

And the Root answered.

But who was he, really?

The Fool of the Golden Myth?

The Golden Destroyer?

The Void Overlord?

Or…

The Lord of Salvation?

Shirou didn’t know. The truths of this Origin Era slipped through his fingers like water, fragmented and contradictory. The deeper he went, the more his assumptions fell apart.

"Master, we’ve arrived!"

Tiamat’s voice snapped him out of it.

Blinking, he looked around. They stood at the summit now. The climb had passed in a fog, thoughts consuming him.

A flat rhomboid platform stretched before them, worn smooth by time. Desolate. Lifeless. Long abandoned.

Tiamat scanned the structure. “Material analysis confirms it’s stone—though the elemental makeup differs from any planet in our system. Still carbon-based overall.”

She glanced toward the dark horizon. “There’s nothing of significance here. If your body’s stable, Master, we should prioritize finding a way back. My energy reserves are fine for now, but—”

“No.”

Shirou’s voice was sharper than intended. He took a step forward, gaze locked onto the platform. “Something’s wrong.”

She blinked. “What is?”

He stared, as if trying to will the answer out of the stones. “The door. It’s gone.”

“…The door?” she repeated, frowning.

Shirou hesitated, mind catching up to his mouth. “Wait. What did I just say?”

“You said there should be a door here.” She pointed at the platform.

His brow furrowed. “Did I?”

She nodded, concern rising.

Shirou fell silent, staring down at the empty slab like it had betrayed him. A flicker of unease twisted in his gut.

“I think…” he murmured, “something might’ve influenced me.”

“Influenced by what?” she tilted her head. “Scans still show your vitals are perfectly stable.”

She looked genuinely bewildered now. Ever since they arrived, Shirou had been off—more distracted, more reactive.

Shirou tapped a knuckle gently against his temple. “It’s nothing… just some echoes I picked up.”

Only he understood what he meant.

The Root memory. The Mortal Vortex.

It had left a mark on him—subtle, but undeniable.

And yet, in that resonance, something clicked.

This place. This mountain. This barren rhomboid platform… there had been a door here once.

He was sure of it.

It was the same door from the memory—the very passage that man had used to enter the Root space. But now, it was gone.

Vanished without a trace.

His gaze drifted across the empty stone, searching for clues that weren’t there. Only one memory resurfaced: the golden giant’s face that had spoken of “the door.” He speculated it was likely the very one originally placed here—the entrance to the Root.

But what was the door?

Was it technology? A relic? A phenomenon created by collective faith? Or something born of the Root itself?

The truth was buried deep—hidden under layers of myth, distortion, and forgotten eras.

And that was the problem.

History’s depth wasn’t forged by clarity—it was forged by countless hands, each reshaping what came before. And for someone like him, a descendant wandering blind through the ruins of the past, uncovering that truth was like chasing shadows.

But he had to.

Because somewhere in that obscured truth lay the birth of the Lord of Salvation.

And with it—the light destined to end him.