750 years before the current era – 150 years after the Great Schism.
Time held no dominion over the Lords of MEL, but neither had it stifled the devouring curiosity of Kaylor. For over a century, the Lord of the Zenith had remained haunted by the vision he had received at the bottom of the island's spring: that invisible membrane, the third dimension he felt vibrating just at the edge of his perception.
He knew the Meteorite hadn't just created MEL. It had carved a doorway into an abyss that no one else dared to cross.
In total secrecy, breaking the non-interference treaties he himself had imposed upon the other four Lords, Kaylor traveled to the heart of the Sacred Island. Using a high-level instantaneous displacement technique, he bypassed the vigilance of the Gleaners—the very guardians he had helped establish.
Standing before the pulsating Crystallized Meteorite, he did not seek healing. He sought transcendence.
"To see the veil, I must become the veil," he whispered, his voice lost in the hum of cosmic energy.
He began to siphon a colossal amount of Flux directly from the source. His own energy, already immense, entered a state of total instability. To ensure a path home, Kaylor performed a desperate soul-binding ritual, sealing the majority of his life essence into his ceremonial blade. He plunged the sword into the floor of his palace at the Zenith, transforming the artifact into a Dimensional Beacon capable of guiding him back through the fabric of reality.
Then, he unleashed his full power.
The shockwave resonated across all five realms. A flare of golden light tore through the sky of MEL, creating a magnetic distortion that momentarily blinded the world. In the palace, General ZEN, Kaylor's right hand, rushed into his master's chambers. He found no one. Only the sword remained, floating in a void-pocket, vibrating with an energy signature so high it seemed to sear the very air.
Troubled and fearing the artifact's volatile power, ZEN immediately moved it to the Chamber of Ancient Relics, unaware that by displacing the blade, he had just extinguished his master's only lighthouse.
On the other side of the veil, Kaylor crashed onto a barren land saturated with raw, oppressive power. He had entered TENROS.
He had no time to explore. Before he could even steady his breath, he was encircled by two slender silhouettes, their eyes burning with a piercing azure light. Eternals of the Takin Clan. These beings, exiled for a thousand years, had lost none of their martial superiority.
Kaylor fought with the primal rage of a cornered lion, deploying techniques that the world of MEL had never witnessed. But faced with two warriors whose energy signatures rivaled his own, he eventually succumbed. Cornered, he tried to locate the resonance of his sword to flee, but the link was dead. General ZEN, by moving the artifact, had cut the line.
"Where do you come from, human?" the Takin leader thundered during the interrogation. "Why do you carry the echo of our lost treasure within your blood?"
Kaylor remained silent. He understood the danger instantly: if these beings discovered the existence of MEL and Earth, they would descend like a plague to reclaim the Meteorite. Choosing eternal imprisonment over the betrayal of his worlds, he was cast into the lightless dungeons of Tenros.
Back in MEL, Kaylor's disappearance created a gaping vacuum of power. The four other Lords, furious at his secret actions, punished the Realm of the Zenith by stripping it of its right to guard the Sacred Island. A year later, accepting that Kaylor would never return, the Council appointed his son, Shin, as the new Lord.
But the balance was shattered.
Without Kaylor's wisdom, the Lords began to categorize the Cosmos into a rigid hierarchy, establishing the Three Tiers of Power: Silver, Rainbow, and Golden. They even theorized a legendary fourth level—the Divine State—the very state that had allowed Kaylor to create worlds... and vanish while exploring them.
While MEL organized itself into warrior societies and Earth sank into a deep slumber, forgetting the very word 'magic,' light-years away on the planet Miltron, the new King Draken launched the "Shuttle" Project.
The cosmic clock had begun to tick once more. The dimensions, once isolated by Kaylor's sacrifice, were preparing to collide one last time.
Seven hundred and fifty years flowed by—an era of silent development where the three dimensions followed divergent paths. While Tenros and Mel prospered by cultivating the legacy of their respective powers, the human dimension, isolated by the erasure of its memory, built its own civilization upon the pillars of technology and matter. Kaylor's barriers had held firm, preventing any dimensional intertwining... until today. For in the shadows of this apparent stability, the gears of a new upheaval have begun to grind, and it is through the eyes of a child of the modern era that the veil will begin to tear.
In a world where the thin veil between reality and fiction was beginning to fray, a new era was emerging—invisible to the eyes of ordinary men. At the heart of this cosmic shift stood Dack.
Dack was a young boy with dark skin, living on an Earth transformed by the steady march of progress. Raised in the warmth of a close-knit home, he had grown up between the steady guidance of his father, Mir, and the nurturing presence of his mother, Laine. By the age of five, when he first stepped across the threshold of his school, his overflowing curiosity and exceptional potential had already begun to startle his teachers.
Dack quickly forged a circle of loyal friends. They were five in total: two boys and two girls, each with their own unique stories. Among them was a young biracial girl with a radiant, infectious smile, and a blonde girl with piercing, observant eyes. While Dack loved his entire crew, it was for one of these two girls that his young heart beat a little faster, coloring his school days with a sweet, secret excitement.
But life wasn't without its shadows. Then, there was Djin.
Djin and his gang went out of their way to cause trouble for Dack, casting the first streaks of gray over his academic life. Fortunately, home remained a sanctuary of peace. Mir worked as a high-level technician for an electric vehicle corporation, his generous salary providing the family with a comfortable life, while Laine passionately managed a boutique specialized in fine porcelain.
Every evening, the ritual was sacred. Mir would sit at his son's bedside and weave tales of a strange, "cool" world—a place that seemed utterly unrealistic to the young boy. Dack listened, fascinated, never suspecting that these stories were not inventions, but memories.
The turning point arrived two years later. Dack was now seven.
One afternoon, taking advantage of his parents' absence, Dack ventured into his father's private study. It was a room crammed with leather-bound books, mostly focused on advanced sciences—a sanctuary Mir had strictly forbidden him from entering, fearing the mischief of a curious child. But on this day, a drawer that was usually kept under lock and key had been left slightly ajar.
With a racing heart, Dack pulled it open.
Inside lay a stack of notebooks that looked like private journals. As he flipped through them, the boy felt lost; the pages were covered in complex diagrams, geometric symbols, and strange theories that defied his young understanding.
Suddenly, his eyes locked onto a handwritten note: "The Parallel."
Dack's blood went cold. That was the exact name of the world from the stories his father told him to help him sleep. A strange sensation—a cocktail of fear and electric fascination—washed over him. Why was his father writing scientific theories about an imaginary world?
Hearing a muffled thud in the hallway, he slammed the drawer shut. He decided right then to say nothing. He knew he shouldn't have been there. But the seed of doubt had been planted: what if his father's stories weren't fiction? What if "The Parallel" was a real place, hidden just behind the air he breathed?